Chapter 2
CORBAN
"Yeah, Dax. Got it. I'll be back at the club before noon," I said into the phone, pulling it away from my ear as I stepped outside the café into the crisp morning air.
I could never ride past this place without stopping in for coffee and a bite.
That was when I saw it.
A red Honda Civic hatchback parked at the curb, about twenty feet from the café entrance. Clean and in good condition. It looked relatively new. But the right rear tire was flat as hell, the rim nearly touching the pavement.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath.
I knew almost every car and bike in this small town.
Barely fifteen hundred people lived here.
I came here so often for work or a casual ride, that I’d come to recognize vehicles the same way you recognize faces.
This one wasn't familiar. Which meant it probably belonged to someone visiting, or someone new who just moved here.
Either way, it belonged to someone inside the café right now, completely unaware their day was about to get complicated.
I was in a hurry. I had to get back to the club or Dax would be pissed at me.
But I couldn’t just walk away. It wasn’t in me to see a problem and pretend I didn't notice. Not when I knew someone was about to walk out of the café and find their morning completely ruined.
I shoved the rest of my cinnamon twist in my mouth, the sweet glaze coating my tongue.
I washed it down with the last of my lukewarm coffee, which had gone from mediocre to bad in the fifteen minutes since I bought it.
I crushed the paper cup in my fist and dropped it into the trash can by the door, then I headed back inside.
The bell over the door gave its usual jingle, and heads turned my way. Small towns were like that. Nothing went unnoticed, and if you missed it, someone would tell you about it before the day was out.
I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of all the eyes on me. I hated being the center of attention. I always had. "Anyone in here drive a red Civic hatchback?"
I got a couple of shrugs. A few polite shakes of the head. Old Jim Turner at the corner booth blinked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, which was possible since he was deaf in one ear and refused to admit it.
"No one?" I asked again, a little louder this time, making sure my voice carried to the back where I could hear Marnie and Pearl chattering about something.
Still nothing but blank stares and headshakes.
Then she stepped out from the back room. My eyes went wide and I was sure my mouth was hanging open.
Following behind Marnie and Pearl was a woman I hadn't noticed earlier. But now that I had, I couldn't stop looking.
She had chestnut waves that fell past her shoulders, catching the light from the window.
Big eyes, the color unclear from this distance but definitely striking.
Soft pink cheeks that looked like she'd blush easily and often.
She raised her hand in a nervous little motion, one finger up like she was afraid she'd parked wrong or caused some kind of problem.
I swear to God, she was stunning.
She looked about five-foot-five, maybe five-six if she was wearing boots with a heel.
All curves and softness and a kind of beauty that felt completely natural.
She wasn't model-thin or magazine-perfect.
She was soft in all the places that mattered, with hips that flared and a chest that would overflow in my hands, and thighs that looked like they were made to wrap around a man's waist.
And she seemed like she had absolutely no idea how beautiful she was.
We locked eyes across the café. Time stopped, or at least it felt like it. Everything else faded into background noise. The conversations around us, the clink of coffee cups, the hiss of the espresso machine. All of it disappeared.
All I could see was her.
"What's the problem, Corban?" Marnie asked, her voice cutting through whatever trance I’d fallen into.
I blinked and swallowed hard, forcing my brain to work again.
"It's got a flat," I managed to say, though I was still looking at the woman standing beside Pearl.
I didn't know her name yet, but somehow I needed to find out. She blushed deeper, her hand still hovering in the air like she wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Pearl leaned toward her and asked gently, "Where are your keys, Tilly?"
Tilly.
The name suited her.
Soft, sweet, and easy to remember.
Not that I was ever going to forget her.
My brain was spinning, full of wild, fast thoughts I couldn't control. Like I’d just mainlined a pot of coffee straight into my bloodstream. Like every nerve ending in my body had suddenly woken up after years of being dormant.
Her movements were shy and uncertain as she dug into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys on a simple keychain. I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and held out my hand.
She placed the keys in my palm, and the moment our fingers touched, holy fuck.
It was like a jolt of electricity shot straight up my arm. I felt the heat and energy all the way to my bones.
We both pulled back fast, like we’d been burned.
I didn't say a word. I couldn’t trust my voice not to crack or say something stupid. I just turned and walked out, moving so fast I nearly took the door off its hinges, pushing through it and gasping for air like I’d fallen off one of the boats in the harbor and had been underwater.
The trunk was full when I popped it open. Clothes, a few books, garbage sacks, and a reusable grocery bag stuffed with what looked like toiletries, with the tops of shampoo bottles and a toothbrush visible.
She’d just arrived here. That much was clear from the way everything was tossed in the back.
I didn’t want to snoop. I wasn’t that kind of person. But I did ease the grocery bag open just a little, telling myself I was checking for anything that might have shifted or broken during the drive.
Just to be sure she didn't have anything dangerous in there. A black widow spider hiding in the folds of a towel or something. I couldn't bear the thought of one of those little bastards sinking its fangs into that perfect pale skin I'd glimpsed when our hands touched.
I dug a little deeper into the bag, just to be more thorough.
Or so I told myself.
What the fuck was I thinking? What the fuck was I doing, going through a stranger's belongings like some kind of creep?
I stopped myself and backed away from the trunk.
Trying to shake loose whatever insanity had taken hold of me.
But I couldn't stop the thoughts that kept flooding in.
She'd just arrived here. New to town. Alone, based on the single suitcase and the lack of anything that suggested a partner.
And I had this overwhelming urge to bury my face in that stack of clothes and breathe her in.
Deep.
Jesus.
That sounded really fucked up.
I stepped back another pace.
Maybe three years without a woman had finally broken something in my brain.
Could someone like her ever want a rough biker like me? Someone who spent most of his life on the road and never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots?
I was thirty-two and she looked like she was in her early twenties. There had to be close to a decade between us.
Why would she ever look twice at me?
Focus, Corban, I told myself sternly. Or someone's going to wonder why you've got your head inside a stranger's trunk.
I lifted the floor panel and found the spare tire underneath. It was in good condition like it had never been used.
But there was no jack.
"Shit."
I glanced across the street and spotted old Clyde sitting on his usual bench outside the library, nursing a coffee and watching the world go by.
I walked over.
"You know where I can get a block I can use? Wood, concrete, anything sturdy?"
He nodded toward the back of the library. "Behind the dumpsters.”
I found a heavy wooden block and carried it back.
Clyde followed.
I crouched beside the Civic and got my footing. Hands under the rear quarter panel. Feet planted wide.
Then I lifted.
The rear quarter rose enough for Clyde to slide the block underneath.
"Got it," he grunted.
I lowered the car onto the timber and swapped the flat tire for the spare.
A few minutes later I lifted it again while Clyde pulled the block free.
I packed the flat into the trunk and rearranged everything exactly the way I'd found it.
When I looked up, faces were pressed against the café window.
Marnie, Pearl, and a few regulars… and her.
Tilly.
She'd been watching.
Her eyes were wide and her expression was somewhere between surprised and grateful.
Maybe even a little impressed.
My face flushed as heat crawled up my neck.
I moved the wooden block out of the road and headed back into the café before I could make a bigger fool of myself.
I got straight to the counter and held the keys out to Marnie.
Not Tilly.
I couldn't risk handing them directly to her.
One look and I'd probably say something stupid.
Or forget how to talk altogether.
So I left as quickly as I could.
I grabbed the wooden block and carried it back behind the library where there were no witnesses to whatever the hell was happening to me.
What the hell was that?
My heart was pounding.
My hands were shaking.
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut and kissed at the same time, which didn't make any sense.
After a few minutes of pacing, I gave up.
I walked to where my Harley was parked two blocks away and threw my leg over the seat.
The engine roared to life, and I headed back to the club. The one place in the world where everything made sense.
Because right then, Tilly didn't make any sense at all.
But God help me, I couldn't stop thinking about her, all the way back.
The softness of her hand when our fingers touched. The way she blushed and looked away. The curves I wanted to trace with my hands.
I was fucked. Completely and totally fucked.
And I’d only known her name for five minutes.
Tilly