Chapter Five
KARINA
His bike is parked outside Casputo's when we leave, gleaming black and chrome under the streetlight.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“Had it dropped off. You up for it, cupcake?” He pulls a helmet from the saddlebag and holds it out to me.
I nod, but I've never been on a motorcycle before.
Clay gives me the helmet and watches as I fumble with the chin strap. His fingers brush mine when he reaches over to adjust it, and my skin tingles at the contact.
“Hold on tight,” he says. “Lean when I lean. Don't fight it.”
“What if I fall off?”
His mouth curves. It’s not quite a smile, but close. “You won't. I've got you.”
He swings onto the bike like he was born on it, all coiled power and easy confidence. The machine rumbles to life beneath him, a low growl that vibrates through the air. He looks back at me, waiting.
I climb on behind him.
I have to press myself against his back to reach around his waist. My thighs bracket his hips.
The leather of his cut is smooth under my cheek, and beneath it, the heat of his body, the hard planes of muscle.
He has a fresh cedar cologne with a darker undercurrent that makes me want to lean in and sniff his neck.
“Tighter,” he orders.
I squeeze harder, my arms locked around his stomach, my hands close to his rock-hard abs. I'm pressed so close that every breath pushes my breasts against his back.
I can’t make up my mind whether this was a terrible or a wonderful idea. Then he pulls out of the parking space, and I stop thinking entirely.
The world blurs. Wind whips past us, tugging at my clothes, and the bike hums beneath me as if it’s alive.
We take a turn, and I lean with him instinctively, my body following his.
It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time; I want to laugh and maybe scream a little.
I could stay on this bike forever with my arms around him and the cool night air rushing past.
By the time we pull up to my apartment, I'm breathless and buzzing. Every nerve ending feels alive, and I'm hyperaware of every place our bodies touch.
Clay cuts the engine. The sudden silence is deafening.
I should let go. Climb off the bike, thank him politely, and go inside to the safety of home. But my arms don't unlock because my body doesn't want to leave the warm, solid wall of his back.
“Cupcake.” His voice is low, rough. “You can let go now.”
Right. I peel myself off him and nearly fall over when I dismount. My legs have turned to jelly. He catches my elbow, steadying me, and even that small touch sends sparks up my arm and down to my core.
“You okay?”
“Great,” I say. “Totally great. Just forgot how my legs were meant to work for a second.”
Clay’s mouth twitches as he walks me to my door. I'm very aware of how big he is beside me and how much space he takes up. The hallway is smaller with him in it, the air thicker.
I stop at my apartment and turn to face him.
“Thank you. For dinner. And the ride. And for helping with the event.
I know it's not really your usual thing, charity hug stations, and I really appreciate you taking it seriously, because a lot of people wouldn't, they'd just laugh, and you didn't laugh, well, you sort of almost smiled once, which I'm counting as a win, and…”
“Karina.”
I stop babbling. He's gazing at me with a ferocity that makes my stomach flip.
“Yeah?”
He steps closer, not stopping until he's right in front of me, so close I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His hand grips my wrist, pulling me toward him until we're chest to chest. My heart is pounding so hard he must be able to hear it.
“I'm not good at this,” he says. The words are rough, almost reluctant. “Soft words. Romance. That's not who I am.”
“I wasn't expecting—”
“I know what you were expecting.” His other hand finds the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. “Some gentleman who brings you flowers and takes things slow.”
I can barely breathe. “Clay—”
“That's not me… I don't do slow or gentle. And I don't share.”
I should be scared. Every romance novel I've ever read says this is the moment the heroine should run. He's too dominant.
But I stay still. My body wants to melt into the door and let him do whatever he wants.
“What do you do?” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “This.”
He kisses me.
His mouth takes mine like he's been starving for it.
His hand in my hair holds me exactly where he wants me while his other arm wraps around my waist, lifting me onto my toes.
I grab fistfuls of his cut because my knees have buckled completely.
A moan escapes me, and he drinks it down, deepening the kiss until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
When he finally pulls back, I'm gasping. His eyes are dark, his breathing uneven.
“That's who I am,” he says. “Still want my help?”
I should really think about this. Weigh the pros and cons, then seriously consider whether getting involved with a biker president is a wise life choice.
Instead, I say, “Yes.”
His expression changes. Something hot and satisfied flickers through those gray-green eyes. He traces my lower lip with his thumb, pressing gently against the swell where he just kissed me.
“Then I'll see you tomorrow, cupcake.”
He steps back. The cold air rushes in where his body used to be, and I have to lock my knees to keep from sliding down the door.
“Cupcake?” My voice comes out like a breathless squeak.
“You got a problem with me calling you that?”
I shake my head. I have no problems or thoughts, only a body that's vibrating at a frequency previously unknown to science.
He turns and walks away. He’s all broad shoulders and confident stride, owning every inch of space around him. At the end of the hallway, he glances back.
“Lock your door, Karina.”
I fumble for my keys. Inside, I close the door and lean against it, pressing my fingers to my tingling lips.
Dolly trots over and stares up at me, head tilted.
“Don't say anything,” I tell her.
She huffs and walks away.
I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor and my phone buzzes in my purse.
Clay: Lock the door.
I reach up and flip the deadbolt.
Me: Done.
Clay: Good girl.
I drop the phone and press my hands to my flaming cheeks.
What the hell am I doing?