4. Mica
Come ride with me.
It was a simple sentence in response to her request to learn more about the bikes. That was all. Mica repeatedly told herself this as she pushed her arms into the leather jacket she’d worn today. She wrapped her black and blue scarf around her neck and pulled her gloves from her pocket. She was ready.
Still, she hadn’t taken a step out of her office.
Silly, she thought. She was being very silly.
Securing her phone in her pocket, Mica walked out of the office and down the steps. There were a couple of people in the showroom and for a second, she looked at them, wondering which bike they would purchase and why. That thought reinforced what she was about to do. Taking a ride with Nash had nothing to do with the weird sensations moving through her body at the idea of being up close and personal with him on the back of a bike, and everything to do with finding out more about this company. Mica knew she couldn’t just read financial reports all day or look at pictures of bikes on the internet to figure out what this company had meant to her father. To save Bellamy Motors, she needed to find the passion, the pulse that made this facility beat for all these years. She sensed it was the bike and not the business. Now, it was time for her to find out for certain.
“You ready?”
She jumped when she heard his voice. He was standing close behind her and when she turned, they would have been face-to-face if he wasn’t so much taller than her five-foot four-inch stature—even with the added elevation of her boots. With her eye-level at his chest, she had to tilt her head upward to see his face. The action instantly made her feel small and even more out of her league than the stark contrast in their occupations.
For a long moment he simply stared at her, as if he were deducing their height difference as well. Except the way his lowered gaze fell on her felt like more. It felt like he was assessing, considering…maybe enjoying? If the hitch in her breathing and the emergence of those pesky pricks of arousal she’d been trying to push back all morning were any indication, then she’d definitely take the darkening of Nash’s gaze and his refusal to take a step back to put some space between them as a ‘maybe’. Not that she’d asked him to move, because she hadn’t. Nor had she stepped back, which was also an option. No, she stood right there as if her body needed to be this close to his.
His lips pressed together tightly; she knew because her gaze had gone to them as she recalled the feel of his mouth on her in that very detailed dream she had. Then, he moved, or rather his arms did as he lifted a helmet and placed it gingerly onto her head. That, for whatever reason, left her feeling safe and secure.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly she recalled his previous question and replied, “Yes. I’m ready.”
Minutes later she was outside in the chilly air. Spring would be here in another month or so, but right now, winter in Destine was full of bright sunshine and brisk winds.
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” she said as she walked behind Nash to the same spot where his bike was parked the night before.
“I figured as much,” he replied without turning back to look at her.
The jeans he wore were faded, worn and just a tad baggy, but not so much she couldn’t catch the outline of strong legs and a great ass. He wore black ankle boots that were laced up tightly and looked to have steel-toe reinforcement. She glanced down momentarily at the cute black suede wedge booties she’d worn today and figured a shopping trip might be in her future. Her wardrobe didn’t consist of bike riding gear and she had a feeling this was going to be her first ride of many.
“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted.
They were near the bike now and Nash looked over his shoulder to say, “Don’t be.”
She nodded and rubbed her gloved hands together in an effort to calm herself. What happened to that safety she’d just felt when they were inside? She’d already admitted to never having been on a bike before, but she knew that wasn’t the sole source of this resurfacing trepidation. It was definitely this man.
He hadn’t put his helmet on yet. She figured it was on his bike as he walked in front of her with only the keys he’d pulled out of the front pocket of his jeans in one hand. He wore a leather jacket too, a dark brown one that almost matched the color of his eyes. And he walked with confidence, no, it was more than that. Swagger, that was definitely it. Not a fast gait, but not a slow one either. A pace that screamed move-the-fuck-outta-my-way though. His shoulders were broad, his low-cut hair neatly lined in the back.
She was paying an inordinate amount of attention to this man which probably contributed to the apprehension she’d started to feel again. This wasn’t where her attention was supposed to be, and yet, she couldn’t stop it from circling back to him each and every damn time.
“This bike is different from the ones inside. I noticed it this morning when I came in,” she said when they’d come to a stop and she forced rational words into her brain.
If she could just focus on the business at hand, she would make it through this without acting like an inexperienced schoolgirl. Because this horny teenager thing was working her nerves.
“It’s different from any bike you’ll see anywhere,” he told her as he went around to the side of the bike. “At least, right now.”
Then, he shrugged. “When you think of a motorcycle, what manufacturer names come to mind first?” he asked and she paused a second to consider. The question, not the man who became impossibly finer as he stood by that bike like it was somehow an extension of his manhood. A very satisfying extension.
“Harley Davis,” she said with pride because that name had appeared prominently in her first online search for motorcycles.
He shook his head and since he still wasn’t wearing a helmet she could see the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. That action caused her heart to skip a beat and an increased thumping between her legs. Imagine how she’d react to his full smile. Shit.
“What’s so funny?” She snapped, irritated now by her insubordinate thoughts and physical reactions.
“It’s Harley Davidson,” he said. “Your accent’s cute.”
She attempted a nonchalant shrug, even as the hint of humor in his voice increased her body’s incessant response to him. “Okay so is this a Harley Davidson?”
“No,” he said. “It has a rebuilt Harley engine with some added power. This bike is a combination of the best in the bike world. It has the endurance of an ADV, or what we call an adventure touring bike, but it’s light and has the speed and handling of a sport tourer.”
“And by adventure you mean what exactly?”
“Rugged terrain, wilderness equipped, off road driving. The sport tourer is designed for the road and for maximum speed. This here, is an all-in-one combo. The best of both worlds you could say.”
He’d been rubbing his hands along the black leather seat as he spoke. She followed that movement with equal parts intrigue and desire. The latter just would not cease, no matter how valiantly she tried.
“There are others in the showroom that are similar in appearance to this one. But then there are subtle differences. Like this part here.” She stepped closer, touching her fingers over the handle, dragging it down to what looked like other poles connecting the bike together.
“That’s the frame,” he said.
The huskiness of his voice startled her but she remained still.
“I used a large cast section rather than extruded beams. Using my specially designed software, I can design so that metal is where it’s most needed and the parts are lighter but still stiff.”
“You designed this bike?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise. “But I thought you were…I mean, I thought you fixed bikes.”
Nash frowned. “I’m the shop manager, remember? I don’t only fix bikes; I detail them and supervise the assembly of the ones we have to take apart. And yes, I also build bikes.”
“So, you’re an engineer?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have any formal training. Everything I learned came from watching Bell when he managed the shop. When I was a teenager, I sometimes rode with a friend of mine whose uncle belonged to an MC club as a way of staying out of trouble. Then…”
His lips tightened as he stopped speaking and she waited impatiently for what he was going to say next.
“I started working here when I was twenty-five. I got to see another side of the bikes I’d been riding. I was intrigued so I paid close attention,” he said.
“And now you’re building your own bikes. Did my…um, did Bell know about this?” She asked after stumbling over her almost mistake.
“Yeah, he knew,” Nash told her before grabbing the helmet off the back of the bike and pulling it over his head.
She watched him climb onto the bike and go through the same motions she’d studied the night before: hands on the bars and a kick to the stand to move it to an upward position. But after he inserted the key into the ignition this time, he glanced over at her.
“Get on,” he said, his words slightly muffled by the bottom half of the helmet.
She figured her speech probably sounded the same to him as she’d had her helmet on the entire time they’d been standing outside. Stepping forward, with not a clue what she should do, Mica simply mimicked what she’d seen Nash do and climbed onto the back of the bike. There was no use worrying over whether she should touch him or not, she had no choice. She planted her hands on his shoulders and sat with her back ramrod straight.
When Nash only reached his long arms back, planted his palms on her hips and pulled her forward so that her front was now flush against his back, she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure she could speak as that undeniable heat between her legs increased. Still, facing forward, he reached up to take both her wrists, then eased her arms down until they were wrapped around his waist.
“Hold on tight,” he told her over his shoulder. “I can’t have you falling off.”
Seconds later the engine started. It was loud and when he pulled off there was a moment or two of fear as she recalled his words about ‘falling off’. She held him tighter, her fingers clenching in the material of his jacket. It didn’t matter that he was hard and smelled like a mixture of motor oil and musk—which strangely enough appealed to her—she wasn’t letting him go.
They drove through the city, or what this small town considered their city. It was in no way as large as Paris or, she figured, other major U.S. cities. No, Destine, was much smaller but it wasn’t that quaint little village type small. There were department stores and high-rise buildings on one block, restaurants, and the post office on another. Further down there was a library which stretched the entire length of that block. Across from the library were a couple of independent bookstores, as if they were purposely set up that way to encourage the competition. This was called the Reading District—Mica had overheard the only woman salesperson on staff at the dealership telling one of the older men in sales about going to a happy hour and book discussion there.
In no time they were out of the city traveling the long roads that led to the houses. It seemed as though Victorians and colonials were the only house style in this town. Nash continued to drive and the houses Mica had been seeing were replaced by landscape. Rolling hills of farmland and rows of corn were the only identifiable vegetation she could see. Amidst the hills smaller houses sat like pieces on a game board. Today’s temperature was chilly, but not freezing, so horses and cows meandered through some fields. It was an extremely calming view and before long she’d settled into her seat looking around as the bike carried them further through the town.
When the bike came to a stop Mica was still surveying the scenery. She was staring at the crisp colors of the sky, how the blue met on the horizon with the burnished yellow of the fields. The sun was still burning bright over a house in the distance and her arms were still wrapped around Nash. That is, until he turned off the engine and propped the bike on its stand. He climbed off and removed his helmet. Mica reached up to remove her helmet when his hands at her waist startled her.
“What—” the rest of the question died on her lips as he lifted her easily off the seat.
For a belated second, he just held her there. Her body flush against his as he stared at her with a mix of irritation and confusion on his face.
“Pu…put me…down.” She stumbled over the words as it occurred to her that her feet had yet to touch the ground.
Nash was effortlessly holding her against him as if this was where she belonged. She thought she was either going to have to make the request again, with a little more force in her tone, or attempt to wiggle out of his grasp. His very strong grasp, which meant it might not have been that easy to get loose. But then, he negated the need for her to do either as he began to lower her, very—no, torturously—slowly down his body. The leather of both their jackets made a weird sound, but she was certain it didn’t hide the gasp that escaped her when her juncture brushed over his obvious arousal. Yeah, they were that damn close and she was once again flustered.
The second she was on her feet, he removed her helmet and she looked away, hoping to hide the lust that would be clear in her eyes, or the confusion that probably matched his expression.
What the hell was happening?
This wasn’t a dream; she knew that for a fact.
A cool breeze blew. That bike’s engine had rumbled beneath her in such a smooth and tantalizing hum, it almost reminded her of the vibrator she still had packed in one of her suitcases. She recalled all the colors she’d seen during the ride, the hills, the houses, the sky. His jacket, his jeans. His scent.
There were too many details this time, too many visceral sensations and reactions for it not to be real. For him not to be approaching her again, after moving to store her helmet on the bike with his. And for her not to, again, gasp when his hands returned to her waist.
The question was on the tip of her tongue. What are you doing? But the words never came as he pulled her to him again. He lowered his head and she knew exactly what was coming next. Wanted it, needed it. So, she tilted her head up to meet him, parted her lips slightly just before he touched them with his. And let the warmth from that tentative connection soar through her.
That touch went from zero to one hundred in about two seconds. She’d barely taken another inhale before his tongue slid into her mouth and she released a welcoming moan at the breach. Soft, languid strokes of his tongue over hers had her arms slipping around his waist, her fingers grasping the back of his jacket. His fingers dug deeper into her as if he were willing them to go right through the material of her pants to her skin.
He tilted his head in one direction, urging hers to go in the other as his tongue went deeper into her mouth, so deep she felt like she was being consumed. Like he was drinking his fill of her and she was holding on to keep from drowning in the delicious onslaught of sensations. She’d never been kissed this completely before. Had never felt like this normal interaction could be so enticing and illicit at the same time. When she moaned again, he swallowed the sound, easing back only enough so that he could suck on her tongue now. Her eyes fluttered open and to her shock he was staring back at her, sucking her tongue and pressing her against his erection. He was watching her and she was feeling him. From his kiss to his stare, to the bulge in his pants, arousal swirled through her body like a building storm.
What the hell was he doing?
Um, kissing this attractive woman, rubbing his hands over her ass and getting the hardest erection he’d ever experienced. Mica was fine as fuck. It was as simple and as problematic as that. On the one hand, Nash wasn’t intimidated by a good-looking woman. To the contrary, he’d been fucking since he was fourteen and Icie, an eighteen-year-old had broken him in. She was Kel’s, the Ryders’ enforcer at the time, younger sister, so she’d been hanging around the compound just as much as Nash had. One night after a game of strip pool and way too many beers, he’d learned the intricacies of pleasing a girl. Of course, he’d quickly surpassed Icie’s tutelage alone and ever since then had moved on to as many women as his handsome tall for his age ass could get. Even when he’d been locked down, one of the higher-ups from the club who was also on the inside, had arranged for him to get his dick wet by a woman and not one of those muthafuckas that were twisted about who and what he was.
But Mica was different. For starters, she wasn’t even supposed to be on his radar in this way. She was the enemy, or at least her ass should be firmly in that category. Instead of those plump globes being in the palm of his hand, putting his shit on brick and making him want to rip those tidy little dress pants off her and fuck her right here in the bristling cold. He hadn’t done shit like that in a long time.
Not that he didn’t still love fuckin’. He was just older now and a lot of the reckless shit he used to do was in his past. After getting caught up in that mess that had taken his freedom, he moved with a lot more discretion now.
That’s exactly why he shouldn’t be touching her now, shouldn’t even be considering tasting her beyond this fire ass kiss she was so eagerly giving him. She was here on business with the shop, the place Nash hadn’t admitted to anyone that he’d hoped to own someday. Mica’s whole appearance in Destine was to either make or break one of the only things Nash had allowed himself to dream in a long ass time. And by way of that admission, she could very well be working against him.
So, considering those facts, he should drop his hands from her, pull his mouth away and take as many steps back from her as it would take to put his dick back on soft and get his head right.
But that’s not what he did.
Instead, he found his hands moving past her ass, to the back of her thighs, and before he could stop himself he was lifting her off the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist and grinding her pussy against his rigid arousal. It was a delicious torture and he groaned with the action. When Nash thought she would have finally come to her senses and pushed him away, she surprised him yet again. Mica wrapped her arms even tighter around his neck, her palms were flat against the back of his head, warmth spreading from that part of his body and down until it all rested in his groin.
He wanted her.
That was an understatement.
Nash wasn’t afraid to admit that, but he was almost positive taking her out in the open, in the middle of a chilly day was not going to go over well. She deserved more than that and he was normally the kind of guy who would give it to her. He also wasn’t normally this fuckin’ aroused by a woman with an accent who just might hold the power to kill part of his dream.
It was with those thoughts and heavy reluctance that he finally let her legs slide down until her feet were once again on the ground and pulled his lips away from hers. The back-up and take a breath, wasn’t a total success because instead of pulling totally away, Nash rested his forehead on hers as they both fought to catch their breath.
“Wow.”
She spoke first and Nash kept his eyes closed, his hands at his sides where he thought they would be safe from the need to touch her once more. He was wrong, the urge was even stronger now that he’d had a taste of her.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“That was some ride,” she said and then she giggled.
Nash’s eyes opened immediately and Mica lifted a hand quickly to slap over her mouth in an effort to mute the sound, he suspected.
“On the bike or the kiss?” he asked.
When she hesitated, Nash gave in to his own yearnings and reached up to move her hand slowly away from her mouth.
“Both,” she quietly replied.
He smiled then because he’d never seen a woman blush so much and so damn prettily.
“I agree,” he told her.
She shivered then and Nash cursed. It was damn cold out here, especially to someone who wasn’t used to winters in Virginia. So, he cleared his throat and said, “How about some lunch? I know a really nice diner just a short ride from here.”
He brow furrowed. “You’re asking me to have lunch with you?”
The way she put it sounded like he was asking her out on a date. Nash hadn’t been on a date in more than a year. He’d had his share of midnight rendezvous with a couple of carefully selected women he’d met in town, but nothing any more important than a quick fuck. Now he was going to take Mica to lunch. Well, he thought with an inward sigh, he’d almost done more than that to her on a grassy hill in broad daylight, so sharing a meal with her shouldn’t be that much of a jump.
“Yes, I’d like to take you to lunch. Is that okay with you? Do you have a boyfriend that would object?”
Common sense told him not to give one good damn about what this woman did or did not have. She wasn’t for him. At least, logic told him she wasn’t. His body, specifically his dick, had other plans. So, he hoped like hell she didn’t have a boyfriend. He wanted to kick himself for not getting those preliminary issues out of the way before he’d touched her. Normally, he would have. But Nash was quickly concluding that there was nothing normal about how Mica made him feel.
“No to the boyfriend and yes to lunch. After, um, all that, I’m starving.”
She smiled at him then and moved away to head towards the bike. And because he was a red-blooded man he couldn’t do anything else but watch the sway of her tight ass as she did. In that moment he knew his hunger for her was only going to grow, until he had no choice but to ignore every warning and charge full speed ahead to have her—business connection be damned.