3. Caden
“Dammit!” I wrench my hand out too slowly, the burn of the exhaust pipe catching the tip of my finger. Scowling, I stand to my full height and tower over the motorcycle, tempted to kick it over.
Outside the open garage doors, birds chirp mockingly at me, and I whip around to curse at them, too, half-tripping over the tools scattered around my scarlet bike. But before I can open my mouth, the sleek, black Range Rover pulls up to the front of the house, and the words stick to my throat. My annoyance melts away in the wake of Aspen’s arrival.
Damn. She’s finally here. It feels like she’s been gone for six months already.
Wiping my oily hands on a rag half falling out of the back of my jeans, I stride toward the driveway, ignoring the fact that I’m shirtless and dirty—just like the first time Aspen and I laid eyes on one another.
But I already knew she was coming today, which was why I had chosen that morning to rise bright and early and work on the motorcycle. I liked the way her eyes had trailed over my body that day, lingering on the abs I worked on religiously every morning—or whenever I rolled out of bed. It’s nice to have fresh blood in our little town.
And I want to be the first one to greet her.
Long, tan legs come into focus first, her svelte form emerging as Ryan holds the door for her. She looks so professional in a navy blazer and matching skirt, a white tailored blouse under her jacket, her purse clutched to her side to contain her nervousness.
“Welcome back, Aspen,” I call out to her, and she whirls around, startled to hear my voice from the other side than she had expected. Her full, sensuous mouth gapes, and even though she’s wearing sunglasses, I can tell she’s checking out my abs.
“Dr. Taylor,” she exhales in a whoosh of breath, her shock palpable as she removes her glasses to meet my eyes directly. “You surprised me.”
“I was just working in the garage when I saw you two pull up. Ryan, can you bring Ms. Palco—” I catch her reproving stare. “Sorry, Aspen’s…” She chuckles approvingly. “Bring Aspen’s luggage to her suite—but through the servant’s stairs. Don’t tell Flint and Lily she’s here yet.” Aspen’s dark eyebrows knit into a vee, and I wave her toward the garage. “I want to hog you for a couple of minutes before you go inside. Is that okay?”
She glances at her old, outdated cell phone, and I realize for the first time how much it doesn’t line up with the rest of her professional appearance. My gaze takes in her cheap bags in Ryan’s hands, and I understand that she’s trying to keep up a certain look. On even closer inspection, I see her clothes are all worn, too, potentially second-hand purchases, even if they’re name brands.
One paycheck around here ought to fix that right up, I think, trying to imagine her in a proper evening gown—or even some nice lingerie.
“I’m a little early,” she admits. “But Mr. Sterling said nine, sharp.”
“I’ll have you back by nine,” I promise.
“Back?” she repeats, eying me warily. “Where are we going?”
I march into the garage, kicking my tools out of the way, and jump on my motorcycle, patting the seat behind me. “Come on. You don’t want to be late on your first day, do you?”
Her dark eyes almost pop out of her head, and she waves her head so vehemently that her tightly coiffed bun comes loose.
“No! I can’t!” she chokes. “They’re expecting me!”
“At nine. It’s eight fifteen. You need to know your way around Cypress Gardens if you’re going to take Lily anywhere. You should know all her favorite spots, or you won’t win any brownie points. Come on. It will take fifteen minutes, max.”
Uncertainly, she stares at me, and I tap my foot impatiently. “What’s the problem, Aspen?”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” she squeaks.
A smirk returns to my face. “Then you better hold on tight,” I reply, grabbing helmets off the table to my right. “But I’ll try not to crash us.”
* * *
Aspen clings to my bare chest with so much intensity, I’m sure there will be scars there in the morning. I relish the feel of her pressed against my naked back, the motorcycle whipping in and out of the little traffic we have at this hour. Over the roar of the engine, I hear her gasping with each turn until I halt in the middle of town.
“See? You’re all in one piece.”
Slowly, she removes her helmet, and her chestnut hair is a disheveled mess. She’s so sexy like this. I imagine it’s exactly what she looks like in the morning, slightly wild-eyed, hair askew. I get hard just thinking about it.
“What did you want to show me?” she asks as I help her off. Her knees knock slightly, and I swallow a laugh.
After hooking the helmets to the bike, we stroll along the charming streets of Cypress Gardens. She glances back at the bike.
“Aren’t you worried someone’s going to take those?” she asks. I follow her gaze back and snigger.
“This isn’t Atlanta, sweet pea. Anyway, everyone knows that’s my bike. They wouldn’t dare.”
She cocks her head and eyes me speculatively. “You’re a doctor? Is that how they know you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Among other reasons. This is a very close-knit community.”
As if on cue, a couple waves at us from across the street. “Hey, Cade!”
I lift a hand back in greeting.
“What’s your field of study?” Aspen wants to know.
I give her a sidelong look. “Plastic surgery.”
“Oh.” She shrugs nonchalantly, and I feel a pang of defensiveness at her response.
“You may not believe this, but lots of people depend on my work,” I shoot at her as if she had attacked me. She frowns at my response.
“I’m sure they do,” she agrees quietly.
“It’s not just tummy tucks and boob jobs,” I say, “because that’s what you’re thinking, right?”
She nods.
“Okay, well, I also perform reconstructive surgeries on accident victims, skin cancer removal and reconstruction, cleft lip and palate repair…”
Understanding colors her face. “Ah, I didn’t think about that. Sorry.”
“No worries,” I tell her.
She smirks. “But you also do tummy tucks and boob jobs.”
Relenting, I shrug. “Yes, you’re right. And that is actually the majority of my business.”
She laughs, and the sound awakens something in my core. “Sometimes I think about what I might have done if I had the money,” she says, as if she’s thinking out loud.
Stopping in my tracks, I stare at her. “Are you kidding?” I ask, shocked as I study her perfect features. “You’re gorgeous. Don’t touch a single hair on your head. That’s my professional opinion. In fact, if anyone ever tells you differently, send them to me, so I can personally kick their ass.”
A pink tinge touches her cheeks, and she turns away. “Oh, look, an ice cream shop,” she murmurs. “Does Lily like ice cream?”
“Do you know a four-year-old on the planet who doesn’t?” I chuckle, resuming my walk with her. “This is actually where I was taking you first. This is one of her staple spots—but after the playground to meet with her playgroup.”
“Noted,” Aspen replies, and I can tell she’s genuinely taking my advice to heart.
I can’t stop sneaking glances at her now, wondering what she would ever want to change about herself. Or why I ever switched to plastic surgery.
We turn the corner, and Aspen exhales in awe as I point across the street. “And that is the park. Playgroup meets every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at noon, but don’t expect to make those times every week.”
The huge, interactive playground boasts every apparatus a child could want, from swings to monkey bars and four different levels of slides. There’s a pirate ship and rock-climbing wall, as well as a zipline for the older kids. It’s just another perk of living in Cypress Gardens. Only the best for our children.
“Right at lunchtime?” Aspen remarks. “That’s silly.”
“You’re preaching to the choir on that one, but I don’t organize these things.”
“Who does?” Aspen asks.
“There’s a group of stay-at-home moms and nannies. You’ll probably meet them when you take Lily.”
She purses her lips. “On that note, we really should get back, Dr. Taylor.”
Disappointment I have absolutely no reason to feel sweeps over me, but I don’t argue with her.
“You’re right,” I agree. “We wouldn’t want to keep King Flint waiting. I can show you her other favorite spots another day.”
“I’m more concerned about Princess Lily,” Aspen replies dryly, and I cast her a bemused grin.
As we remount the motorcycle, she leans into me and whispers in my ear, her hot breath sending gooseflesh I’m sure she can feel rushing down my entire body.
“Can you take it a little slower on the way back, please?”
I snicker under my helmet and shake my head. “Sorry, darling,” I answer, gunning the engine. “Fast is the only way I know how to do things.”
And before Aspen can protest, I zoom out of town and back to the house for her to start her first day.