Page 9 of Sweet Addiction
“Now plant your feet on those pegs and don’t move them,” he orders and waits for me to find the pegs and press my boots against them. “Okay, Ryan, I don’t wear a helmet, so I don’t have one for you. Try not to fall off,” he warns, and my eyes widen.
“What do I hold onto?” I ask uneasily.
With a quick look back at me, he grins the kind of grin that makes smart women do stupid things. “Me.”
Oh hell... Tentatively, I grab his waist, but that’s not good enough for Rome. No... why would it be? He takes my hands in his and forces them around his waist until they’re wrapped completely around him, tucked under his warm coat, and my face is pressed against his back.
Oh yeah . . . Such a bad idea.
Worse yet, ten minutes later when we stop in front of my place, my face chilled, my hair a wind-whipped mess, and my body nearly numb yet somehow still vibrating with awareness, am I positive it’s not the only bad decision I’ll make tonight.
Rome cuts the engine, but the vibrations continue to rock me, and my legs feel like Jello beneath me. “You okay back there?”
Am I okay?
Great question.
“I’m not sure yet,” I tell him honestly as his gaze swings to mine. “I feel like my legs are going to give out when I move to get off this thing.”
That gaze turns molten with my words, and my freezing-cold body heats like someone just struck a match and lit my blood on fire.
Well . . . hell.
I look from it to him, trying to pinpoint exactly what I’m feeling and failing stupendously. What the fuck? This man is gorgeous—sure. He’s always been sexy in that bad-boy Beneventi kind of way that only he and his brothers and cousins can pull off. But this... This whole demanding, take control, kind of swoony man standing in front of me and offering me his hand for like the millionth time tonight—yup. He’s new.
I debate whether to take the hand he’s holding out for me for a hot minute before realizing there’s no way in hell I’mgetting off this thing without his help and press my palm to his, damning my mother again for my short legs.
“Avert your eyes,” I tell him.
“What?” he chuckles.
“Your. Eyes,” I warn him. “Keep them off my legs. I didn’t exactly plan on riding on the back of a motorcycle when I planned my outfit for the night.”
Rome sits there, staring dumbfounded before he looks away. “Whatever you say.”
I try to slide off the damn thing as gracefully as I tried to slide on it, but I’m pretty sure that’s an epic fail, and judging by the look on his face, Rome thinks so too.
Stupid. Gorgeous. Asshole.
I straighten my dress and try to get my bearings before I drop his hand. The ice-cold air numbs my cheeks and maybe my good sense... just a tiny bit. Because I’d swear Rome Beneventi is looking at me differently than he ever has.
And worse . . .
I’d swear I like it.
Not good. Okay, time to say goodbye and cut that train of thought off before it gets going. Rome and I flirt. We’re good at that. But that’s all we do. All we can do. My sister is married to his cousin and best friends with his brother. Our parents are friends. And Rome... Well, he’s Rome. ’Nuff said.
But if it really was enough said, why do a swarm of butterflies feel like they’re taking flight in my stomach?
“Thanks for the ride,” I stutter, my words coming out in short, frigid, smokey staccato puffs of smoke. “And the save. I’ll see you around.” I wiggle my frozen fingers goodbye as I take my first step away.
Rome hits the kick-stand, and the bike settles beneath him before he swings his leg off and stands, offering me that damn hand again. “Invite me in, princess.”
Oh. Shit.
This is what happens when you talk a good game but have absolutely no actual game to back it up. Eventually, you get called on it. Shit.Shit. Shit.
I lift my chin and hold his stare.
