Chapter Seventy-Nine
Helios
On my six, same lane but staggered to my left, keeping two bike lengths back, she was technically following the safety protocols I’d taught her, but she’d been fucking throttle jockeying since we’d gotten on the highway.
“Good.”
I smirked. “I rode you all week, now you’re riding that new Monster SP like you’re itching to open her up, and all you got for me is good?”
“Free,” she corrected. Then I got the real Feralyn Alva Grayson.
“The humidity’s thick today, but the wind’s thinning it out.
A hundred and eleven horsepower and a mouthful of air is life, but not a life raft.
My body’s sore. My mind is spinning over where you’re taking me, but the gears are shifting smoothly, and everything’s… saturated. Earthy. Real.”
I glanced back at her.
“An entire world outside my lens I never would’ve known about without a six-foot-six warfighter.”
Yeah. “There’s my Haven.” I fucking loved this woman.
“The exit’s up ahead. Can I open it up?”
Normally, I was the tail gunner when we rode.
It was built into my DNA to keep this woman safe.
Put myself between her and the whole fucking world.
But the second she’d gotten on her own bike, got that taste for speed, I’d learned my Haven needed someone to pace her fucking speed more than she needed my ass hugging her six.
Also learned that she was gonna do whatever the hell she was gonna do on that bike no matter what I fucking said.
“Keep it dirty side down,” I warned.
“Okay.”
Wondering for the hundredth time what the fuck I’d been thinking when I’d bought Haven her own goddamn bikes, I watched her sweet ass in her tight leathers as she flew past me. Then she wove between four cars, cut across three lanes, and hit the exit ramp doing ninety.
Of course I fucking followed—doing one-ten off the exit to pass her.
I hit the light first, and she pulled up alongside me a second later.
Clutch in, she glanced over and fucking revved it. Twice.
Not that she could see past my tinted visor, but I fucking grinned. “You good now? You get the lead out?”
“No. Can we get back on the highway?”
Christ, this woman was gonna be the death of me. “Not a fucking chance.” I didn’t care how hot it was today, we were taking fucking county roads back to the house.
“Where are we going?”
“Patience, woman.”
“Do you have another island you bought without telling me?”
“Why?” I glanced at her. “Don’t like the one I already have?” I’d been so busy fucking her all week, learning every inch of her body, that I hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room. Now I was taking her all the way out here.
“Honestly?”
Fuck. “You want to have this conversation now, we’re pulling over.” I needed to be face-to-face with her to hash this shit out.
“I—” She nodded at the traffic light. “It’s green.”
“Blue Island conversation now or later?”
“It’s fine.” She shifted into gear. “Later.”
“Follow me.” Driving through the light, I pulled in front of her, but I hadn’t been watching this woman for eight years with my head up my ass. Shit was not fucking fine.
I lasted five miles with her silence.
“I can hear you thinking, Haven.”
“You didn’t tell me about the island.”
There it was. The shit she had festering. “Told you I was saving it.”
“Why?”
This conversation wasn’t happening while we were on the bikes. “I’m pulling over. Park in front of me.” No shoulder to speak of, canals on either side of us, I drove onto the widest section of berm I was gonna find here and threw down my kickstand.
Haven pulled in front of me.
“Stay on your bike,” I ordered, getting off mine and scanning each direction.
“Okay.”
I took off my helmet as I strode toward her, then flipped up her visor. “You want your kickstand down?” She was short as shit, but her legs were long, and I’d had a low-profile seat put on the Monster. Both her feet could touch the ground at the same time on this bike, but fucking barely.
Leaning the Monster with only her left foot planted, she shook her head. “I’m okay.”
No, she fucking wasn’t.
Straddling the front wheel, I grabbed the handlebars and steadied the bike for her.
Then I looked at those amber eyes. “I bought the island seven years ago after it was hit by a hurricane. Took me until June of this year to get the place cleaned up, paid off, and the infrastructure solid. Wanted to take you immediately, but I didn’t want only a fly-in or weekend stay.
I wanted time with you there. Month or two.
More. But it was the beginning of hurricane season, so I was gonna take you in November. Then shit happened.”
“The Vulture,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” Now I needed to get shit put back together, but no way in hell was I taking her back while the place was shot up and bloodstained. I’d need a few trips to make it right.
“I’m sorry about… the shooting.”
“You’re not apologizing for any of that,” I reminded her.
“That motherfucker’s dead. We’re here, and we’re moving forward.
Once I get the place cleaned up, I’d like to take you back.
Show you the island. If you don’t want to go, if that’s a hard limit, then we don’t fucking go.
If you need time to think about it, then take the time. ”
Inhaling, she glanced around at the agriculture on either side of us. Then she exhaled and looked back at me. “You can’t have an entire island that you don’t go to.”
“I won’t own a place that gives you more trauma.” That was a hard fucking limit for me.
Her eyes went wide. “You can’t sell it because of me.”
“Woman.” Jesus, I wanted my mouth on hers. “You know how much I’d make off selling it?” I winked. “Don’t fucking sweat it. You don’t want to go, we’re good.”
“I don’t want to not go, but….”
She had fear. I fucking got it. “I hear you. Give me time to fix shit, then we’ll revisit this conversation. Copy?”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
“Welcome.” I flipped down her visor. Then I stepped back, put on my helmet, secured the chin strap, and issued orders. “Follow me.”
Her response came through the built-in headset. “Yes, sir.”
“Now you’re getting it.” Smirking, I got back on the Ducati and pulled onto the road.
My woman followed.