Chapter 11
CECE
I’ve never been much of a runner, but right now my legs are carrying me out of the town square with a determination I didn’t know I had.
Brayden’s bike rumbles beneath us, devouring the asphalt as the festival fades behind.
The wind lashes at my cheeks, leaving them stinging, but I don’t care.
All I register is the solid line of his back against my chest and the steady vibration of the engine beneath us.
“Hold tighter,” Brayden calls over his shoulder, and I react instantly, wrapping my arms around him until there’s no space left to close.
We take curves I’ve driven a hundred times, yet they feel transformed at this speed, on this machine, with him guiding us.
Each bend pulls our bodies into the same motion, moving together as though this isn’t our first ride but our hundredth.
The ease of it should unsettle me, but instead it feels as though I’ve stepped into something I’ve needed for a long time without realizing it.
I don’t ask where we’re going. For once, I don’t need a destination or a plan. Just being in motion—away from the stares, the whispers, and Ethan’s self-satisfied expression—is enough.
When Brayden finally eases off the throttle, we roll into the overlook above town.
During the day, tourists stop here to photograph San Salona tucked in its valley, every storefront and rooftop arranged so neatly it could be framed.
At night, the view shifts into a spread of twinkling lights, the entire town glowing below us, transformed into something almost enchanted from this distance—far enough that none of its flaws can reach me.
I suck in a breath as Brayden kills the engine. The sudden silence feels deafening after the constant roar of the motorcycle. My arms are still wrapped around him, my fingers clutching the leather of his cut.
“You can let go now,” he chuckles. “Or not. I'm good either way.”
I reluctantly loosen my grip and slide off the bike, my legs wobbly beneath me. The adrenaline that carried me through the confrontation with Ethan is starting to fade, leaving me shaky in its wake. Brayden swings his leg over the bike with an easy grace that makes something flutter in my stomach.
He takes off his helmet, running a hand through his dark hair, “You okay?”
“I think so,” I manage. “I just...I can't believe I did that.”
“Did what? Stood up to that asshole?” Brayden steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body in the cold night air. “He deserved worse.”
“Not that.” I shake my head, fumbling with my helmet strap. “Left. In front of everyone. With you.”
His hands replace mine on the strap, gently undoing the buckle. “Regretting it already?”
“No,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “That's the scary part. I don't regret it at all.”
The helmet comes off, and the cold air slams into my face. I should be shivering at this height, yet Brayden’s presence seems to blunt the worst of it. Or maybe the rush of adrenaline still hasn’t settled.
“Come here,” he says, leading me to the wooden guardrail that separates the overlook from the steep drop below. “Look at it.”
San Salona glitters beneath us like fallen stars, the Christmas lights transforming the town into something beautiful and distant. From up here, you can't see the gossip and judgment, the narrow minds and narrower streets. Just light and possibility.
“It looks so small. So innocent.”
“Hard to believe it's the same place down there that we just left,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around myself against the chill.
“That's the thing about distance. It changes your perspective.”
He shrugs out of his cut and drapes it over my shoulders before I can protest. The leather is still warm from his body, and that intoxicating scent of him envelops me.
“I can't take this,” I protest, though I'm already sliding my arms through the arm holes.
“You're shivering,” he points out. “And I run hot.”
I run my fingers over the embroidered edges, feeling the worn leather beneath my fingertips.
“I know I am not that well versed in the whole biker culture, but are you supposed to just lend out your colors like this?” I ask, only half joking.
His mouth quirks up in that almost-smile that makes my heart stutter. “What they don't know won't hurt them.”
I turn back to the view, trying to ignore how the leather seems to warm me from the inside out.
“So was she…?” he asks, trailing off.
“If you mean, was she the mistress that finally broke apart our marriage? Yup, that’s her,” I confirm. “I can’t believe he brought her home for Christmas. He knew I was coming home.”
“That’s precisely why he did, sweetheart. To hurt you.”
“You think?” I ask, though I know he's right. The realization stings more than the cold air whipping across the overlook. Ethan brought her here specifically to hurt me. To show everyone in town he'd upgraded from his boring ex-wife to the blonde bombshell who'd been waiting in the wings.
“I know,” he sighs. “Men like that, they need to win. Need everyone to see them winning.”
I let out a shaky laugh that clouds in the night air. “Well, it worked. Until you nearly lifted him off the ground by his cashmere scarf.”
“Sorry about that,” he smiles, though he doesn't sound sorry at all. “I should've controlled myself better.”
“No. Don't apologize. It was...” I trail off, searching for the right word.
“Hot?” he supplies, that cocky smile playing at his lips.
“I was going to say satisfying.”
“Liar,” he teases, bumping his shoulder against mine. “But I'll take satisfying.”
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the twinkling lights below. In the distance, I can make out the soft glow emanating from the town square, growing brighter by the second. The giant Christmas tree must be lit now, the culmination of the festival I just abandoned.
“Look,” I mutter, pointing down at the sudden burst of light at the center of town. “They're lighting the tree.”
Even from up here, I can see the massive pine transform from a dark silhouette into a towering beacon of multicolored lights.
For twenty-five years, I've watched that tree light up from the ground, surrounded by familiar faces and hot chocolate. Now I’m seeing it from above, as if I’ve stepped outside my own life for a moment.
“First time you've missed it?”
“Yeah,” I admit, surprised to find I'm not devastated. “But somehow, this view might be better.”
He turns to look at me then, his eyes reflecting the distant lights of the town below. Something shifts between us. A current in the air that makes my breath catch. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I feel myself swaying toward him like he's gravity and I'm helpless against the pull.
“Brayden,” I whisper, and it's both a question and an answer.
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, echoing his words from the night before.
This time, I have no desire to.
“Don't,” I say, my voice barely audible over the wind. “Don't stop.”
This time when his lips meet mine, there's no hesitation, no gentle introduction. He kisses me, pulling me closer until I'm pressed against the solid wall of his chest. I clutch at his shirt, suddenly grateful for the guardrail at my back because my knees have gone weak.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly. I gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his free hand settling at my waist, fingers digging into my hip through the layers of his cut and my coat.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, clouds of vapor mingling between us in the cold air. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel the steady rhythm of his heart matching my own.
“I've been wanting to do that again since yesterday,” he admits. “Haven't thought about much else.”
“Me neither,” I confess, surprising myself with my honesty.
His thumb traces my bottom lip, still sensitive from his kiss. “What are we doing, Cece?”
It's a loaded question—one I don't have an answer for. What are we doing? Crossing boundaries that shouldn't be crossed. But standing here with Brayden's taste still on my lips and his cut heavy on my shoulders, I can't bring myself to care.
“I don't know,” I answer honestly. “But I don't want to stop.”
“You sure about that, princess?” His voice dips. “Because if we cross that line… I’m not the kind of man who holds back.”
A shiver rolls through me—heat, not cold. “Maybe I’m done with people tiptoeing around me,” I say, breath catching. “Like I’m something fragile.”
His hands find my waist, pulling me in until there’s no space left between us. “You’re a hell of a lot tougher than they give you credit for.”
“Then prove it,” I fire back. “Stop acting like I’ll shatter.”
For a heartbeat, he just looks at me, something unreadable flashing across his face. Then his mouth crashes back to mine. This kiss is all hunger and need, his hands claiming every inch they touch.
I try to get closer despite the layers between us. When his teeth graze my bottom lip, I gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy with want.
His hands slide down to my hips, lifting me easily until I'm sitting on the guardrail, the wooden edge digging into the backs of my thighs. The position puts us at eye level, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer.
“Careful, princess,” he warns against my lips. “We're playing with fire out here.”
“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” I whisper. And it’s true. After the frost that defined my marriage, the heat rising between us feels almost redemptive.
His hands slip beneath his cut, then under my coat, and when his fingers find the spot where his hoodie has ridden up, they meet bare skin. Hot, rough, deliberate.
The first stroke up my waist nearly buckles my knees.
God—how can one touch hold so much? His fingers move with a care that makes me feel seen in a way I’ve never known.
I shiver, breath catching, but he knows damn well it isn’t from the cold.
His gaze drops to the hoodie hanging off me, sleeves swallowing my hands, hem shifted by his touch. A look sweeps through his eyes—hungry, possessive.
“Fuck,” he breathes, thumbs pressing harder into my hips. “You in my hoodie… you don’t even know what that does to me.”
Oh, I know. I can feel it in every place we’re touching, every place we’re not.
He leans in, his lips brushing a slow path along my jaw, each touch deliberate, as though he’s memorizing the feel of my skin. His breath is hot, his voice even hotter.
“I should get you warm,” he murmurs, though his hands are already beneath the edge of my hoodie, resting at my waist with a familiar certainty. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m warm,” I whisper, tugging him closer by the front of his cut, dragging his mouth back to mine. God, I need him. I need this. “Don’t stop.”
He releases a sound that’s half-groan, half-exhale, something unguarded that sends a spark racing through me. His grip tightens, drawing me fully against him, his breath rough against my throat as he tries—and fails—to steady himself.
If this is him holding back…I don’t stand a chance when he really lets go.
He chuckles, the sound low and rough, rolling through me like a slow burn. It settles in my bones, in my stomach, in every place that already aches for him.
“As much as I’d love to forget the world right here…” His thumb strokes my hip, lazy and possessive, and my breath catches. “You’ll be shaking from the cold before I’m even close to being done admiring you.”
His voice is pure gravel. That look in his eyes? It steals what little control I have left. Heat, want, and something that feels dangerously close to devotion.
He leans in just enough that his breath brushes my ear.
“When I fuck you for the first time,” he murmurs, the words a promise and a threat all at once, “it’s going to be somewhere warm.
Somewhere I can put my hands everywhere I’ve been wanting to.
” His fingers tighten on my waist, dragging me closer.
“Somewhere I don’t have to rush. Somewhere I can take… my…time.”
My knees nearly buckle, heat flashing through me so fast it’s dizzying.
And God help me—I want that. All of it.
“The first time?” I ask softly.
His mouth curves, slow and certain. “First of many, baby.”
The look in his eyes sends a shiver down my spine, half warning, half invitation. I swallow hard.
“Then take me somewhere warm,” I whisper, my fingers brushing the line of his throat. “Take me back to your place.”
His eyebrow arches. “Why not yours?”
I laugh, the sound carrying away on the night breeze. “My father's house? Are you insane? He'd have an exorcist waiting at the door.”
“Fair point.” His hands tighten on my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the guardrail and setting me on my feet. “My place it is.”