Page 11 of Come Ride With Me
Mica
Come ride with me.
It was a simple sentence in response to her request to learn more about the bikes. That was all. Mica repeatedly told herself this as she pushed her arms into the leather jacket she’d worn today. She wrapped her black and blue scarf around her neck and pulled her gloves from her pocket. She was ready.
Still, she hadn’t taken a step out of her office.
Silly, she thought. She was being very silly.
Securing her phone in her pocket, Mica walked out of the office and down the steps. There were a couple of people in the showroom and for a second, she looked at them, wondering which bike they would purchase and why. That thought reinforced what she was about to do. Taking a ride with Nash had nothing to do with the weird sensations moving through her body at the idea of being up close and personal with him on the back of a bike, and everything to do with finding out more about this company. Mica knew she couldn’t just read financial reports all day or look at pictures of bikes on the internet to figure out what this company had meant to her father. To save Bellamy Motors, she needed to find the passion, the pulse that made this facility beat for all these years. She sensed it was the bike and not the business. Now, it was time for her to find out for certain.
“You ready?”
She jumped when she heard his voice. He was standing close behind her and when she turned, they would have been face-to-face if he wasn’t so much taller than her five-foot four-inch stature—even with the added elevation of her boots. With her eye-level at his chest, she had to tilt her head upward to see his face. The action instantly made her feel small and even more out of her league than the stark contrast in their occupations.
For a long moment he simply stared at her, as if he were deducing their height difference as well. Except the way his lowered gaze fell on her felt like more. It felt like he was assessing, considering…maybe enjoying? If the hitch in her breathing and the emergence of those pesky pricks of arousal she’d been trying to push back all morning were any indication, then she’d definitely take the darkening of Nash’s gaze and his refusal to take a step back to put some space between them as a ‘maybe’. Not that she’d asked him to move, because she hadn’t. Nor had she stepped back, which was also an option. No, she stood right there as if her body needed to be this close to his.
His lips pressed together tightly; she knew because her gaze had gone to them as she recalled the feel of his mouth on her in that very detailed dream she had. Then, he moved, or rather his arms did as he lifted a helmet and placed it gingerly onto her head. That, for whatever reason, left her feeling safe and secure.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly she recalled his previous question and replied, “Yes. I’m ready.”
Minutes later she was outside in the chilly air. Spring would be here in another month or so, but right now, winter in Destine was full of bright sunshine and brisk winds.
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” she said as she walked behind Nash to the same spot where his bike was parked the night before.
“I figured as much,” he replied without turning back to look at her.
The jeans he wore were faded, worn and just a tad baggy, but not so much she couldn’t catch the outline of strong legs and a great ass. He wore black ankle boots that were laced up tightly and looked to have steel-toe reinforcement. She glanced down momentarily at the cute black suede wedge booties she’d worn today and figured a shopping trip might be in her future. Her wardrobe didn’t consist of bike riding gear and she had a feeling this was going to be her first ride of many.
“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted.
They were near the bike now and Nash looked over his shoulder to say, “Don’t be.”
She nodded and rubbed her gloved hands together in an effort to calm herself. What happened to that safety she’d just felt when they were inside? She’d already admitted to never having been on a bike before, but she knew that wasn’t the sole source of this resurfacing trepidation. It was definitely this man.
He hadn’t put his helmet on yet. She figured it was on his bike as he walked in front of her with only the keys he’d pulled out of the front pocket of his jeans in one hand. He wore a leather jacket too, a dark brown one that almost matched the color of his eyes. And he walked with confidence, no, it was more than that. Swagger, that was definitely it. Not a fast gait, but not a slow one either. A pace that screamed move-the-fuck-outta-my-way though. His shoulders were broad, his low-cut hair neatly lined in the back.
She was paying an inordinate amount of attention to this man which probably contributed to the apprehension she’d started to feel again. This wasn’t where her attention was supposed to be, and yet, she couldn’t stop it from circling back to him each and every damn time.
“This bike is different from the ones inside. I noticed it this morning when I came in,” she said when they’d come to a stop and she forced rational words into her brain.
If she could just focus on the business at hand, she would make it through this without acting like an inexperienced schoolgirl. Because this horny teenager thing was working her nerves.
“It’s different from any bike you’ll see anywhere,” he told her as he went around to the side of the bike. “At least, right now.”
Then, he shrugged. “When you think of a motorcycle, what manufacturer names come to mind first?” he asked and she paused a second to consider. The question, not the man who became impossibly finer as he stood by that bike like it was somehow an extension of his manhood. A very satisfying extension.
“Harley Davis,” she said with pride because that name had appeared prominently in her first online search for motorcycles.
He shook his head and since he still wasn’t wearing a helmet she could see the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. That action caused her heart to skip a beat and an increased thumping between her legs. Imagine how she’d react to his full smile.Shit.
“What’s so funny?” She snapped, irritated now by her insubordinate thoughts and physical reactions.
“It’s Harley Davidson,” he said. “Your accent’s cute.”
She attempted a nonchalant shrug, even as the hint of humor in his voice increased her body’s incessant response to him. “Okay so is this a Harley Davidson?”
“No,” he said. “It has a rebuilt Harley engine with some added power. This bike is a combination of the best in the bike world. It has the endurance of an ADV, or what we call an adventure touring bike, but it’s light and has the speed and handling of a sport tourer.”
