Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CAT
“Safety first, McIntyre.” Robbie hands me a helmet with a no-nonsense look, his eyes briefly taking in my outfit—fitted jeans, comfy checked shirt buttoned over a simple tank top, and the denim jacket I grabbed at the last minute.
“What? Not biker chick enough for you?”
“It’ll do. Just glad you didn’t come out in that tartan miniskirt you were wearing last night.”
Despite myself, I grin. It’s hard to believe this is actually happening. Just minutes ago, I cried in front of Robbie MacDonald. Broke down and sobbed like a wean. And instead of turning on his heel and leaving, which would have been the easy option, he stayed. Made me tea. Listened. And now...
I slip the helmet on, watching as Robbie does the same then swings a leg over his motorcycle in one smooth, practised motion. His powerful thighs grip the machine like he and it were made for each other—man and metal in perfect harmony.
When I climb on, I’m surprised by how intimate it feels. The so-called passenger seat is no more than a small shelf that leaves me balanced just behind him, my thighs bracketing his hips. As I settle in, I’m wrapped in his scent, a heady mix of leather, soap, and something raw and masculine.
Robbie snaps down his visor and I follow suit. The engine growls to life beneath us, sending vibrations through my entire body that are both terrifying and exhilarating.
“Arms round me,” he shouts over the rumble.
I hesitate, my hands hovering near his waist. “I thought we agreed there would be no funny business?”
“This isn’t funny business. It’s basic safety. You need to hold on properly or you’ll end up on your arse when I accelerate.”
“Fine.” Tentatively I place my hands at his waist.
The motorcycle lurches forwards, and just like that, I abandon any pretence of casual contact and instead wrap my arms tightly around him and press my chest against his back, my pride forgotten in the name of self-preservation.
We roar down Main Street, then the motorcycle picks up speed as the houses give way to open countryside. We take a bend in the road, and Robbie leans the bike into it, the ground seemingly inches from my knee. I squeal, my heart hammering in my chest, a cocktail of fear and exhilaration flooding my system. The speed, the closeness, the danger... it’s intoxicating.
Fields and forests blur past us in streaks of gold and green. Every curve in the road brings a fresh surge of adrenaline, chasing away the last of my gloom until I’m grinning so hard my cheeks ache.
With every mile we cover, I grow more attuned to Robbie: the solid wall of his back, the way his muscles shift subtly as he steers the bike, the sensation of my jean-clad legs against his. My mind flashes to last night in the woods. His commanding tone, the cool metal of that tantalising piercing against my tongue, his wickedly addictive taste. My entire body had burned with want when he walked away with my knickers stashed in his pocket.
Not the time, McIntyre. Not the time. I shake the memory away, focusing instead on the landscape rushing past us.
All too soon, Robbie slows the bike and pulls off onto a small dirt track that leads to a viewpoint overlooking Glen Garve. He kills the engine, and my ears ring in the hush that follows.
I slide off the bike, trying not to look like a newborn foal finding its legs, but my thighs are wobbly. Turns out gripping onto Robbie for dear life uses different muscles than galloping across a field on horseback.
Robbie takes off his helmet and glances over his shoulder at me, a few strands of dark hair falling across his eyes. He flicks them back with one swift movement, like he’s part motorcyclist, part shampoo advert. “So? What did you think of your first ride? Bit of an adrenaline high, eh?”
I tug off my helmet and shake out my hair. “It was fine,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, even as my heart still pounds from the thrill.
Smirking, Robbie climbs off the motorcycle. “Fine? You nearly squeezed the life out of me back there. You were glued to me tighter than a limpet on a rock.”
My cheeks warm, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “Seeing as I went on your bike,” I say instead, “I’ll have to get you on a horse at some point.”
“Me on a horse? Nah, not happening.”
Robbie secures his helmet onto the lock by the rear wheel, tucks mine in the saddlebag, then we set off along a narrow path that leads into the woods bordering the viewpoint. The trees provide welcome shade from the August sun, and I reach out to brush my fingers against leaves as we make our way along.
For a moment, I think about my parents and how as a family we’d take walks like this when I was wee. I’d sit atop my da’s shoulders, feeling like I could almost touch the highest branch, or maybe even the sky. I’d give anything for just one more of those carefree afternoons.
To distract myself, I clear my throat. “So, about clearing your name?—”
“Let’s not talk about that right now. We came out here to take a break, remember?”
“Aye, okay.”
The path narrows, forcing us to walk closer together. Even with the leafy branches overhead sheltering us, the day is warming up, and I remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. Robbie follows suit, shrugging off his leather one and tossing it casually over one shoulder. In his white T-shirt and jeans, he looks like he’s stepped straight out of a 1950s film, all brooding intensity and barely contained rebellion.
“What should we talk about, then?” I ask after a moment of side ogling. Inspiration strikes, and I click my fingers. “Oh, I know! Did it hurt like hell to get a bit of metal put through your penis?”
Robbie lets out a laugh so sudden and deep it startles a pair of birds from the branches above, sending them flapping into the sky. It makes me want to keep tossing out ridiculous questions just to coax another sinful rumble from him.
“You know what, let’s not talk about that either.”
I grin cheekily. “We have to talk about something , and you’re shutting down every topic I’m suggesting. If you won’t let me grill you about your piercings, what do you want to chat about, then?”
“How about nothing below the waist?”
I roll my eyes then nudge his shoulder playfully. “Fine. But since we’re not talking about that ”—I gesture vaguely towards his crotch—“how about we talk about your driving? Maybe it just felt fast because I’m not used to motorcycles, or maybe it was because you were going way over the speed limit.”
“Jesus, what is this? An interrogation? I’m a good rider. And a safe one.”
“Er, you do remember I was holding on to you like my life depended on it, right?”
“You were enjoying yourself.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t speeding. And given the whole”—I wave my hand—“police investigation thingy you’ve got going on, maybe it’s not the best time to be racking up tickets.”
“Fair point. Actually, a week or so ago I was going pretty fast when I passed one of those mobile speed vans. Didn’t see it until too late. Wouldn’t be surprised if I get a fine through the post.”
I groan. “And that’s going to help your case how, exactly? ‘Sorry, officer, I didn’t steal anything, but aye, I might have done ninety in a sixty.’ Brilliant.”
“Just because I was going a bit over the speed limit doesn’t mean I steal things from people.”
“No, but it doesn’t paint you as Mr Law-Abiding Citizen either. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m upset today because I’ve been thinking about my parents, who I lost in a traffic accident. I’d rather the same thing didn’t happen to you.”
Robbie’s expression softens. “Shit, you’re right. Sorry.” He runs a hand through his dark hair.
“Besides, I’d hate for you to get a driving ban now I’ve discovered I don’t completely hate clinging to your back and pretending I’m some badass biker chick.”
Robbie raises one eyebrow, his piercing glinting in the dappled sunlight. “Sounds like you think this’ll become a regular thing.”
I shoot him a shameless wink. “Maybe it will.”
He shakes his head, but I spy a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
A comfortable silence falls between us as we continue through the woods. I’m surprised by how natural this feels. Lately, most of my time with Robbie has been me flirting and him expertly dodging every advance. But with Project Bang a Bad Boy officially on hiatus, at least for today, I’m discovering he’s actually decent company. He might not be much of a talker, but being around him is surprisingly easy.
The path soon opens up to reveal a small clearing, where sunlight glints off a pool of water, still and glassy. The branches of the trees around it are adorned with strips of cloth in every colour imaginable, fluttering and twisting in the gentle breeze. A clootie well.
“Ever made a wish here?” I ask.
Robbie crouches, picks up a smooth stone, and rolls it between his fingers like it’s suddenly fascinating. “Aye. As a kid. Tied a scrap of cloth to one of those branches and wished my maw would treat me the same way she treated Johnny.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise, but I don’t interrupt. I give him the space to continue, if he wants to.
He lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Obviously, it didn’t work. That’s when I knew it was all a load of nonsense.”
I let his words sink in. It’s hard for me to imagine someone as big and tough as Robbie standing here as a young lad, desperate enough for his maw’s love that he tied a clootie to a branch and wished for something most folk never have to ask for.
“She... had this way of looking at me.” Robbie stands but doesn’t meet my eye. “Like I was a problem she couldn’t solve. Johnny? He could do no wrong. But me? I was just... more bother than I was worth.” He pauses then shakes his head as if to dismiss the memory. “Doesn’t matter now.”
I reach out and lightly touch his arm. “It does matter. She should have made you feel safe and wanted, not like that.”
My maw never treated me that way, not even when I went through my moody teenager phase. She’d just sigh, call me her “wee hurricane”, then pull me into a hug so fierce I’d forget why I was storming about in the first place. My heart aches at the thought of Robbie growing up without that warmth.
He glances at me, just for a moment, then looks away again. “Aye, well. She left Scotland years back. Lives somewhere sunny now, I think. I’ve not spoken to her in... honestly, I don’t know how long it’s been.”
I want to ask more, like whether his maw has ever tried to reach out, or if he’s ever confronted her about the way she treated him. But before I can form a question, Robbie blows out a long breath.
“Didn’t mean to spill all that. Let’s leave it there, aye?”
I hesitate, my natural curiosity urging me to push for more. But I catch the tightness in his jaw, the way he’s still avoiding my gaze, and I know better than to press him further. So I nod.
There’s more to Robbie MacDonald than the “bad boy” label that’s been slapped on him, that’s for sure. He’s complex, with his own struggles and vulnerabilities, just like everyone else. I’m starting to realise how shallow my previous impressions of him were, never mind my recent campaign to get into bed with him. A twinge of guilt twists in my gut.
I take a step closer to the well. “I think I’d like to make a wish.”
“You actually buy into this nonsense?”
“Maybe... maybe not.” I shrug. “But they say folk have been tying wishes to these branches for hundreds of years. Maybe there’s something in it, eh?” I look down at myself, considering, then grab the hem of my shirt and tear off a small strip of fabric.
Robbie doesn’t say anything, but he watches me as I approach one of the trees. I could wish for something for myself, but instead I make a silent plea for Robbie. Let him be cleared of these accusations. Let the truth come out.
I tie the clootie to a low-hanging branch then step back and brush my hands together decisively. “There. Now we wait and see if it works.”
Robbie scoffs softly but doesn’t say anything more.
We wander back through the woods, sunlight flitting between the trees and striping the path at our feet. The mood has changed—not quite awkward, but not exactly easy either. Heavier, if that makes sense.
When I spot a flash of chrome through the trees, I decide enough is enough. Time to lighten things up.
“Race you back to the bike! First one there gets to ask the other a personal question, so be prepared to give me a very detailed answer about what it was like to get that ”—I point at his crotch—“pierced.”
Before Robbie can respond, I’m off, sprinting along the last stretch of path with a whoop. Behind me, there’s a muttered curse, followed by heavy boots pounding on the ground.
I’m fast—years of running alongside horses when helping out at lessons have given me speed—but Robbie’s legs are much longer than mine. Just as we near the motorcycle, his strong arms wrap around my waist, lift me clean off my feet, and spin me away from it.
“Cheater!” I squeal, but I laugh when he sets me down. He does too.
We’re standing close now—too close, maybe. His hands linger at my waist, and I’m very aware of the warmth of them through my clothes. Our eyes lock, and everything else fades away. The flecks of silver in his gaze steal the breath right out of my lungs.
But then, as if suddenly remembering himself, Robbie steps back, breaking the spell. He reaches out and taps his motorcycle before I can gather my wits.
“I win.”
“Bollocks! That wasn’t fair!” I protest, trying to ignore the lingering warmth from his touch.
“Aye, well, you never specified the rules.” Robbie scoops up his leather jacket—he must have flung it aside earlier when he swept me off my feet. “Now I get to ask you a question. Hmm... all right, how about this? What is it you want, Cat? And I don’t just mean from me. I mean from life.”
That’s a big question, I think. But I smirk and lean against the bike. “What do I want? Hmm... my own horse. That would be nice. And maybe a flat that doesn’t look like a construction site.”
My bravado falters when Robbie just stands there, looking at me like he sees right through all my nonsense.
“Okay, okay! But seriously, beyond that, I’m not entirely sure. I mean, it’s not like life comes with a manual. But...” I chew my lip, considering. “Maybe I want to stop being the girl who parties too much or flirts with every guy she meets just because she can.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been this candid with someone before, but there’s no judgement in Robbie’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch or frown or make me feel daft. So I continue. “I’ve done that for a while already, and it was fun. Don’t get me wrong, I had a blast down in Glasgow, but... maybe it’s time to move on.”
Robbie is quiet, his gaze thoughtful, then he nods. “Wise words, McIntyre.”
I untie my denim jacket from my waist and shrug it on, not quite ready to admit to myself how much his approval pleases me. “Anyway, for now, I want to go back to Bannock, and maybe then we can have a serious chat about clearing your name. Because it’s going to be all too easy for folk to accept you did it. We’ll have to put up a proper fight to make them see you’re innocent.”
Robbie sighs. “Aye, no kidding. Story of my life.” He hands me the spare helmet. “Let’s head back, then.”
I slide it on then swing onto the bike behind him. The engine growls awake beneath us. This time, when I wrap my arms around Robbie, it feels less like clinging on for dear life and more like holding tight to something I’m not sure I want to let go of.