I decided to go and work out rather than heading into the house. Rufus followed me to the converted barn, lying down in the wide entranceway after I rolled open the large wooden doors.

One side of the barn was storage. Things from the house my parents had left, some of the boxes I had packed of their possessions and brought back after they had passed. There was some furniture, boxes of papers, and extra things from the garage. There was now a large empty spot where the Camry used to sit, covered and protected. My bike was parked beside the doors.

The other side, I’d turned into a workout area. I didn’t need a lot of fancy equipment. I had my weights, a treadmill, and a fitness trainer that did the job of several pieces. There was a shower in the corner for after I finished my workouts, some speakers for music, and a small fridge for cold water. After warming up and doing a full set with the weights, I turned on some music and hit the treadmill, finding my rhythm and forgetting everything else.

Until Charly walked in.

Her hair was a burst of fiery red with the sunlight behind it. It hung well past her shoulders in a mass of curls. She was wearing those damn cute shorts again, her legs looking trim and shapely. I narrowed my eyes at what she had on over top of the shorts but kept my pace.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

She glanced down as if she didn’t know, then fingered the denim sleeve. “I found these in a box in the storeroom! Aren’t they great?”

I held back a groan. At one point, my father had denim shirts made for the garage with the logo on them. It had silver snaps instead of buttons and was faded and soft from years of washing. I had forgotten they even existed until now. The old logo was stitched over the pocket, giving it the retro look Charly said was so popular.

But the mechanics never wore them over a tank top with the tails tied up, exposing a sliver of stomach.

My steps faltered a little. “You aren’t wearing that getup in the shop,” I grumbled, forgetting my earlier rule about keeping my voice neutral.

She pursed her lips. “Yowsers—what a prude. Spoken like the elderly curmudgeon I imagined you to be, Maxx.”

“Not a chance, Charly,” I warned.

She shrugged, not caring what I had to say on the subject. Then she tugged on the fabric knot. “Will you rip them off if I try?”

I almost face-planted. With a curse, I hopped off the treadmill and wiped my face with a towel.

She didn’t wait for a reply, instead wandering to the other side of the barn. “Wow, there is a lot of stuff here.”

I grunted, unable to get the image of peeling that shirt and shorts off her body and having my way with her again.

She stopped, staring at the motorcycle parked by the doors. “Is this yours?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a Harley guy?”

“One of my faves. I had a Ducati.” I paused. “But I don’t anymore.”

She ran her hand along the gleaming paint. “It’s beautiful. You did the restoration work?”

“Yes.”

She admired it, touching the chrome, checking out the multitoned black frosted paint and the custom airbrushing detail. She ran her hand along the hand-stitched leather seat.

“It’s a 1983 HDFXRT,” I offered.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, then moved on farther into the barn. I watched her with interest, wondering what else would catch her eye. I liked watching her move.

She stopped, staring up, a gasp of delight escaping her lips. “Oh my god!”

I shook my head to clear it, then went over to see what had delighted her so much.

She was looking up, her head bent back so her hair fell almost to her ass. I wanted to touch it. Her hair or her ass—even better, both.

I glanced up at the bicycle hanging from the rafters. It was old, the seat wide, with a basket on the front. I remembered my mother going to Littleburn, returning with groceries she’d picked up in the basket. Sometimes, it would be filled with wild flowers or berries she’d pick.

“The bicycle?” I asked.

Charly grabbed my arm. “Oh, Maxx. Could I borrow it? Please? I would take good care of it!”

Her reaction was surprising. It was just an old bike—she seemed more excited about it than the car.

I rubbed my chin. “I’ll have to replace the tires, and you’ll need to clean it up, but yeah, if you want it.” I looked at her. “You don’t want the car?”

“Of course I do. But with this, I can explore and get some exercise at the same time.” She flicked her hand in the direction of my exercise area. “I don’t like that kind of workout.”

I reached up and lifted the bike down, inspecting it. “I’ll check it out, and once I’m sure it’s safe, you can use it. The chain is loose, so I need to tighten it.”

Tags: Melanie Moreland Reynold's Restorations Suspense
Source: readsnovelonline.net