Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars 1)

I fidgeted, messed with the hem of my leather jacket.

He eased forward.

Flames lapped.

He shocked me by looping an arm around my waist and pulling me flush. A tiny gasp sped up my throat. He buried his face in my hair, and I nearly died right then when his lips tugged gently at the lobe of my ear.

“Knew the second I saw you that you were the sexiest woman I’d ever laid eyes on, Mia West. But dressed like this? I changed my mind—it’s you who is going to ruin me.”

The blush took full bloom, and I was chewing at my bottom lip that was painted red when he edged back. He reached out and tugged it free, the pad of his thumb sending a crash of chills down my spine. “Don’t mess with that lipstick. I plan on kissing it off later.”

Those nerves skittered. Shivered and leapt.

Unprepared to find him like this.

Lighthearted for the first time.

Confusion knitted my brow. He just laughed, stepped back, and took my hand. “You ready to get out of here?”

“I’m not sure I could ever be ready for you,” I admitted.

His expression softened, and he traced the angle of my jaw with the pad of his thumb.

Tenderly.

So at odds with the man I’d come to know.

“Know the affliction.”

We stared for a beat.

Lost.

Hearts drumming out ahead of us.

He blew out a breath and snatched my hand. “Come on, let’s go before I say fuck to this show and have you in my bed.”

Turning on his heel, he started for the gate, leading me by the hand. Every so often, he glanced back at me with this look on his face.

One so different than I’d ever seen him wear before.

Like . . . like . . . he was almost happy.

Like he couldn’t believe I was there.

Like the fact that I was meant everything.

I raced to keep up with him. My heeled boots clicked on the walkway, and I clung to his wrist with my free hand while my other was clutched in the massiveness of his. He punched the code for the gate, and he held it open for me to go ahead of him.

He’d already pulled his bike out of the garage, all that gleaming metal sitting there waiting to be tamed.

I inhaled a shaky breath.

“Are you nervous?” The warmth of him suddenly hit me from behind, his breath skating across the sensitive skin of my neck.

“Nope, not nervous,” I squeaked.

Positively terrified.

Terrified this bad boy was going to strip me bare. Leave me broken and mangled and beaten.

I was nothing but a willing participant.

He wound around me and grabbed the helmet he had hanging from one of the handlebars, turned back, and carefully situated it on my head.

Brown-sugar eyes never left mine as he fastened the strap.

My stomach quivered, and my knees knocked.

“Perfect,” he murmured. He touched my chin. Gently.

Oh man, I wasn’t quite sure how to keep up with him when he was like this.

Slinging his leg over the motorcycle, he balanced it, and his booted foot came down hard to kick it over.

God. How was that sexy, too?

This man oozed it.

Bled it.

The roar of the engine coming to life sent vibrations up the back of my legs and crawling across my flesh.

Taking over.

This low buzz that grew louder and louder.

Amplified when he pulled back the throttle and revved the powerful motor.

He sent me a cocky grin, angling his head for me to climb on. “You ever ridden before?” he asked.

“Once or twice.”

“Most important thing is to relax and let your body follow my movements. Don’t fight it. Enjoy it.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

He chuckled a low, grumbly sound, at one with the bike, and I was swinging my leg over and tucking myself close to the strength of his body.

I wrapped my arms around his waist.

Sensation raced, and my heart thundered at his back. No question, he could sense it, feel it, as if the man had a direct line connected to me.

“Hang on,” he shouted.

It was becoming clear it was going to be impossible to let go.

He eased out onto the road, and the sun blazed down from above, rays flashing through the leaves of the trees from overhead as he took the bike to the street.

Easily.

Fluently.

Fluidly.

Our bodies in sync.

I guessed we’d always been.

Like we recognized the other.

He slowed for the four-way stop, and I felt the hitch in his movements, as if he were seeing the scene play out all over again, too.

The horror.

The dread.

The what if.

I squeezed him tighter and tucked my chin over his shoulder. Let my gratefulness wash over him.

Seep and soak and simmer.

I was so thankful that he’d been there when we’d needed him most.

Power vibrated from the bike as he carefully maneuvered the Savannah streets. The venue wasn’t that far from the house, and ten minutes later, we were pulling into the back lot behind a century-old building.