The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet(7)

Nice ass, too.

And she made a mean lunch. Jesus, his mouth watered just thinking about it again. The woman could cook. Not that it was why he wanted to go out with her. There was something in her eyes that called to him. It was a soft sadness, like her sense of fun had been ripped from her far too early.

He wanted to be the one to make that spark reignite. She was far too pretty to look so tired and careworn.

Maybe this was a mistake, though. Jericho raked a hand through his now-floppy hair and straightened his leather jacket. He hadn’t dressed up. Kinda figured that she either liked him or she didn’t. He’d ditched the mohawk, though. No sense in scaring a girl off.

He rang the doorbell and waited, glancing over at her cute little Bed and Breakfast sign. Her tiny parking lot was empty other than his bike. Not a bustling business, that was for sure. Still, there were better places to set up a bed and breakfast than this town. She must have had a sentimental reason for owning the place.

A moment later, the big wooden door opened. Emily stood there in, just as he’d guessed, a black cardigan and jeans. Her blonde hair was down from its serviceable ponytail and bounced about her shoulders in loose curls. Her eyes looked incredibly blue and that pouty mouth was a soft glossy pink.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

As he watched, her cheeks colored prettily. “Hello to you, too.” Her gaze went up. “You changed your hair!”

“It look bad?” He raked a hand through it again. It kept sliding into his face and was damn annoying.

“Not at all. I like it,” she blurted, and then gave him another shy look. “Did you want to come in?”

“I can if you like. Or are you ready to go?” He gestured at his bike. “I brought a helmet for you.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. Okay, sure.” She reached over and grabbed her phone off of a nearby table, swung the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, and shut the door. “Ready.”

They walked toward his bike in silence, and then he offered her his extra helmet. She examined it for a moment before putting it on her head. “Is it weird that I’ve never ridden a motorcycle?”

“Nah,” he said easily. She didn’t look like the type, so he wasn’t surprised. “Need help getting on?”

She tightened the straps under her chin dutifully. “I just sit behind you, right?”

“That’s right. Make sure you hold on tight, and don’t put your leg against the muffler unless you wanna get burned.”

“Gotcha.” She gave him a firm nod and he swung a leg over then gestured for her to hop on behind him. She did, and immediately her arms went around his waist tightly, her breasts pressing against his back. “This good?”

“That’s perfect.” And it was. Her smaller form fit against him perfectly, and he began to imagine her pressed up against him in all kinds of scenarios: in bed, in the shower together, in the kitchen with her small, strong hands moving to his belt…

He shook his head to clear it of the image. Not something he needed to think about five minutes into a first date. Never mind that it had already been in his mind since the moment she’d held her hand out to him and smiled.

Jericho tilted his head back toward her. “You on comfortably?”

Her hands gave a small squeeze against his stomach. “I’m good.”

He pulled on his helmet, started the bike, and it roared to life. The engine thrummed with a mighty purr and then they were off. Jericho loved his damn bike and he probably wasn’t the most careful driver – he tended to weave between slower cars when he was on his own. But with Emily clutching at his jacket, he tried to make things as smooth as possible so she’d enjoy herself.

It felt like no time had passed when he pulled into the movie theater parking lot and parked his bike on the sidewalk. He looked over his shoulder at Emily and nodded, and she climbed off the back. Her cheeks were flushed, her curls disheveled. “That was fun.”

He smiled. “Glad you liked it.”

“I did, though I’m surprised.”

“Why’s that?”

She took off the helmet and shook out her hair, then gave him a mischievous look. “Because it’s a Harley and you drove like my grandpa.”

He threw back his head and laughed. This woman with her sweet, wholesome exterior never ceased to amaze him. “I’ll show you something on the way home, then.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said in a lofty voice.

They left their helmets on the bike and headed into the movie theater. They’d just missed the show time on the most recent summer tent-pole flick. The next thing playing was a romantic comedy, which he said was fine. But she’d laughed and commented on his sour face and suggested a thriller instead, even though the movie had been out for weeks and didn’t start for a good forty-five minutes.