6 - Lane #2
“No, I’m not okay. But I will be, I just need some time to get over it,” I said.
His frown deepened. “But I don’t think you should keep this kind of thing to your—”
“Sy, I need you to help me move this heavy vanity top,” Bear’s voice came from the end of the hallway.
Silas spun around and I saw Bear standing with his hands on his hips, his face impassive and his aura letting us both know that it was less of a request than an instruction. But when his eyes met mine, there was an understanding there that I appreciated more than I could express right now.
Silas gave me one last worried glance before lightly touching my elbow and then listening to Bear. I stayed near the fire for a few more moments and then made a beeline for the kitchen. This was the kind of day that called for something red and deep and preferably French.
I pulled a gorgeous bottle of Pinot Noir from the cabinet and was settling in to pour a generous glass when Dax suddenly popped into the kitchen. I was perfectly content with ignoring him until he sauntered up to me and slid my wine glass away from my reaching hand.
“Hey!” I said indignantly, swatting at his arm and trying to reach for it. “Excuse me but this is not part of the job.”
“Get dressed,” he said, moving the glass far enough away from me that I’d have to stand up and walk around the counter if I wanted to get it. But judging by the way he stood poised like a warden, I knew chances of me breaking his interception were slim to none.
I crossed my own arms in challenge. But before I could lob back a retort, he held a hand up. “Uh-huh. Get dressed and meet me outside. No questions and no arguments.”
I was left speechless.
Normally, this wouldn’t fly. I would never have let anyone, let alone an egocentric prick like Dax stop me from doing what I wanted to in my own house. But what prevented me from pulling rank and telling him where to get off was the fact that Bear had let him do this.
He’d been there immediately to stop Silas from prodding because he clearly knew that I wasn’t in the mood to speak about anything. And yet he’d allowed Dax to stop whatever tasks he’d been assigned to come and bother me in my kitchen.
Given the tight ship Bear ran, it was obvious to me that somehow, he was okay with this. And if he was okay with this, maybe I could trust that Dax’s intentions had a point somewhere along the line.
So I just gave a sharp exhale of defeat and made my way to my bedroom to get into something warmer.
I pulled on a pair of thick, fleece-lined black leggings, a heavy, oversized charcoal-grey waffle-knit thermal and topped it off with a windproof black canvas utility bomber jacket.
As I tugged on my lace-up leather combat boots, I wondered just exactly what this guy had planned.
He was impossible to read, teasing and playful one moment and then frigid and bitchy the next.
When I grouchily yanked open the front door and braved the freezing cold once more, Dax was already waiting for me next to his bike. I noticed, feeling something akin to alarm, that he had two bowl helmets.
“Are you taking a page out of Bear’s book and outsourcing manual labor again?” I asked sardonically. “Expanding the service, maybe?”
Dax just grinned and handed me one of the helmets. I looked down at it as though he were offering me a helmet-sized roach instead. “I think not.”
“Come on,” he pleaded, wiggling the helmet around.
My eyes shot back up to his. “Okay, Dr. Jekyll, do you by any chance have any recollection whatsoever of telling me that I’m just the person writing your checks? Because if you do, then you should understand why your offer isn’t looking all that appealing.”
A flush of embarrassment washed over his frustratingly gorgeous features.
He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay. I deserved that one. I’m sorry for lashing out at you the way I did the other day.
It was uncalled for. All I’m asking is that you give me the opportunity to make it up to you. Please.”
“By giving me a heart attack on the back of this bike?” I asked.
“By helping you escape for a little bit,” he said. “I can tell you need a break and trust me, there’s nothing like a ride that makes everything disappear for a while.”
I shouldn’t. That was the logical decision here, the one that any self-respecting attorney would make. I turned my head and looked back at the house, imagining I could see Bear and Silas inside, still hard at work while Dax took me out for a joy ride.
“Come on,” he said again, and I spun back to look at him. He tilted his head to the side, smiling softly.
Asshole.
I sighed. “Just a few minutes.”
“I can work with that,” he said, and I begrudgingly took the helmet from him. “Need help?”
“I’m just fine,” I said stubbornly, working the helmet onto my head.
Dax leaned down and checked to make sure it was properly adjusted, his quick and deft hands and focused eyes filling the empty pit in my stomach with butterflies.
When he was satisfied, he gave my helmet a little gentle tap, then put his own on.
He climbed on the bike, crooking his fingers in my direction. I hesitantly followed, forced to wrap my arms around his solid torso and settling my hips flush against his lower back. I planted the arches of my combat boots firmly on the high, narrow metal passenger footpegs.
I could feel my heart shuddering violently against my ribs, and I hoped that Dax couldn’t feel it. But when I felt the sudden, sharp shift in his broad shoulders as his head tilted back with a silent laugh, I knew I was screwed.
He cracked the throttle and the engine roared to life seconds before we tore away from the curb.