7. Kate
Chapter Seven
KATE
He offers his hand, and I have no other choice but to take it. Feeling his warm skin against mine sends a spike of heat up to my already flaming cheeks and back down beneath my dress. Suddenly, the pressure of the fashion show has completely left my mind. My attention is totally devoted to Drew. He lifts me to my feet like I’m as light as Chantilly lace.
“Why do we keep running into each other? Literally,” I ask, trying desperately not to blush, which seems to be some kind of involuntary response to his presence. Coming face-to-face with the Londoner’s denim crotch twice in one week can’t be a coincidence. Can it?
“I think the universe must have a sense of humor.” He gazes into my eyes, and for a moment, I feel like he can read my thoughts. Luckily, I don’t know what to think when he looks at me like that. It’s like I’m Just Kate.
I glance away, tucking my hair behind my ear. “What are you doing here?” Has he come here to find me? Is he going to ask me out? Do I want him to ask me out?
Yes!
No.
I don’t know.
Drew holds up his Nikon digital camera. “Just getting some photographs of the store for the magazine.”
“Oh,” I drop my shoulders and feel like a deflating balloon making a sad little squeal. Maybe I do want him to ask me out. Ugh, it’s strange feeling like a typical girl crushing on a guy. Oh, my God—I have a crush. An actual, bona fide crush! No, no, no. I don’t get crushes. I don’t like them. The result of a crush is literally in the name.
“Nice place you got here,” he says. “I feel like I’m walking around your imagination.”
I realize he’s referring to the lingerie, but he has no idea that he’s been walking around my imagination since yesterday. Have I been walking around his?
I feel my knees shake a little, and I don’t want to make a total fool out of myself, so I say, “Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” I move past him and lock eyes with Garret, who’s ten feet ahead. He waves me back to Drew, but I shake my head.
“Leaving so soon?” Drew asks.
Soon? Drew knows a thing or two about leaving soon. I turn back, deadpan, hoping my lack of expression will lead to a lack of emotion. “Isn’t this what we do? Crash into each other and walk away?”
I should walk away. Right now. But now my legs aren’t cooperating. Why can’t I leave?
He seems to hold back a laugh and arches his brow instead. Why is he so damn cute? “I suppose there’s some truth to that.” He runs a finger over his chin, averting his gaze like he’s thinking. “I’ll tell you what, from now on, I won’t leave you hanging if you don’t.”
I drop my jaw and glare. “So you were playing games?” I knew it! Having a crush on a man is one thing, but crushing on a player . . . that’s a whole different ball game.
Drew steps closer. “Games are for children. Yesterday was business.”
I tilt my chin up, holding his sensual gaze. “And I suppose today is business too?” My tone is flirty. Unintentionally flirty. But I can’t help it.
He takes another step, and my pulse begins to race. “Just until I get all the shots I need.” Any closer and he’ll crash into me. And I want him to.
“Then what?”
He drops his eyes, and I feel his fingers graze my hand. But he doesn’t take it. Instead, he pulls my phone away. “Then, I’ll take you to get your phone repaired.”
His face relaxes into a casual expression and the debonair act is over. I almost completely forget about my phone and the fact that we’re standing in the middle of my store.
“Really?” I ask, looking at the hopeless, broken screen he’s holding up. “Today?”
“Sure, if you’d like.”
“Yeah, I guess we could do that,” I say, trying to sound cool as a cucumber. Okay, the fact that I’m even thinking that phrase tells me I’m not cool at all. I clear my throat and straighten my spine before folding my arms over my chest. “I just need to finish my interview.”
“Great. I’ll be ready when you are.”
“Perfect.” I sound anything but perfect. Nothing about the way I feel around him is perfect. Except that it feels really good. And that’s what makes me nervous. Maybe I shouldn’t let him take me to get my phone fixed. Then again, it’s an errand, not a date.
He huffs a small laugh and walks back to the front of the store. Did I say something funny?
I glance around the boutique. Every woman in here, working or shopping, has her focus on Drew while he focuses the lens on his camera. I can sense the pheromones circling the air. But I can’t blame them. I want to watch him too, but Danika’s waiting.
So I return to the bench and request we finish the interview in the back office where it’s quiet. Translation: Drew-free. But I’m hyperaware of him wandering around my boutique. It’s not only mental, it’s visceral. And now it’s distracting. I’ve forgotten how nagging crushes are, how they pull at your attention every free moment.
Soon, the interview comes to a close, and I thank Danika for coming by. She leaves me with a pair of air kisses and heads out. I hear Drew down the hall asking Layla where he can find me. Are we about to run into each other on purpose? I grab my bag, take a breath, and meet him.
“I was just coming to get you,” he says, and I feel my whole body trembling. He’s so damn hot he makes me nervous.
“Shall we go,” I reply, gesturing at the front door.
Shall? I never say shall unless I’m speaking with a very lame Elizabethan accent.
He takes the lead, and I follow him through the store. Garret and Layla wave goodbye as a few of the customers shoot me some not-so-nice looks. Perhaps their jealousy will inspire them to spend more. I know I would if I were in their shoes.
I hope they don’t decide against buying because the designer is leaving with the hottest guy to ever step foot in the store. Which is a true statement. Once, a TV heartthrob took his girlfriend on a shopping spree in my boutique. That was very good for business. But that TV star has nothing on Drew.
“This is our ride.” I point to the black town car as it pulls up to the curb, the one I called about twenty minutes ago.
Drew dismisses it with a look. “I have another mode of transportation,” he says, walking up to the car.
Another mode of transportation?
Garret said Drew’s loaded. Maybe he has a personal chauffeur with a much nicer car. Or a Bugatti. Or a private jet. The driver rolls down the tinted window, and Drew leans in. Then I see the motorcycle helmet hanging on his backpack. He pulls a stack of cash from his jacket pocket and hands the driver what looks like the equivalent of a twenty. “Apologies for your trouble,” he says. The guy takes the money, dips his hat, and drives off.
My gut twists tighter than a motorcycle around a telephone pole, which is exactly what I’m afraid of.
Drew turns to me. “I’d like to take you for a real ride. Ever been on a motorbike?”
I swallow hard at his words, a mix of excitement and apprehension. “No,” I say, thinking it will be safer to walk away. I’m not cruising around the city in a vehicle with no doors. Especially in this minidress.
“A virgin, are you?” He arches his dark eyebrow, and I feel that twist in my gut unravel. “There’s a first time for everything.” He waves me over, and I follow him to a vintage motorcycle parked along the curb. This guy really is a James Dean wannabe.
“Look, Drew. I appreciate you wanting to help me repair my phone and all, but there’s no way I’m getting on the back of that bike.”
“Don’t be shy, Kate. You haven’t yet been formally introduced. This is Black Jack.” Drew gestures to the metal machine as if it can greet me with a how do you do handshake.
I give him a funny look. “You named your motorcycle?”
“Of course. I name all my motorbikes.”
“Well, thanks for the introduction, but I can’t ride this. I don’t have a helmet.” Or the guts.
“That won’t be a problem.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he pulls out a small bowl-shaped helmet. “Safety first.”
I suck in a deep breath and hold it. Before I can say another word, he places the helmet on my head. I don’t flinch or try to run away even though I’m willing my legs to move. If I were to name them, I’d call them Betrayer One and Betrayer Two. “I don’t think I’m a motorcycle kind of girl, you know?”
“How do you know? You’ve never been on one before. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He begins fastening the strap around my chin.
I hate to admit it, but he makes a valid point.
When I was a kid, Lisa was always eating salad with the grossest-smelling low-fat Caesar dressing, so I thought it must be disgusting. Then I was at a dinner party at my college roommate’s family home, and they served Caesar salad. It would’ve been rude not to at least try it. So I did, and it was the most delicious salad I’d ever had. I practically licked my salad plate that night. I missed out on years of Caesar salad, and to this day, it’s my favorite. I never would’ve known if I hadn’t been forced to try it.
Then again, riding a motorcycle with someone you barely know is not the same as sampling a salad.
“But I’m wearing a dress,” I invoke the only good excuse I have left.
“I noticed.” He tilts his gaze down, lingering below my waist. “You can tuck it in beneath your legs. It’ll be fine.” Drew walks closer to the bike.
My feet are firmly planted on the sidewalk. “But what if I fall off and die a horrible death?”
The look in Drew’s eye changes like he’s finally acknowledging that I’m legitimately afraid of riding a motorcycle. He walks back to me and softly places his thumb along my jaw. “Kate, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, all right? I promise.”
He’s so close I could kiss him. And I want to. And maybe the only way I get to is to get on his ride. I swallow a dry lump in my throat and stare into his eyes as they glow amber in the sunlight. In this moment, I believe him, he won’t let anything happen to me. “Okay. I’ll try it.”
He grins. “So, you are a secret adrenaline junkie?”
“We’ll see.”
“Good. Now, if it’s too intense, tap on my chest three times, and I’ll stop.” He fastens the helmet to my head, and my cheeks flush. I probably look ridiculous. He helps me hop onto the back of Black Jack. “Just trust me and hang on tight. When I lean, you lean.”
My heart pounds hard in my chest, partly because I’m actually doing something I never thought I’d do and partly because I’ll be holding on to him the whole way there. I tuck my dress beneath my legs and check my helmet for what feels like the tenth time.
“Grab on,” he says. “Don’t let go.”
I grip his torso tighter as the throttle roars. He glances back, then pulls out onto the street.
Whoa!
My pulse races with the speed of the motorcycle. With my chest pressed up against his back, I bet he can feel my heart pounding. The wind blows my hair off my shoulders and ripples over the edges of my skirt. I pry one hand from around him just long enough to re-tuck my skirt in place. As soon as I’m done, I clutch his leather jacket in my hands and brace myself against the chilled wind washing over me.
His hot body between my legs is the only thing keeping me from freezing my knickers off. Still, the breeze is invigorating. He turns the corner, and I lean slightly with him. I shut my eyes tight, feeling like we could tip over at any moment. But once we’re upright again, I open them. A wide grin spreads across my face, and I let out a deep exhale. I figured a motorcycle ride would be thrilling in an if-I-don’t-die,-this-will-be-a-great-story kind of way, but I’m actually having fun.
Garret will be so proud. Finally, my body loosens up, feeling as fluid as the wind. The motorcycle rumbles beneath me, and I squeeze my thighs against Drew, tilting my hips. The vibration hits just the right spot. Ooh, that feels kind of good. So I move my hips a little more, and a moan escapes my lips. The sound is lost in the growl of Drew’s accelerating bike.
With my arms around his waist, I toy with his soft leather jacket and press my breasts against his back, inhaling a mix of him and chilly London air. Drew picks up speed as we turn the corner again, leaning as one. The bike rumbles beneath me, and I clench tighter around him, feeling a rush between my legs. Then, a sudden, tingling wave of ecstasy shoots up my hips and down my legs. “Oh,” I moan again and grip his jacket in my hands. My lashes flutter as my body releases all that beautiful pent-up energy.
Did I just?
Yep.
Best. Ride. Ever.