Chapter 36
my very own batman helmet
Hannah
I clap the phone receiver down and run my hands through my hair. One week out from the gala with a to-do list a mile long and my clients can’t seem to keep their noses clean for half a day.
Since I received the unofficial job offer from Mr. Whitley, I’ve been…
distracted. Everything’s getting done, the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, but my passion has shifted.
Standing on the cusp of something that truly inspires me while having to show up for this other thing that sucks my soul dry and not having anybody to talk about it with is an exhausting place to be.
The only person who knows is Rowan, the biggest and best distraction of them all.
Barely more than one week left.
I’ve fallen asleep every night, tucked into his frame while his hands practiced over my skin. A little haven of space we’ve designed where I feel safe. And it’s worked. Maybe a little too well.
Touch by touch, he’s blazed a path over my body. Legs, back, stomach—exactly what I’ve asked of him. More than once, I’ve had the urge to coax his hand a little higher, a few inches lower, under the fabric instead of over. But the memory of my panic earlier this week has kept me from asking for it.
Yet, despite those fears, my body doesn’t always agree with my head.
Like when I wake up curled around his torso, aching for more. A burn that lingers all day, prickles of awareness skating over every inch he hasn’t touched yet.
The sharp knock at my office door jolts me out of my thoughts, and I smile up at Olive. She drops a few files on my desk, departs, and I reorient myself into something more productive: my keynote speech.
I trudge my way through a first draft that I’m content to walk away from until Monday. The office clock counts down to five, but I’m already prepping to leave so I can get back to the lake as fast as possible.
My phone buzzes.
*Rowan has sent you a pin*
Rowan
Meet me here when you’re off.
Walk. Don’t drive.
The map opens and I zoom in. Thank God he can’t see my dumb smile through text.
Me
Three blocks in these heels? I expect a foot rub later.
Rowan
At your service, sunshine.
Now, hurry up.
Me
So bossy.
Purse thrown across my chest, I shut down my computer and bolt out the door.
Rowan doesn’t see me right away when I round the corner.
The entrance to the hotel where I almost got married five years ago is flanked by towering floral topiaries, and the bell hop out front nearly opens the door for me when I breeze by, assuming I’m a guest. I wave him off, attention fixed on the soldier down the block.
Parked in the spot where I first met him, Rowan leans against his grandfather’s vintage Ducati.
Ankles crossed, dark jeans, basic white T-shirt that hugs his upper body a little too tight.
His arm muscles flex beneath his tattoos as he taps away on his phone—those pesky prickles strike again, sending a tingle up my spine.
I run and pin him with a searing kiss before I can think better of it. He pulls me in instantly, returning the kiss with a fervor so intense I’m breathless by the time it’s over.
“Hi,” I say, topping off the greeting with another light peck.
“Hi. Thought you might like an adventure ride back to the lake.”
I pull my lip between my teeth. “I’m wearing a dress.”
Rowan’s languid gaze takes in my emerald-green shift dress. The material isn’t form-fitted and the hem hits a few inches above the knee. It’s not restrictive, but it’s still a dress and that is still a motorcycle.
He flashes a wicked grin. “Never stopped you before. Here.” A black helmet matching his thumps my sternum.
“My very own Batman helmet? You shouldn’t have,” I tease while he puts his on and hikes a leg over the seat.
His reflective visor lifts, blue eyes meeting mine. I fight the wind to tame my hair into submission as I squeeze my head inside. After fiddling with my view shield for several seconds, Rowan chuckles and crooks a finger from his seat on the bike.
I step in close. “What about my car?”
He tips my head to reach the mechanism and the visor drops into place. “We’ll come back for it tomorrow.” The engine revs and a deep vibration rumbles the concrete where I stand. “Hop on, let’s get outta here.”
He lowers his shield while I climb on behind him.
“Closer, baby.” His voice is muffled, deep, all sin and gravel from behind his helmet. “Nobody gets a peep show.”
Another shiver races through me as I wrap my arms around his middle. He grabs the backs of my knees with both hands to pull me forward. The fabric of my dress rests high on my thighs, the solid pillar of him wedged between them.
One quick squeeze of my hand on his stomach, a look over his shoulder, and we race off the curb in a rush of wind and speed.
We weave through the city streets, the breeze while we’re in motion softening the intensity of the summer sun. Rowan’s hands are everywhere—handlebars, fingers twirling with mine on his stomach when we’re on a straightaway, braced on my thigh leaning into a turn.
A forty-five minute stretch of highway extends before us when we reach the edge of Boulder proper. The horizon glows vibrant hues of amber and gold, clouds parsing the sky between the Flatiron peaks bathed in large swaths of green pine trees.
My hair a hurricane at the back of my neck, I extend an arm like a bird with clipped wings attempting flight.
Rowan swivels his head to check on me, then back to the road.
His hand lands on my leg with a firm grip, anchoring me.
He scares a bit when I push off his back to feel the wind on my chest. His arm darts behind him, encircling my waist to urge me closer.
When I throw my arm out again and his hand immediately follows, I think he might reign me back in. Instead, he twines our fingers together mid-flight, holding them there while cutting glances between me and the highway ahead.
He doesn’t stop me. Just steadies me, makes sure I’m safe. Always aware. Always protective. Never stifling.
I fold myself back around him, rest my cheek on his spine.
I love him.
Rowan’s arm comes to rest against my knee.
I coast my palms from his biceps to his hands, squeezing once.
Then up his chest, curving over his shoulders, carving a path as though I can communicate my thoughts through touch alone.
Every time our hands find each other, every time he inclines his head looking for me, I swear it feels like me too.
Out here, I have no reservations. With the wind biting my skin, the rumble of the engine beneath me, and this brick of a man between my legs, I worry for nothing. I’m not scared. Not anxious. Because Rowan is safe, a calm in the storm.
Goosebumps break over my flesh in the wake of his fingers in their tender glide over my legs, my arms, and every time he pinches my knee as to say I got you, baby.
By the time we approach the turn-off for the cabin, my nerve-endings are on fire. I want his mouth, his hands, on me in places they haven’t ventured yet. I want him.
As we traverse the road cut between the trees, my pulse races. My hands grip his shirt, right over his heart, and that’s where I feel it—the steady, frantic thump in time with mine. He unclenches my fist, squeezes our palms together, bumps them once against his chest, and holds them there.
The threshold from the gravel to the concrete of the garage interior bumps under the tires as Rowan wheels us inside.
The bike comes to a stop, the exhaust rumbles in jarring, pointed blasts.
He doesn’t kill the engine, only sweeps the kickstand down and yanks off his helmet, tossing it to the ground.
Feet planted, he spins at the waist. I throw off my helmet in the same manner, my lungs already fighting for air. He wraps a commanding arm around me, the other lifting my leg around his middle.
“Come here,” he orders, breath hot against my mouth.
I’m spun to his front like the cap on a bottle. I link my ankles at his back and slam my desperate lips to his. The growl of the engine echoes off the metal walls as our mouths give chase, teeth and tongues colliding.
My legs tighten around him, the ache between my thighs intensifying. His fists clench at my back and he grunts.
“Please,” I pant between the push and pull of our lips. “Touch me.”
He draws back, presses his forehead to mine. “I’ll do whatever you want. Tell me where.”
The way I grab his hand and slap it to my upper thigh is instinct. His eyes trace the path as I guide it higher, the fabric of my dress going along with it, until the tip of a single finger grazes the hem of my panties. “Here,” I breathe.
Rowan groans, sucks in a labored breath through his nose, a moment to gather himself before he gets to work.
Just like that, my purse is gone, tossed along with our helmets.
He resumes our kiss with one hand cradling my head, my hair tangled in his fist while he lays me down over the gas tank between the handlebars.
A delicious flare of heat sears my shoulder blades and my ankles release from behind his back to flank his ribs, causing the hem of my dress to ride up to my waist.
Lips glistening, he shifts on his heels to look at me. “Say it again, baby. I need you to be sure.”
I yank him by the dog tag chain around his neck until his face is mere centimeters from mine. “I’m sure, baby.”
Something sharpens in his gaze at the term. Darker. A little wild. But he’s in control, he always is. Those steely irises home in—a promise of rapture and ruin behind them.
His hand slips between my legs once more, sliding up to loop a finger inside my panties. My head falls back on a gasp.
“Eyes on me,” he rasps. “I’ve got you.”