Page 64 of Broken Trails
“I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”
My expression softens. “You always have a choice, Freckles.”
She hesitates again, her brow pinching as her gaze flicks from me to the Ducati and back. “Is it… safe?”
I take a slow step toward her, close enough to catch the subtle hitch in her breath. “Are you dissing my riding skills?”
She opens her mouth, closes it. Her eyes narrow, and I wink at her. “Very safe. You’re in very capable hands.”
Why the fuck does that sound dirtier than I meant it? I clear my throat. “Can I put it on?”
“What, I don’t look like I know how to wear a helmet?”
“Didn’t say that,” I say, already grinning. “But the straps can be tricky.”
With a heavy sigh that screams ‘I hate this’, and a theatrical eyeroll to match, she mutters, “Fine. Put the helmet on, Hotshot.”Don’t mind if I do.I hold the helmet by the straps, pulling them apart to widen the opening. Her eyes remain locked on me, like she’s waiting for me to screw this up or, hell, maybe she just likes watching me squirm. With careful hands, I tuck her hair behind her ears and guide it down from front to back, adjusting its fit. It’s a little big, but it’ll do. I secure the straps beneath her chin, snug but not too tight. My fingers graze her jaw this time, and I go still. She doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t tense up. Thank fuck for that. I step back, trying—but failing miserably—not to look at her like some starstruck idiot.
Too late. Because she catches me, and her eyes narrow into slits. “What?”
I tip a smirk her way, masking the fact that I’ve been caught out. “Nothing. It suits you.”
“I doubt that.”She’s wrong. Because it really does suit her. Way too fucking well. My helmet. Onher.
That slightly oversized, almost ridiculous fit that should be funny, but isn’t. It’s hot. Stupid hot. Fuck, she looks sexy as hell. Her eyes? Yeah, they’re trouble. They’re locked on mine, unblinking, like she’s trying to read every thought I’m not saying. The glow from streetlights makes her freckles stand out even more—those tiny specks scattered across her nose andcheeks like they were put there just to fuck with me. And now I’ve got a hard-on pressing against my jeans, and somehow, I’m supposed to get on the bike and focus on the road. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Yeah. Good luck with that, Price.
22
You Don’t Even Know Me - Faouzia (Stripped)
Ican’t believe I’m doing this.
If you’d told me a few months ago—hell, even a few weeks back—that I’d be standing in a driveway outside a farmhouse, about to hop on the back of a motorbike, I would’ve laughed.
Or sworn. Probably both.
Yet, here I am—helmet strapped to my head, and heart thudding like a bloody drum.
It’s comical. All of it. The night. The fire. The way everyone acted like I belonged. The fact that I didn’t immediately retreat to my bubble.
“Alright,” Michael says, calm as anything, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday. “Swing your leg over, like so—” He gestures, one arm holding the bike steady, the other loosely pointing to where I’m meant to go. “Then scoot forward a bit. Get comfy.”
Comfy. Right.
I try not to think about what that entails. Awkwardly, I do as instructed, hiking my leg over like I’m mounting a wild beast—not a piece of Italian engineering—and settling onto the seat. My balance shifts, and I have a brief moment of panic, arms flailing for something to grip, anything, before my hand lands on his shoulder. It’s solid. Steady. Warm.
“Atta girl. Now plant your feet up on the pegs.”
“The what?”
He gestures with a chuckle. “The little footrest things.”
Right. Obviously. Pegs. I do as I’m told, yet again, just as a thought pops into my mind. Michael is, without question, the most patient man I’ve ever met. He doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t huff or roll his eyes. Just waits.
Liam used to claim he was patient with me. That was a joke. Looking back, he seemed more inconvenienced than anything, like my feelings were some puzzle he didn’t have the time or energy to solve. Partners are meant to stick around, right? Suck it up when you spiral? Guess that never applied to me.
Once I’m seated, not at all comfortably, he swings one leg over and slides in front of me like it’s second nature. His body heat instantly bleeds into mine, even through the thick fabric of our clothes. My knees press into the sides of his hips, and my breath hitches.
The space between us? Non-existent.
