Country Roads(66)

She was walking down the stairs when the sound of a powerful engine roared through the front door of the inn. Bursting onto the porch, she saw Paul swing one long leg over the bike to dismount. Like her, he wore jeans, but his were topped by a black leather jacket. He pulled off his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair before he turned and saw her.

The way his face lit up made her heart expand to nearly fill her chest. Even she, in all her inexperience, could have no doubt he was happy to see her. She flew down the steps and hurled herself against him. He staggered slightly at the impact as he caught her in his arms. “That’s what I call a hello,” he said.

She tilted her face up. “Now say hello to me.”

He bent her back over his arm nearly to the ground and kissed her on the lips. As he brought her back upright, she felt light-headed and grabbed at his arms to steady herself. A clutch of panic tightened her throat, but she fought it down. It was just the sudden change in altitude that made her dizzy. Nothing more serious.

“You okay?” he asked, the laughter in his eyes fading as he scanned her face.

“Just breathless from your kiss.”

He bent to kiss her again, this time slowly and deliberately. When he lifted his head, she was holding on to him because her knees had turned to jelly for a different reason. He looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Maybe later you’d like to ride something besides my bike.”

She felt the blood flushing the skin of her neck and cheeks. “Depends on how good your driving is.”

His laugh held a slight rasp as he brushed her cheek with his finger. “Let’s get some leather and a helmet on you.”

He took her hand and led her toward the gleaming silver motorcycle parked in the circular drive. A study in curves, it dazzled in the bright sunlight. She especially liked the two chrome exhaust pipes that whooshed from front to back, widening as they went. “Wow! It looks like it’s going a hundred miles an hour even when it’s standing still.”

He patted the engine. “One hundred fifteen horsepower at eight thousand, two hundred fifty rpm. This hog can move.” The passenger’s seat had an extra helmet and jacket strapped to it. Paul freed them and held out the jacket. “From when I was a skinny teenager. It’s still going to be too big, but better to have the protection.”

She pivoted and slid her arms into it, pulling it around her to zip it. The sleeves fell past her fingertips and she struggled to roll the heavy leather up.

“Let me,” he said. She obediently held her arms out, loving the sight of his long fingers deftly coaxing the leather into neat folds.

“Your hands are so beautiful,” she said. “I’d like to do some studies of them. See if I can capture the strength under the elegance.”

He gave the sleeve a last turn and held his fingers out wide as he examined them. “Can’t say I’ve ever thought of them as anything other than useful.” He looked up at her with a wicked grin. “Especially for getting a certain reaction out of my favorite artist.”

She fought down her blush this time. “Yeah, they’re good at that.” Which is why she’d like to have some sketches to take home with her. It would make the memories more real. Now why’d she have to start thinking about that when she just wanted to enjoy the experience ahead of her?

She reached for the helmet and gave him a lascivious smile. “I can’t wait to feel this baby between my legs.”

“Caught in my own trap,” Paul said.

He adjusted the helmet and showed her how to climb onto the back of the motorcycle while he held it steady. He settled into the seat in front of her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled up against the leather stretched over his back. The front of her thighs fit against the back of his like puzzle pieces. When he kicked on the engine, a flutter of nerves made her lace her fingers tightly together over the flat muscles of his abdomen.

This would be fine. She’d been off her meds for two years without a seizure. But those two years were lived in the carefully controlled environment of her home and studio. She’d never done anything even remotely as dangerous as riding a motorcycle.

If Paul got hurt because she had a seizure and dragged him off the motorcycle, she’d never forgive herself. “Paul! Let me—” The bike surged forward with a roar that drowned out her request to get off.

She buried her face in his back and forced herself to breathe deeply as Paul guided the motorcycle onto the main street. The speed limit was only thirty-five miles per hour, and he seemed to be sticking to it, so she felt the bands of panic loosen their hold around her chest. She sucked in more air and turned her head so she could see the scenery sliding past. Although Paul’s broad shoulders sheltered her from the brunt of the wind, it still whooshed in her ears.