Chapter 11 #2
The bike skids violently, sparks flying as it tips onto its side. She’s off the bike, tumbling like a rag doll across the pavement. The sickening sound of metal scraping asphalt echoes through the air.
I’m fucking having a heart attack at the sight of her skidding across the open road.
“Fuck!” I growl, jamming my brakes.
My tires screech as I skid to a stop, yanking off my helmet before the bike is fully steady. Fear propels me forward as I sprint toward her, my boots pounding against the asphalt.
She’s lying still as fuck.
Her pink helmet is slightly askew. Her bike is a twisted heap of metal several feet away. Terror claws at my chest, filling my mind with all sorts of horrifying scenarios. I shove those nasty thoughts away, dropping to my knees beside her.
“Are you okay?”
My voice cracks, panic laced in every word as I reach for her. Her midsection rises and falls. Thank God she’s breathing, but she’s not moving. Gently, I place a hand on her shoulder, careful not to jostle her.
“Hey! Can you hear me?”
A muffled groan escapes her.
Relief floods through me.
She’s conscious.
“I’m here,” I say firmly, trying to keep my voice steady despite my pulse pounding so loud in my head that it’s coming out of my ears.
“Don’t move. Let me check you over.”
Her visor is cracked, but her helmet is top-of-the-line. Thank fuck, since it’s protecting her head right now.
“I’m going to take this off,” I warn, but only receive a groan of acknowledgment. I carefully unlatch the helmet and ease it off her head, revealing strands of chocolate hair sticking to her damp forehead.
“Shit.”
“It’s you,” she mumbles with a wince.
“Isabella?”
My brain spins faster than the wheels of my bike. The very woman I left to take care of her dad is out here on the open road, racing me with a certain death wish.
“What. The. Fuck?”
I cradle the back of her head in my gloved hand as I crouch over her. My gaze roams all over her face and body, looking for tears, cuts, and anything broken. Worry and confusion replace the adrenaline that once occupied the deep crevices of my being.
“Are you hurt anywhere? That was . . .”
I can’t even say how nasty it was.
Her bike shows how bad it was. Her leathers are scuffed, and her helmet is scratched up from sliding down the road, but I can’t see any apparent injuries. Her eyes are hazy but focused enough to find mine.
“I’m not sure.”
She attempts to sit up, but I press my free hand against her shoulder, keeping her still.
“I think I need to call 911.”
“No, it’s. . . I’m not hurt. Just . . .”
Her gloved hand grips my wrist, squeezing it and holding on. I give her a few seconds to gather her bearings, knowing we have to get out of the roadway before a vehicle comes barreling down on us.
“Isabella, that was a violent crash. From the look of your helmet, you hit your head. We need to get you examined.”
She licks her lips, her hand dropping from mine to push off the road in an attempt to sit up.
“I got you.”
Her expression is unreadable. Shock, pain, or something else. I squeeze her shoulder gently, my voice softer, and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The rest of her long hair is tied back in a ponytail and tucked into her leathers.
“What are you doing here, Diego?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing out here?” I shoot back, my frustration bubbling up despite myself. “I dropped you off at home to take care of your father. Not out here—.”
Her eyes close briefly, and when they reopen, there’s a flicker of defiance.
“Riding.”
“Riding?” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s not riding. You were racing me! Me of all people! You just nearly killed yourself!”
I don’t hold back, letting her have the full force of my fury, worry, and sheer fright. No biker wants to lose a rider, not ever. Certainly not one he likes and wants to get with. Her gaze wavers, the defiance melting away.
“I needed to clear my head. After everything.”
“Shit, Isabella.”
I sit back on my heels, shaking my head in disbelief, but I can’t find the words to argue.
We’re alike.
Both need to get away from each other to think clearly. If that isn’t saying a shit ton, I don’t know what is.
I focus on her, keeping her steady until she can move to the shoulder of the road. The questions, the anger, the confusion, they can wait. Right now, I just need to make sure she’s okay.
“Can you help me? I don’t think my bike is rideable.”
“The fuck you think? I’m going to leave you out here? Hell, Isabella, can you stop thinking the worst of me?”
I do little to hide my anger again.
This woman that I kissed and respect for who she is, and what she is asking me if I’d abandon her in her time of need is fucking crazy.
“I don’t think—”
“Yeah, you don’t.”
I capture her chin in my glove, wishing I didn’t have the leather fabric separating me from experiencing her soft skin.
“Newsflash, Iz, I’m not going anywhere. Not at school. Not at class. And not now. Stop trying to get rid of me. It’s just not happening. The sooner you accept that, the better for both of us.”
Her gaze softens, and her shoulders sag slightly.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, well, it sure as hell sounded like it,” I snap, my anger still bubbling beneath the surface despite my gloved thumb caressing her cheek. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d leave someone stranded on the side of the road? Especially you? Especially after helping your dad?”
She winces, whether from pain or the sharpness of my tone. I’m not sure. Regret flashes across her face, and it chips away at my frustration, though not entirely.
“I just…” Her voice falters, pushing my hand away from her face and adjusting how she’s sitting. “I didn’t expect you to still care after—”
“After what?” I cut in with intensity. “After you pushed me away? After you kissed me? After you made it clear, this—whatever the hell this is between us—is complicated? None of that changes the fact that I care. You can’t scare me off that easily.”
Her eyes widen slightly at my words, and for a moment, she looks as if she might argue. But instead, she looks away, her lower lip trembling slightly.
It’s tempting to kiss her, to collect her in my arms, and to assure her that everything will be okay, just like I did in the urgent care. Yet, we are miles away from a vulnerable moment like that. Miles away from the people we were just a short time ago.
Despite it all, I press a comforting kiss against her lips. Something I feel we both need right now to calm the panic that seized both of us from her accident. She’s frozen as I work my lips over hers, and I’m about to end it when she claps the back of my head to keep me in place.
Normally, I’d continue and take this as far as she’ll let me, but now’s not the time. I need to get us off the road and handle her bike before I take her home.
“Isabella.”
It’s a plea and a groan against the lips I’ve fantasized about. I want more, but I know I can’t. She understands. Her hand falls away when I break the kiss.
“We’ve got to get out of here before a car comes, or even worse, a cop.”
She nods, her hand resting on the asphalt beside her.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure you’re not hurt? I can call for an ambulance.”
She shakes her head, her gaze boring into me as she struggles to reach her feet. My arms instantly circle her body, practically lifting her with little effort. She’s lighter than she appears, more fragile than she looks, and it only heightens my instinct to take care of her.
“No ambulance or hospital. I’m a bit banged up, but I’ll be okay.”
“Make no mistake. We’re talking about this. Not now, but definitely later because every time I kiss these juicy lips, they kiss me back.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me as I do her, with our arms wound around each other in what can only be described as a loving embrace.
Shit.
This is why I like the climb.
All these little moments seize my heart and lock it away, waiting for the right person to come with the key.