Page 12 of Come Ride With Me
“And by adventure you mean what exactly?”
“Rugged terrain, wilderness equipped, off road driving. The sport tourer is designed for the road and for maximum speed. This here, is an all-in-one combo. The best of both worlds you could say.”
He’d been rubbing his hands along the black leather seat as he spoke. She followed that movement with equal parts intrigue and desire. The latter just would not cease, no matter how valiantly she tried.
“There are others in the showroom that are similar in appearance to this one. But then there are subtle differences. Like this part here.” She stepped closer, touching her fingers over the handle, dragging it down to what looked like other poles connecting the bike together.
“That’s the frame,” he said.
The huskiness of his voice startled her but she remained still.
“I used a large cast section rather than extruded beams. Using my specially designed software, I can design so that metal is where it’s most needed and the parts are lighter but still stiff.”
“You designed this bike?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise. “But I thought you were…I mean, I thought you fixed bikes.”
Nash frowned. “I’m the shop manager, remember? I don’t only fix bikes; I detail them and supervise the assembly of the ones we have to take apart. And yes, I also build bikes.”
“So, you’re an engineer?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have any formal training. Everything I learned came from watching Bell when he managed the shop. When I was a teenager, I sometimes rode with a friend of mine whose uncle belonged to an MC club as a way of staying out of trouble. Then…”
His lips tightened as he stopped speaking and she waited impatiently for what he was going to say next.
“I started working here when I was twenty-five. I got to see another side of the bikes I’d been riding. I was intrigued so I paid close attention,” he said.
“And now you’re building your own bikes. Did my…um, did Bell know about this?” She asked after stumbling over her almost mistake.
“Yeah, he knew,” Nash told her before grabbing the helmet off the back of the bike and pulling it over his head.
She watched him climb onto the bike and go through the same motions she’d studied the night before: hands on the bars and a kick to the stand to move it to an upward position. But after he inserted the key into the ignition this time, he glanced over at her.
“Get on,” he said, his words slightly muffled by the bottom half of the helmet.
She figured her speech probably sounded the same to him as she’d had her helmet on the entire time they’d been standing outside. Stepping forward, with not a clue what she should do, Mica simply mimicked what she’d seen Nash do and climbed onto the back of the bike. There was no use worrying over whether she should touch him or not, she had no choice. She planted her hands on his shoulders and sat with her back ramrod straight.
When Nash only reached his long arms back, planted his palms on her hips and pulled her forward so that her front was now flush against his back, she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure she could speak as that undeniable heat between her legs increased. Still, facing forward, he reached up to take both her wrists, then eased her arms down until they were wrapped around his waist.
“Hold on tight,” he told her over his shoulder. “I can’t have you falling off.”
Seconds later the engine started. It was loud and when he pulled off there was a moment or two of fear as she recalled his words about ‘falling off’. She held him tighter, her fingers clenching in the material of his jacket. It didn’t matter that he was hard and smelled like a mixture of motor oil and musk—which strangely enough appealed to her—she wasn’t letting him go.
They drove through the city, or what this small town considered their city. It was in no way as large as Paris or, she figured, other major U.S. cities. No, Destine, was much smaller but it wasn’t that quaint little village type small. There were department stores and high-rise buildings on one block, restaurants, and the post office on another. Further down there was a library which stretched the entire length of that block. Across from the library were a couple of independent bookstores, as if they were purposely set up that way to encourage the competition. This was called the Reading District—Mica had overheard the only woman salesperson on staff at the dealership telling one of the older men in sales about going to a happy hour and book discussion there.
In no time they were out of the city traveling the long roads that led to the houses. It seemed as though Victorians and colonials were the only house style in this town. Nash continued to drive and the houses Mica had been seeing were replaced by landscape. Rolling hills of farmland and rows of corn were the only identifiable vegetation she could see. Amidst the hills smaller houses sat like pieces on a game board. Today’s temperature was chilly, but not freezing, so horses and cows meandered through some fields. It was an extremely calming view and before long she’d settled into her seat looking around as the bike carried them further through the town.
When the bike came to a stop Mica was still surveying the scenery. She was staring at the crisp colors of the sky, how the blue met on the horizon with the burnished yellow of the fields. The sun was still burning bright over a house in the distance and her arms were still wrapped around Nash. That is, until he turned off the engine and propped the bike on its stand. He climbed off and removed his helmet. Mica reached up to remove her helmet when his hands at her waist startled her.
“What—” the rest of the question died on her lips as he lifted her easily off the seat.
For a belated second, he just held her there. Her body flush against his as he stared at her with a mix of irritation and confusion on his face.
“Pu…put me…down.” She stumbled over the words as it occurred to her that her feet had yet to touch the ground.
Nash was effortlessly holding her against him as if this was where she belonged. She thought she was either going to have to make the request again, with a little more force in her tone, or attempt to wiggle out of his grasp. His very strong grasp, which meant it might not have been that easy to get loose. But then, he negated the need for her to do either as he began to lower her, very—no, torturously—slowly down his body. The leather of both their jackets made a weird sound, but she was certain it didn’t hide the gasp that escaped her when her juncture brushed over his obvious arousal. Yeah, they were that damn close and she was once again flustered.
The second she was on her feet, he removed her helmet and she looked away, hoping to hide the lust that would be clear in her eyes, or the confusion that probably matched his expression.
What the hell was happening?
