Page 41 of That One Night
“Yep.” He held out the helmet he’d grabbed from his room. “Put this on.”
“Youdon’t wear one,” she said, looking at the black shiny covering.
“That’s because I’m an idiot. And you have more brains than me. Put it on.”
Of course she did it. He tried to ignore the desire pulsing between his legs. He took her hand, leading her to the bike he’d left in front of the porch stairs. He wheeled it into the lane, turning it so that it was facing away from the main road. They had at least a hundred yards of straight road ahead of them, more than enough for her to learn to ride.
He turned to look at her, gesturing at the bike.
“Sit on it.”
She reached for the handlebars, her fists delicate as they curled around the metal, then hitched her leg up and over the seat, settling onto the leather. His jaw tightened. God, she looked perfect on his bike.
He should have jacked off when he was in the shower. Because right now all he could think of was dragging her toward him and kissing her.
Ignoring the pulse between his thighs, he walked up behind her, so close he could smell the sweet floral notes of her shampoo from the strands of hair below the helmet. His chest pressed against her back as he reached around her, circlingher with his arms so he could hold on to her hands that were gripping the bars.
“You need to have a bend in your arms,” he told her, moving them until he could see the ninety-degree angle she needed for control.
“Okay,” she breathed, moving with him.
“This is the throttle,” he murmured in her ear, twisting the right handle bar. “It makes the bike go faster.” He moved her fingers down. “The front brake,” he told her, squeezing her hands to show her how to hold it. “You use this to slow the bike down.”
“To slow it down,” she muttered. “Got it.”
“The clutch,” he said, moving her left hand. “You use this to disengage the engine. That way you can shift gears with your left foot.” He slid his hands down her denim clad leg, showing her how to move it. Then he did the same to her right leg. “This one is the brake.”
“I’m never going to remember any of this.”
He laughed softly. “You’re smarter than me. You’ll be fine.”
She turned to look at him, a strange expression on her face. “I’m not smarter than you.”
“I think we both know you are. You went to college. Got a degree. I’m pretty sure you can ride a motorcycle.” He stood and took her right hand, pressing her thumb against the red plastic button jutting out of the handle. “Kill switch. It stops the engine. Use it if you need to.”
“What if I crash?” she asked him.
“You’re not gonna crash. You’re careful. You’ll go slow.”
She swallowed hard, like she was taking his words in. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”
“What are you afraid of?” he asked her, his voice thick.
“Dying mostly.”
“I’m not gonna let you die, Emery. I’m just teaching you how to ride a bike.” He rocked the handlebars, showing how easily it moved. “This movement means it’s in neutral. A good time to start it up.” He flicked on the kill switch. “Remember where the clutch is?”
“Left hand.”
“You’re a fast learner.” Of course she was. “Now turn it, and I’ll kick on the engine.”
“You won’t let me get hurt, will you?”
“I got you.” He watched as she twisted her hand, and he kicked the engine on, smiling as she jumped at the way it roared to life. His bike wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t smooth. It was an angry beast.
“Okay?” he asked her.
“No.”
