He pressed forward, plastering his chest to my back, and put his head on my shoulder, his lips near my right ear. “Pull over somewhere, anywhere, so I can kiss you and blow you before we have to go back.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “No sir, we’re not doin’ that.”
He slid both hands up under my shirt, mapping my abs, and then one slipped higher to pinch a nipple.
“You’re gonna make us wreck.”
“I can’t help it,” he rumbled, tightening his arms around me, one hand sliding down, down to the bulge in my jeans. “You’re mine now, and I want to put my hands all over you.”
It was hard to breathe suddenly, even with the wind in my face.
“And this is exactly what you wanted.”
“What is?”
“Me, all over you.”
“Did I?” I goaded him.
“I’ll beg,” he promised. “You want me to beg?”
“Just be good, and I’ll reward you when we get back.”
His lips on the side of my neck made me feel like I was flying.
Ending our ride early, realizing that as amazing as the bike was, Nick was the real draw, I dropped him across the street and then drove back into Mr. Beachem’s yard, parking the bike and killing the engine.
“How’s she ride?” he asked as he started toward me.
“Like a dream,” I told him, tossing him the keys. “Thank you again, sir, that was a treat.”
“My pleasure,” he said, hand out for me.
We shook warmly, and he gave me a clap on the shoulder. I was heading back across the street when a voice stopped me.
“Wait.”
I turned back to a woman I hadn’t seen before.
“I didn’t get to say hello.”
She turned out to be Mr. Beachem’s daughter, Cheyenne, and it was interesting when she commented on how beautiful my ring was, and needed to take my hand to see it up close. I didn’t correct her, just smiled and nodded.
Nick was leaning on the porch railing, scowling at me.
“What’s with the look?” I teased him, climbing the few steps to reach him.
He straightened up and crossed his arms, doing a really good impression of me, same stance and everything.
“Why did that woman stop you?”
“To look at my ring.”
“Why?”
“I suspect because she never saw one like it before.”
“That’s because it’s one of a kind, just like you.”
“Oh yeah?” I baited him, ignoring the compliment. “How can it be a one of a kind if the guy’s makin’ another one?”
“You know as well as I do, that the only reason he’s doing it is because we’re using them for our wedding rings and I’m paying him a mint.”
I grunted.
“You’re trying to goad me into an argument so I forget that woman was holding your hand,” he suggested, shooting me a pointed look.
“No, not really. I don’t wanna fight with you,” I crooned, leaning in to brush my lips over his jaw. “And you know it was nothing because you know me.”
“Yes,” he allowed as I tilted his head up so I could kiss him. “I do.”
He opened for me, and I wanted to ravage his mouth, make him moan and clutch at me, press his body against mine and finish what we started when we were riding the bike, but we were on the porch, not at all alone.
Easing free, breaking the kiss, I loved that he leaned with me to try and prolong the contact. Nothing like knowing that the person you wanted was in the exact same place.
“Loc,” he whispered roughly, his hands on my hips, keeping me in place, not letting me walk away. “Do you want a different ring? Something with diamonds or––”
“No,” I assured him. “I want the one you’ve loved all this time.”
He threw up his hands in defeat.
“What?” I asked, chuckling, loving him all disgruntled. It was just as sexy as him behind me on the bike because both spoke to his want of me.
“Suddenly all you say is the right thing?”
“Always,” I replied, my voice sultry as I grinned at him. “Unless you’re planning to take your ring back?”
“God, you’re an ass.”
I couldn’t suppress the cackle.
“You’re going to be wearing that ring for the rest of your life,’ he assured me. “It’s best that you get used to it now.”
“I dunno,” I said flatly.
“I’m sorry?”
I grunted.
“Oh? Think you can do better?”
I shrugged.
He growled. I laughed.
“I’m warning you that if you take off that ring, I will do something so horrible that––”
“I won’t take it off, jackass,” I rumbled, gesturing for him. “C’mere.”
I loved how fast he moved.
That afternoon, people started showing up, and there were more cars along the road than the day before. I told Nick I wasn’t sitting up front like a crazed groupie, but I would walk around and wave from time to time.
“Okay,” he agreed as we ate lunch together on the porch, me answering emails, him plucking on the strings of his guitar, writing in his spiral notebook as he worked through lyrics. “Hey,” he said, bumping me with his boot.