Page 12 of Art of the Hunt
She had a burning need to save humanity, and he was in a position to know when humanity needed saving. Clearly, a match made in, er, heaven.
She just had to figure out how to convince him of that fact.
“My bike is parked at your police building,” she said and paused, waiting for him to open her door. How easy it was to fall into the habit of allowing him to treat her like a lady.
He unlocked the vehicle and did, indeed, open the door for her. After he inserted the key into the ignition, he sat there, hand on the steering wheel, a frown marring his brow.
He was definitely far more attractive when he laughed or smiled. Not that the frowning was ugly; in truth, it gave him something of a bad boy vibe, and what woman wasn’t attracted to a bad boy?
Still, Artemis was growing quite fond of his smile, and the indentation it created in his cheek as it widened. And the way his dark eyes danced with merriment. He obviously enjoyed humor, although she suspected he did not express it as often as he’d like.
“Your bike?” he finally said. “As in, a motorcycle?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Harley-Davidson Breakout 114.”
He stared at her for several heartbeats before starting the car and pressing the gas. “This I gotta see.”
A short time later, he circled her bike, admiring it with the appropriate amount of reverence for such a finely crafted piece of machinery.
“This is seriously badass,” he said, stroking his fingers over the logo scrawled across the gas tank.
“It is.” She canted her head. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Are you serious?”
She chuckled, swung her leg over the bike, and kick-started the engine. It roared to life, and she patted the tiny seat behind her. “Get on.”
He eyed the minuscule patch of leather, clearly dubious.
“You have a small ass, you can handle it.”
He shook his head. “Did you seriously just say that?”
“Yep.”
His lips quirked as he dropped a hand onto her shoulder and hopped onto the seat behind her, adjusting his stance until his legs were snuggly pressed against her own, and a certain part of his anatomy was nestled against her ass.
She wiggled. That part of his anatomy began to swell. And harden.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”
She revved the engine and chuckled. “Hold on.”
The bike lurched forward on a burst of speed, and Hunter’s arms tightened around her midsection.
Artemis smiled and headed out of the city so she could really open it up, give the man a thrill.
And maybe get one in return.
They went east, traveling along the lakeshore. Traffic was heavy, so she couldn’t go as fast as she’d like, but that was okay. The scenery more than made up for the lack of speed.
An hour later, she guided the bike into the parking lot at the Indiana Dunes National Park and pulled to a stop in the shade of a cluster of trees, behind a two-story building with huge arches around the windows. Families burdened with all the paraphernalia necessary for a day at the beach hurried past, not sparing a glance for Artemis and Hunter.
She abruptly turned in her seat to face Hunter, who threw up his arms and dropped his feet to the pavement to keep the bike upright.
