She folded her hands. Jacob loomed behind her, so close. She could feel the measured rhythm of his breaths even when she couldn’t see him. “You do the actual repairs?”
“Is that hard to believe?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just surprised you know how to do it, that’s all.”
He let out a breathy laugh. “At first, it was the challenge of teaching myself how to do it. I was very motivated to learn. Now it’s simply that I don’t trust anyone with these. They’re prized possessions and that means I keep them all to myself.”
“Well, they’re just incredible. Truly beautiful. I’m very impressed.”
He stepped over to a bike in the center of the front row, swung his long leg over the seat and straddled it. “This one is my favorite. A Vincent Black Shadow. Very collectible.” The motorcycle popped back off its kickstand, bounced in place a few times under his weight. His hands—good God, his hands—gripped the handles in a way that said he didn’t merely know how to care for the machinery. He knew how to ride.
“Take me out,” she blurted.
He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corner. “It’s cold out there. You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll live.”
“Have you even been on a motorcycle?” His voice rumbled, low and gravelly.
She had most certainly not been on a motorcycle. She’d lived her entire life in Manhattan. Riding on a motorcycle was the sort of thing her parents never, ever would have allowed her to do. As an adult, she’d never had the chance. Nor had she put much thought into how all-out sexy the idea might be until confronted with it.
“No. I haven’t. And that’s why I want you to take me out.” She shook her head slowly, their eyes connecting. His dark stare was like a tractor beam—he could have drawn her across the room with a single thought, not needing to utter a word or even curl a finger. He made her so damn nervous when he looked at her like that, as if he knew how easily he could mold her every vulnerability into something of his own. She didn’t have a lot of weaknesses, but there were a few. Did he know that he was one? That look on his face made her think that he did.
“You know what they say about this particular motorcycle?” he asked.
“No clue.”
“That if you ride on it fast, for long enough, you’re bound to die.”
Anna gnawed on her lower lip. What was it about being with Jacob, the man she wasn’t supposed to be with, that emboldened her? Because there was no denying that it did. He could’ve been about to push her over the edge of a cliff and she would’ve jumped off herself and figured out what to do on the way down. “I’m not scared.”
“You realize that if any part of you gets hurt, your brother will have my head.”
Anna wasn’t much for pain, but she wouldn’t mind Jacob wearing her out a little. Or a lot. “So now you’re going to use Adam as your excuse?”
He sat back, tall and straight, brushing the side of the bike’s body with his hand. He granted her the smallest fraction of a smile and it made her knees buckle. “When you put it that way, I don’t think I have a choice.” He pushed the kickstand back into place and climbed off the bike, heading for a tall cabinet in the corner. “Let’s find you a helmet and a jacket.”
Her mind was at war with itself. What are you doing? You came up here for a meeting. Shut up shut up shut up. Forget work. Forget the meeting. Who turns down a motorcycle ride with an insanely hot guy?
“We just need to be back in time for our meeting,” she said, as if it would make this sensible if she brought up work.
“That’s two hours from now. Plenty of time.”
“Okay.” Anna trailed over to him, wishing she’d had something smart or sexy or at least sane to say. She felt so overmatched, much as she had when Jacob had come to stay with her family that Christmas. As if he was guiding her, pulling her in, making her his. Except that it had never materialized that time. Was it all in her head? Would it actually happen now? If not, it would be fantastic to know now so she could preserve her dignity by dodging another brush-off.
He turned, holding out a black leather jacket. “Allow me.”
She made a one-eighty, her back to him, steeling herself to his touch, sliding her arms into the heavy garment, which weighed down her shoulders.
He patted her back gently. “A little big, but it’ll work.”
The sleeves were stiff, and she had to work at bending her arms to zip up the jacket. Boxy and clumsy for her frame, it made her feel like a child in a winter coat a size too big. She faced him and her brain sputtered, fixated on the image of him as he put on his own jacket. Dammit. It fit like he’d been born in it, adding a dangerous veneer to his admirable physique. Where did he get that thing? The Absurdly Tall and Broad-Shouldered Men’s Warehouse?