Chapter 14
Aurelia
He’s agreed to take me out, which is awesome. But what caused him to change his mind? He’s been insisting I stay inside every evening. And initially, he refused to let me go out to dinner tonight. Then, he offers to do so himself?
My head spins. He’s so confusing. I could have sworn I felt that iron control of his thaw. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he settled for a peck on my forehead. Not that it matters; the touch of his lips sparked goosebumps on my skin.
Maybe none of it matters. I’m getting to go out with him. It’s not a date. He said it’s not a date. But it sure feels like one. I can’t stop myself from doing a little skip as I jump into the shower. I’m going out with my hottie, tall, dark, and brooding bodyguard and that makes me so happy.
And yes, he was right when he pointed out I find his bossy attitude a huge turn on.
When he told me what I should wear, liquid heat pooled between my legs.
My stomach flip-flopped. My nipples turned into points of need.
My body reacted to his words with an excitement that caught me by surprise.
In case it wasn't already obvious, I’m not the kind of woman who hands over control willingly. But with Ryot…
The chemistry clouds my brain and sharpens my instincts at the same time.
With Ryot… The thought of having him command me and take charge turns me on.
It also pisses me off. Why does it have to be the most closed-off, unapproachable, unreachable man I've ever met who has this effect on me?
And why do I have to be so attracted to him?
And why do I find myself fantasizing he's the royal I'll be marrying?
It's ridiculous. And why is it that every part of me wants to please him by arriving at the elevator at the time he specified?
All the more reason not to obey him.
I take half-an-hour to get dressed. Really, who can get dressed in ten minutes, amiright? Didn’t stop me from following his directions in terms of what to wear though, huh? I survey my reflection.
I’m wearing my favorite blouse, jeans, a leather jacket, and a pair of Doc Martins. I slip my phone into the pocket of my jeans. On impulse, I push the jacket off my shoulders and throw it aside. I grab my cross-body purse, then flounce out of the suite.
I nod at the two men posted there. Then walk down the corridor to where he’s waiting for me next to the elevator.
He’s wearing worn combat boots, faded jeans and a chambray shirt, over which he has his own leather jacket that's seen better days. He’s also carrying a smaller one in his hand. When he spots me, he holds it out.
My jaw drops. "How did you know—"
"That you wouldn't wear a jacket?" His lips twist. "You’re so predictable, Princess."
"I’m not predictable." It was just a lame attempt at rebellion. For some reason I feel compelled to test boundaries with this man. I should have known he’d never let me get away with it. I stuff one arm into the jacket sleeve, then the other.
He smooths the jacket over my shoulders, then punches the button of the elevator. The cage arrives at once.
When the doors open, he gestures for me to enter and follows.
I cross my arms over my chest. "I’m. Not. Predictable." I feel the need to protest. Predictable is boring. And if there’s one thing I’ve tried to make sure I’m not, it’s boring.
His lips twitch. "How did I know I’d have to carry a jacket for you?"
"Lucky guess?" I grumble.
When a chuckle rolls up his throat, I stare. The sound is so warm, so masculine, it sends a cascade of sensations coursing through my bloodstream. Also, he’s smiling, and it lights up his face and reveals a tiny dimple in his left cheek. Ugh, he cannot be that perfect to look at, can he?
“By the way, I completed screening your team, and everyone checks out,” he rumbles.
“That’s a relief.” Some of the tension falls off my shoulders. Guess I was more stressed than I realized about the possibility that someone from within my team could have been responsible for that note.
“I alerted your closest team-members that you are not to be disturbed this evening. I’ve told them where to reach us in case anything urgent comes up.”
That’s thoughtful of him. “Thank you,” I murmur, "although it would be nice if I knew where we'd be." He just smirks.
When the elevator doors open, he steps out. I follow him to the side-entrance. Brian, who’s been waiting by the door, pushes it open. He, too, is dressed in boots, jeans and a jacket. When I walk out, I find Cole dressed similarly, standing by a bike.
He hands a helmet to Ryot and one to me, then goes over to the bike in front and, retrieving his own helmet, pulls it on. Brian follows suit and straddles the bike behind us. Ryot straps on his helmet, raises the visor, then throws his leg over the Ducati.
"Hop on." He pats the seat behind him.
What the—? I stare with my mouth open. Riding behind Ryot on that mean-looking machine is the last way I imagined this evening would unfold.
I’ve always wanted to ride a motorbike, but so far, have never had the opportunity.
I couldn’t buy one because: one, I couldn’t bring myself to spend that much money, and two, I’d never be allowed to buy one.
And even if I somehow managed to do so, I’d never be allowed to ride it.
I approach him, eying the machine and the gorgeous man astride it with suspicion. “How did you guess—”
“That you’ve never been on a bike before but have always wanted to?” He grins, looking all too pleased with himself. “Another lucky guess?”
Whoa. The flash of his white teeth against his lips sends a spurt of need spiraling in my belly. “No, seriously, tell me. How did you know I’d love to get on a bike?”
He scans my features. “You wanted to get ice cream from a fast-food chain when you could have asked for one from any gourmet restaurant or brand, but you didn’t.”
“So?” I frown.
“Then, there’s the fact that you love driving your own car because it gives you a feeling of being free.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t a stretch to conclude that you’d love being on a bike.” Something in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat.
He was paying attention to me. He noticed my quirks and my reactions.
He spent time thinking about what I’d like to do.
He might have offered to get me out of the hotel because of pity and, perhaps, a sense of responsibility to keep me, as his principal, entertained—enough so I’d be more amenable to toeing the line with his security measures.
But offering to take me on his bike? That...is something he planned for.
A boatload of emotions squishes inside my chest. I stand there, staring at him dumbly, unable to move. What does this mean? Does it mean anything? Am I reading too much into his gesture?
"Get on, Princess. I know you want to." Was that supposed to sound so suggestive? He hits the ignition, and the bike roars to life. The sound throbs through my veins and settles in my bones; it shoots a burst of excitement up my spine. Damn. He’s actually going to take me for a ride? My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my ribcage.
I’m pathetically happy, and that gives me pause.
Also, I want to put up a token protest, so he doesn’t think I’m going to obey everything he says—even though that’s probably the truth.
"Why can’t I drive the bike?” I tip up my chin. “Why do I have to sit behind you?”
"Because it’s my bike?" He revs the bike again. "Coming or not?" I move toward the bike, and he guns it forward.
I stumble back. "What the hell?"
He smirks. "Sorry about that."
He doesn’t sound sorry, at all. Asshole. I gauge the distance toward the bike, then take a step toward it. Once again, he allows the bike to jump forward.
"Ryot, what are you doing?" I slap my hands on my hips and glower at him.
He laughs. It's a full-throated, very manly laugh that has me looking at him in amazement. This playful side of him is one I have not seen before. Is this how he was before he became a Marine. Before he lost his wife? Was he this carefree? This spirited… This roguish? Oh god. He’s so damn sexy like this.
Also, my pussy is now completely wet. I wish I could feel the vibrations from that laugh between my legs.
I bet I’d come just from that sensation.
Also, why can’t I stop thinking of his head between my thighs?
And this when he’s treated me so…so…normally?
He doesn’t give a shit that I’m a princess.
He’s not polite around me. He doesn’t hold himself in check.
He speaks his mind. He tells me what to do.
He tells me off. He reprimands me. Chastises me.
Cajoles me into doing exactly what he wants. And…I love it.
Butterflies take flight in my chest. I close the distance to his bike and straddle the seat behind him.
"Hold on. And make sure you lean into the turns when I do.
" He reaches behind to grab the back of my thigh and pulls me snug against him. I’m now hugging his thighs with mine.
And my core is flush against his very tight, very hard backside.
I lock my arms about his waist. His lean, sculpted waist; I can feel his chiseled abs through the leather of his jacket.
Then he guns his bike, and it leaps forward.
With a squeak, I tighten my hold about him. I sense him chuckle again. And when he slides onto the road and races forward, exhilaration bubbles in my blood. Cole zooms off ahead of us on another bike, and Brian keeps pace behind us on his.