Page 67 of Defending You
He wanted a wall between them, though. It was safer this way, even if it hurt.
“Good morning,” she called as if all were right with the world.
They reached the bike, and Asher got a better look. It was…old. Wide wheels told him it was probably mostly used for off-roading. It would go fast enough.
Helmets hung from each handlebar.
Garrison handed him the keys. “Stick to back roads or trails if you want to avoid civilization.”
“Thanks.” Asher shook the older man’s hand. “I’ll get this back to you.”
“Not a problem. It’s my son’s, but he hardly ever uses it.” Garrison flicked some dirt off the back. “Or cleans it, obviously.”
Beside him, Chief Thomas said, “We’ll worry about getting it back when you two are safe. I’ll let Bartlett know you’re on the road.” His gaze rose to the sky, where puffy clouds rolled overhead.
“That’d be great. Thanks.” Asher shook the chief’s hand as well.
Cici thanked them both and put on the smaller of the helmets.
After he shoved her purse under the seat and fastened his pack to the back, he swung a leg over the seat and strapped on the second helmet.
She climbed on behind him.
“Try not to fall off,” he snapped.
Her arms circled his waist, but her grip was loose, barely there—like she couldn’t stand touching him. It was a stark contrast to the heat of their kiss. He didn’t like it, at all. Even if it was better this way.
He fired up the engine, the roar drowning out his thoughts.
Get her to Shadow Cove, he told himself.Then walk away.
But deep down, he knew that kiss had shifted something, and there was no outrunning it.
The motorcycle’s engine growled beneath Asher as he guided it along the winding backroads of New Hampshire, hugging the Maine state line.
They’d ridden in silence, the roar of the bike and the whipping wind making conversation impossible. The morning sunshine had faded, replaced by a heavy blanket of gray clouds.
Then came a drizzle that turned to a deluge, pelting his helmet visor and blurring the world into a watery haze. When he could barely see the road, he started praying for a bridge. Finally, he spotted one ahead and slowed to a stop beneath it.
He killed the engine, the abrupt cutoff as jarring as the storm’s assault. Beyond the narrow overpass, rain slanted to the ground, a steady roar.
He could hear Bartlett’s voice in his head. Would the man consider trying not to die in a motorcycle wreckdillydallying?
Cici loosened her hold on his waist and shifted behind him. “Well, that was fun.” Her sarcasm was thick.
“We can’t ride in this.”
She climbed off the bike, took off her helmet, and stretched, then stared out at the storm, brushing damp strawberry-blond hair back from her face. “‘I’d keep playing,’” she deadpanned.“‘I don’t think the heavy stuff’s gonna come down for quite a while.’”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Did you just quote ‘Caddyshack’?” He climbed off the bike and removed his own helmet.
Her smile seemed hesitant, maybe a little embarrassed. “My sisters and I watched that movie one night when our parents were out. We got in so much trouble, but”—she lifted one shoulder and let it drop—“it was worth it.”
“It was one of my dad’s favorites.” A wind gust blew through the tunnel beneath the bridge, and he shivered. “Dad was always quoting lines from it. ‘We have a pool and a pond?—’”
“‘Pond would be good for you.’” Cici finished the quote, grinning.
“‘You’ll have nothing and like it!’”
