Page 41 of Hell on an Angel
“No, you aren’t,” he told her firmly as he stepped out of the shower to dry off.
When they were dry, Cree stood wrapped in a towel, blow drying his long hair. Kennedy left him to it so she could put some clothes on and start breakfast. As she dressed, she stopped long enough to look out the bedroom window. The morning was starting things off right. She hated to admit it, but she'd miss the view. “I thought you were gonna start breakfast.”
Kennedy jumped at the sound of Cree’s voice. “Yep, heading that way right now.”
“What were you looking at?” He glanced out the window.
“I was just taking in the view one last time.”
“It is a nice view.” Cree turned around to find he was alone. Seeing Kennedy had disappeared, he went in search of her and found her in the kitchen, pulling food from the fridge.
“Are you cooking this morning?”
Kennedy didn’t look at Cree, afraid he’d see through her façade. She lay awake most of the night, worried about Mr. Angelini sending more men to find her. She was also worried that the closer they got to Montreal, the sooner Cree would be gone. That was the one thing she dreaded—being left behind. Hearing his question, Kennedy just nodded.
The tiny kitchen closed in on her as Cree crowded her against the counter. With her hands full, she couldn’t get past him. He gripped the countertop on both sides of her and sighed. “Look at me,” he said in a low, firm tone. Her eyes jumped to his, and she was done for. For Kennedy, there was nothing more beautiful or dangerous than falling deep into Cree’s dark chocolate-coloured eyes.
Her tongue darted over her bottom lip, trying to find her words. Everything felt tight—her skin, her clothes . . . everything. Her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. Clearing her throat, she waited for the inquisition to start.
“What’s wrong, katawasisiw?”
Every time he called her beautiful in his native tongue, she melted. Late at night, with the moon shining through the thin curtains, he sang songs from his childhood and told her stories about his ancestors. She hung on every word, every sound. Kennedy wanted to tell him nothing was wrong, but he would know it was a lie. “I’m just overthinking things.”
“Like what?”
“Worrying about Mr. Angelini sending more men after me.”
“And?”
“That’s all.”
He’d let it go for now, but sooner or later, Kennedy would tell him what was bugging her. “Can I help you make breakfast?”
“No, I got it. You need to do a onceover on the bike. You know, kick the tires.” She smiled when he did. Tilting her head, she raised up on her toes and kissed him softly on the mouth. “You have to move, Cree.”
“I like being close to you.” He growled, dipping his head so his teeth scraped the delicate skin beneath her earlobe. A nip to her ear, a soft kiss to the side of her throat where her pulse beat rapidly . . . god, he loved the way she reacted to his touch, loved the way her skin smelled.
Taking the eggs, bacon, and cheese from her hands, he set them on the counter and continued kissing all the spots that turned his woman on.
If she wouldn’t tell him what else was bothering her, he’d have to distract her from that annoying little voice in her head.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cold wind ripped through the area, making the ride miserable. They knew the weather wouldn’t be favourable, but they hadn’t been prepared for the wind. Ducking her head behind Cree’s larger frame, Kennedy tried to find a way to handle the bitter winter weather slamming into her.
Her only saving grace was the full-face helmet. She was thankful her face wasn’t being assaulted by the cold. But any place the cold could seep into her clothing felt like her skin was on fire.
Cree dropped his hand to her thigh and rubbed it. He’d done it multiple times, and the contact comforted Kennedy when she struggled to stay on the bike. There was no way she’d tap out. No one would be able to say she held them up. Taking a chance, she poked her head up so she could see the milage and count the distance they had travelled and what they had left for the day.
When they’d left Red Lake and Maliki, Kennedy was ready to be on the road. Ready to get to Montreal and Player. Her excitement to reconnect with her brother had kept her fighting the weather. With the temperature not much higher than a mere thirty-two and a light sheet of ice starting to gather on the road, Cree made the choice to get off the road after three hours. Kennedy hadn’t argued.
It was both their faults they hadn’t gotten on the road on time. Cree had distracted her with too many kisses, which had them lying around, enjoying a romantic morning in bed. It had been well after lunch before they told Maliki goodbye and left the little cabin behind.
On day two, they managed to finish the last leg of the previous day’s trip and over half of the second day’s run. They had run six hard hours. Now, on day three, they were hoping to put a solid eight hours on the road to make up the miles from the previous day. The problem had come down to the weather. With the temperature dropping by the hour, Kennedy didn’t think it was in the cards for them.
Two hours in, the bike’s tires lost their grip as they travelled over a patch of black ice. Her ass slid off the tiny seat onto the fender. Kennedy grabbed onto Cree tighter as he kept the bike upright. She could feel her butt slipping on the icy metal. Closing her eyes, she felt the bike slow as Cree downshifted. When they pulled to the side of the road, the only things helping her stay on the bike were the saddlebags and footpegs, where she had tucked the front of her boots underneath them. Untangling her feet, she climbed off the bike.
“Fuck.” Kennedy didn’t give a rat’s ass how Cree felt about that word coming out of her mouth. She doubted he could even hear it with the face shield down.
