“And keep your leg off that big rod on the right.”
She’d already figured that one out for herself.
After a second, the bike rumbled under her as he pulled out of the spot, the vibrations quickening against her flesh as the bike picked up speed, pressing her flush against his massive back.
Dear Lord, how was she supposed to survive an entire ride like this?
He pulled down his visor and throttled the engine once before pulling out of the lot, exiting into the quiet street in front of the building, turning left once on the bridge, flying across it.
The world sped by faster and faster, becoming a blur she could not see without her glasses, the motion of the bike smoother than she’d thought it would be. The wind whipped through her free locks, sending them careening wildly into different directions as her breasts flattened completely against him, her body plastered to his as she gripped him around the stomach, his abs rock hard against her palms. The bike purred under her like a content beast being stroked seductively by his lover.
And she had to admit it, Tristan Caine rode the bike well. Really well. He maneuvered around crowded areas expertly, gave it free rein in the open road, all the while in complete control of the monster. Not for one second did she feel worried about breaking her neck, and she should have as they raced across the almost empty freeway way beyond the speed limit. She should have worried when she felt the gun he’d tucked into the back of his jeans press against her stomach. But she didn’t.
All she felt was free.
Wild.
Exhilarated in a way she’d never been before.
Was this the high he got every time he climbed his bike? Was this the freedom he tasted that was so elusive in their lives? Was this the wildness he felt beat like a pulse through his blood?
Morana tilted her head back, feeling every caress of the wind over her skin, feeling a rush so profound she couldn’t even explain it to herself. So she didn’t. She let herself go, let herself have this, let herself be free in a way she had never believed was possible.
Removing her arms from around him, she tightened her grip on his hips with her thighs and raised her hands above her head. Some switch inside her had flipped. She knew he wouldn’t let her fall, or he already would have, on the many chances he’d had to destroy her. She knew he would destroy her, but not today. Today, for the first time, she got to be no one but a girl on the back of a man’s motorcycle, if even for a moment. Today, for the first time, she was just a woman with no past and no future, just this endless road with this man, this freedom, and this life.
She couldn’t contain the loud shout of pure exhilaration rushing through her lips, the loud scream announcing to the world of her joy, letting the man controlling this bike know she was enjoying it. She was not inhibited about it.
Morana spread her arms, closing her eyes, feeling the wind rub against her, feeling him rub against her, feeling the bike rub against her.
She yelled even louder - unashamed, unbound, unchained.
She let herself feel deeper - uncaring, unhinged, unabashed.
It was just a bike. It was just a ride. It was just a man.
It just was.
It was almost an hour later that reality intruded.
Tristan Caine turned from the main road onto a dirt lane she’d known all her life, and for the first time in an hour of bliss, her heart started pounding again. Her fingers flexed against his abs as she saw the massive structure of the Vitalio mansion loom behind the wrought iron gates.
What the hell?
He stopped the bike on the side of the property, nearer to her wing than the gates. He parked behind thick bushes that were tall enough to hide them from the view.
The sudden quiet under her thighs contrasted starkly with the buzz that coursed through her body, setting her senses on high alert, only the sound of nocturnal creatures penetrating the area around them along with her own blood pounding in her ears.
Slowly, she removed her fingers from his stomach and her arms from around him. She pulled back enough to give him the space to get down. He did one of those leg-over-the-handle moves that she’d only seen on Sons of Anarchy, and was standing on solid ground within minutes, waiting for her to disembark.
Morana removed her helmet and handed it over to him, pulling her glasses from between her breasts and putting them on her nose, blinking at the world suddenly coming into focus. She found his intense blue eyes on her, just watching her as she threw her leg around the bike and hopped down.
Big mistake.
The sudden standing position made her knees crumple beneath her just as hands gripped her low on her hips and pulled her upright, her hands landing on his hard chest for support as blood rushed to her legs.
“You enjoy riding,” he said softly into the space between their faces.
Morana watched the moonlight play with the shadows on his face. His scruff hid his cheeks while his eyes seemed even bluer, focused on her with the same expression she could feel pulsing inside herself – sheer, undiluted exhilaration.
“You enjoy making me ride,” Morana shot back just as quietly.
His lips twitched for a second, his eyes drifting to her mouth for a long, heady moment, before the veil came back over his face and he took a step back, leaving her standing on thankfully steady legs.
Taking out his phone, he pressed it to his ear and spoke, “Now,” before hanging up.
Morana raised her eyebrows. How eloquent.
A moment later, a chunk of the wall of the property came away. A man with a thick beard stood on the other side in a guard’s uniform, nodding respectfully at Tristan Caine.
He had spies in her father’s house?
Of course, he did.
That was how he’d gotten inside and climbed her wall so easily all those weeks ago. God, that was so long ago. She’d been so different then, in so many ways.
Morana looked at him, taking him in, and realized how much she’d changed since then, and how much he had to do with it.
“Clear?” Tristan Caine asked the guard, his voice cold, lethal.
The man nodded. “Yes, sir. You can go straight to the wing. Nobody will bother you.”
Holy… okay. That was a first. Another first.
Morana watched, stunned, as Tristan Caine entered the premises, telling her with his eyes to follow him.
He was breaking into her father’s house.
She was breaking into her father’s house.
Her father - the most dangerous man on this side of the country.
Not right now, a voice whispered inside her head as she watched the man beside her. He moved with that stealthy grace of his as the guard disappeared somewhere in the shrubbery, the moonlight their only guide across the trees that lined the property.
Morana’s heart thudded erratically in her chest. This was beyond anything she’d ever imagined she would do. Yet, there she was, following the enemy’s footsteps as he wove his way in and out of the green, intruding on her father’s property to retrieve something of hers.
Watching him weave his way over that made Morana realize just how well he knew this property. Better than any enemy should know. She wondered if her father had any idea at all.
Morana saw the window of her bedroom come into view minutes later. Were they going to do the crazy climbing thing he’d done the last time? Because she couldn’t fly, and she sure as hell did not have those biceps to hold her while she dangled fifteen feet off the ground. She wasn’t the biggest fan of heights either, something she could not let him discover or he’d probably kill her by throwing her off a high cliff. She’d rather die by a plain gunshot to the head. Vertigo sucked.