“You’re an arse,” she replied pertly.
“Bad bikie arse?”
Well, he’d given her an open invitation to feast her eyes on his form, so she took it with both hands. Gladly. A touch debauchedly, because her thoughts weren’t as analytical as she made her expression. Her expression said studious. Her thoughts were - oh God, he’s so hot!
Face it, in a leather jacket, heavy boots, straddling the metal beast, he had a touch of the bad boy look, no doubt about it, but then she met his twinkling eyes, that mischievous glint in the depths, and he - well, hell, he just looked like a mischievous bad boy bikie.
One dark red eyebrow arched.
She arched a brow back. “I rather think a lot of girls in town think your arse is bad boy.”
His grin widened. “Yeah, but what do you think?”
“Your arse is pretty fine, as arses go.”
“Hmmm.” His gaze dropped suddenly, catching her off guard.
Holy heck, the man was looking at her. Like, really looking at her. Not lecherously, not sleazily, but with frank admiration.
Shit, she was used to men looking at her when she sang up on stage. Used to being looked at, picked apart and criticised by her mother and Calum, had even had a few lustful looks towards her undoubtedly bountiful breasts, but no man had ever looked her up and down with such candid approval. Not her generous figure.
It was in turn both unnerving and titillating to have Simon drawling in open appreciation, “And your arse, sweetheart, is a fine handful.”
For the first time in her life, Elissa was speechless.
He looked steadily at her for several seconds while she could only stand there like a fish out of water, mouth hanging open.
Thank God there were no flies around.
Then his eyes crinkled at the corners, totally disarming her, but before she could rally her scattered - okay, sizzling, no point lying - thoughts, Simon slapped the seat behind him before turning to the front. “Righto, Lis, hop on and hold on.”
It was either do as he said or continue standing there like an idiot. Elissa stood next to the bike, took a deep breath.
“Grab my shoulders for balance.” He pulled on his helmet.
Thank God he wasn’t watching because she was pretty sure her leg swinging left a lot to be desired, not to mention the fact that she was a lot shorter than he. And not to mention that the feel of his broad shoulders under her hands were making butterflies appear in her belly.
Not a complete drongo, she knew the pedals were for her feet, so she settled her sneakers on them as she sat, and then holy heck, she slid right up against him. Her mound encased in slacks nudged right up against that firm arse clad in jeans. That had the butterflies suddenly going hot. Oh yeah, did it ever. The inside of her thighs were pressed along the muscular length of his outer thighs.
His helmet hid his face from view as he half turned his head to continue instructing her. “Put your arms around my waist, hold tight.”
Oh yeah.
“All you have to remember is to lean the same way as I do when we’re turning. Don’t be afraid, I won’t tip the bike. Don’t pull in the opposite direction, just go with me, be an extension of me. Okay?”
“Yes.” Her arms slid around his waist, her breasts flattening against his back. Realising that maybe she was too close, she eased back a little.
“Hang on as tight as you want.” His voice was deliciously deep. “Close as you feel safe.”
Cripes, the man was hard-bodied. Strength pressed up against her. If it wasn’t for the helmet, she’d lean her head against his back and just melt into him.
Good God, this bike ride was doing things to her and they weren’t even moving yet.
“If you get scared,” Simon instructed, “just tug on my jacket, I’ll pull over. Understand?”
“Okay.”
“Good girl.” He dropped the visor on his helmet.
Oh boy, if she was a dog she’d be wagging her tail. What the hell was wrong with her?
Then Simon throttled, the engine rumbled powerfully, his muscles against her flexed, shifted, and the bike moved forward. He throttled firmly, building up speed, and she snugged hard against him, her grip tightening.
Okay, now she knew what was wrong with her. She was pressed up against a mouth-watering hunk of man who had the power to make the butterflies in her stomach turn into wicked, liquid heat. Or maybe that was the powerful bike beneath her vibrating her nether regions.
Kind of like comedy films where women sat on an operating washing machine and orgasmed.
Cripes, she hoped she didn’t orgasm on the bike. How could she explain slipping off the seat?
Geez, Elissa, get a grip. As ludicrous as the thought was, she couldn’t help but grin.
As the bike moved swiftly along the road she turned her head to see the openness. It was strange not being surrounded by metal and glass, maybe just an open window between her and the outside passing by. But on the bike the openness surrounded her, nothing between her and the wind except the big body in front of her protecting her from full-on facial wind.
It was exhilarating, her heart pumping faster as she feasted her eyes on the passing scenery. Excitement filled her, sheer happiness at being so free. The power beneath her, the strength in front of her, knowing that the man controlling the bike kept them both safe, that he protected her.
Invigorated, she turned her head to the other side, watching the houses flash past, gardens and trees.
The bike slowed and Simon leaned slightly to the side. Remembering his instructions, she followed, plastering herself against his back as fear kicked in but trusting him, she leaned further as he did, and then the bike was coming upright, Simon following, she copying everything he did.
Fear vanished, elation filling her again, and the next turn she angled with Simon, this time less fearfully, and when the final turn approached she leaned with him without a shred of apprehension.
Bringing the bike to a stop, Simon braced booted feet on the ground and turned off the engine, the sudden quiet almost loud in its intensity after the heavy rumble of the powerful motorbike.
Taking the helmet off, he turned to flash her a grin over his shoulder. “Still with me, sweetheart?”
With him? She was plastered so hard against his back that she couldn’t wedge a piece of paper between them. “Yep.”
He laughed, patting her hands where she had a death grip on his leather jacket. “You can get off now.”
Okay, she’d enjoyed the ride but she hadn’t realised how hard she’d been gripping him. Releasing his jacket, she pulled her arms away and leaned back, the chill morning air invading the warmth where she’d pressed against him.
Knowing he was waiting, she swung off the bike, locking her knees that were surprisingly a little wobbly, hiding it from him. But she couldn’t stop the rushing of her blood, the huge smile that she flashed him as she tried to unfasten the strap.
Simon took one look at her and, chuckling, he swung off the bike and placed his helmet on the fuel tank. Turning to face her, he was a sight in his leather jacket, jeans and boots, but his eyes twinkled, his handsome face wreathed in shared amusement and obvious delight that she’d enjoyed the ride.
Automatically she dropped her hands as he reached out to unfasten the strap beneath her chin. He drew the helmet off carefully to place it on the seat of the motorbike.
Her hair was a mess, tumbling around her shoulders in total disarray, but right then she didn’t care, gathering it haphazardly back with one hand as she grinned up at him. “That was awesome!”
Laughing, Simon slid one arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him to drop a kiss on top of her mussed hair. “We’ll make a bikie chick of you yet.”
For a few seconds she melted into him, welcoming the strength of him, his scent slipping through her - clean male, fragrant soap, a touch of aftershave. But then she suddenly realised that he had his arm around her, had kissed her head and - and heck, she didn�
�t care. She really didn’t give a rat’s arse. Happiness filled her, the rush of blood, the freedom, and she tilted her head back to laugh up at him.
There was a flicker in his eyes, that strong, classically handsome face warming with something more than laughter. “Laughing suits you, Lis.”
“It’s been awhile since I had something to laugh at.” She hadn’t meant for that to be voiced, stiffening slightly in the circle of his arm.
“Then I guess I better see to it that you laugh a whole hell of a lot more.” Unexpectedly he dragged her into him once more, dropped another kiss on top of her head before straightening, his arm sliding down to rest his hand on her waist as he turned her before she knew it and started leading her down the driveway. “Come on, bikie chick, we’ve got a cranky old cat to find and feed.”
Cripes, how did he do it? She should be offended, maybe called him on that too-familiar hug and kiss, but somehow he made it seem so harmless, so warm, so freakin’ natural, and he moved with such ease, just strolling along and taking her with him.
To be honest, she liked it. Liked his easiness, his warmth, the way he just accepted her. Laughed with her.
Throwing her usual caution to the wind, she walked beside him, drinking in the warmth, determined to just enjoy the uncomplicated time he was giving her. Normally she’d be more reserved with a man she didn’t know that well, but with Simon she felt safe, was safe, and not just because her best friend vouched for him.
It was because Simon was safe. Safe and uncomplicated, just what she needed right now.
He led her around the back of the old house where they stopped to regard Arthur curled up in a thick rug on the old chair.
“I don’t remember that rug being there before,” Elissa commented.
“I brought it around last night after work.” Simon studied Arthur, who regarded him back with one narrowed eye, his tattered ears pulling back before flicking forward. “At least he laid down on it instead of crapping on it. I’ll count that as a bonus.”
Moving forward, Simon waited as Elissa went up the sagging steps onto the equally sagging veranda, following behind to move into the room at the side.
She peeked in to see that it was an old wash-house, complete with rusting washing machine, an old trough, several peeling benches and a dilapidated, folded ironing board against the wall. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Mrs Tanner lived simply.” Simon rinsed out several bowls that had been soaking in the trough.
“Simple? This is the pits.”
“Pits to you.” He slanted her a sideways glance. “To her it was home.”
“Yeah, but still…”
“This was supposed to be her new marital home but she lived here alone after her fiancée died in the war. She refused to change a thing he’d done except to replace anything that broke down beyond repair.” Picking up a tea towel that had been draped over the edge of the sink, he dried the bowls. “It was her home. Her dream home.”
“Oh.” A little disconcerted, Elissa looked around at it again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be, she wasn’t. She was home.”
Hearing something in his voice, Elissa looked at him. He had his glasses on, studying the label on the can of cat food he held. Man, he kind of looked sexy like that. Not to mention unexpected. Big bad boy bikie wearing reading glasses and looking sexy while doing it. Make that big bad boy bikie with a studious, serious air as he pursed his lips to the side. Like a big bad boy bikie librarian.
Striving to sound normal before he caught her practically drooling, she gestured towards the tin. “Something wrong?”
“Not sure.” He frowned. “Arthur doesn’t like this food.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”
“Arthur. I gave it to him yesterday morning and he left most of it.”
“Well, maybe he doesn’t like what’s in it.”
Simon waggled the tin. “That’s what I’m thinking.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Give this to Ryder for Jezebel.”
“Jezebel? Who’s Jezebel?”
“His cat.”
“Oh. Okay. What are you going to give Arthur instead?”
Retrieving a bag she hadn’t noticed from the other side of the washing machine, Simon set it on the lid and opened it up. “I have an assortment here that Ash told me to try. What would His Crankiness like, do you think?”
Moving up beside him, Elissa peered into the bag. Whoa, talk about an assortment. There were big cans, little cans, different brands, different flavours, some with meat and some with fish. Definitely from Tilly’s stock.
“Maybe I should try the fish.” Simon plucked out a dainty tin that proclaimed ‘pure fish for the finicky cat’.
“Because he’s finicky?”
“No, because he’s being an old fart about everything.” Simon’s face softened as he looked over Elissa’s head towards the doorway. “Poor old bugger. Guess he’s got a right to be a cranky old fart, he’s missing his Mum.”
Cripes, the way he said that just about melted her right there in her sneakers. Unconsciously she leaned towards him, not even realising she was doing it until she felt the sleeve of his jacket brush her cheek, then she jerked back, feeling an idiot.
Catching her sudden movement, Simon looked down at her, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back, the warmth of his palm penetrating deliciously right through her jumper. “All right, Lis?”
“Of course.” She used the excuse of picking up one of the clean bowls to shift away from him, unable to think why his nearness was disturbing her so much. “Shall we try Arthur on the fish?”
“Absolutely.” Simon peeled back the lid and tipped the fish into the bowl.
It looked good to Elissa. All fish and some kind of clear juice. “Okay?”
“Okay. You take it to him.”
“What?”
“Basically, Arthur thinks I’m shit.” Simon flashed her a wide grin. “Let’s see if he’ll accept food from the fair hand of the pretty maiden.”
Cripes, that had her flustered. She’d had compliments before, mostly false, said in a more seductive way than the open way Simon spoke, but never had those compliments flustered her.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her and walked her out the door.
Or rather, he walked and she either had to walk or have him pressed up against her. Not that she’d have minded - Jesus, the motorbike ride must have rattled her brains - but she feared she might just throw the food bowl on the floor, turn, grab him by his jacket lapel and kiss the living crap out of him.
Holy heck, where had that thought come from? Crap on a stick, she was losing it.
Trying to force her thoughts from the man at her back, Elissa focussed on Arthur. The big, black cat was eyeballing her cautiously from his perch on the chair. Obviously he was reluctant to shift from the chair, but he was as equally reluctant to let her too close.
Leaning over her, Simon placed his mouth at her ear. “Just talk quietly to him, see if you can coax him to come.”
Never mind Arthur, if Simon kept breathing in her ear she was in danger of coming.
Taking a deep breath and dragging her mind from the gutter, Elissa moved forward another step. “Come on Arthur, there’s a good kitty. Look, yummy food.”
Arthur obviously thought she could stick the yummy food where the sun didn’t shine. He stood up, ears going back.
“Come on, baby,” she cooed, kneeling down and placing the bowl on the veranda. “Come and have some yummy food the big firie bought for you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t mention me.” Humour danced in Simon’s voice. “I’m on his shit list, remember?”
“You have to get him to like you, remember?”
“I’m trying, remember?”
“You’re trying, all right.” Trying her libido. Was she ovulating or something?
His laugh was low, sliding across her skin warmly.
&n
bsp; Focus focus focus. “Come on, Arthur. You’re hungry, I know you are. Look,” she wheedled, tipping the bowl towards him so he could see. “Fish.”
Arthur jumped down off the chair but rather than approach them, he walked to the end of the veranda where he sat and eyed them.
Simon sighed. “We need to go, otherwise he’s going to walk off and I don’t know when he’ll come back. I don’t want other cats to get his food.”
Reluctantly straightening, she looked up at Simon. He was watching Arthur, his gaze a little sad.
“He’ll be all right,” she said softly, touching his arm.
“Will he?” Simon continued to watch the old tom. “Cats have been known to wander off when their owners die or leave them.”
“But he’s at his old home, right? And you’re feeding him.” She rubbed his arm comfortingly. “He’s got no reason to leave.”
Simon’s arm slid around her waist, drawing her against his side. “I’d like to get him to my home, settle him in so he’s comfortable for the rest of his life.”
Seeking to reassure him, Elissa leaned against him lightly as they both watched Arthur. “He’ll come around eventually.”
“Yeah,” Simon finally said. “Yeah, he will. He’s got no choice.”
Relieved to hear the sudden determination creep back in his voice, she nodded.
It was companionable standing together, his warmth seeping into her, his strength supporting her however lightly. The morning sun filtered down, chasing the chill away. But however lovely it was, Arthur made a move to walk away, causing Simon to tighten his hold on Elissa.
“Come on, Lis, let’s leave the old boy to have a peaceful meal. I’ll come back later.”
Rather than release her, Simon walked down the steps with her, the sagging wood groaning beneath their combined weight. He kept her tucked into his side as they left the backyard.
Before they turned the corner of the house, Elissa glanced back to see Arthur sniffing at the food bowl. The old cat lifted his head to look at them before he settled down and started eating.
“It’s all right.” She switched her gaze to Simon’s face a full head above her. “He’s eating.”
Fly with Me Page 14
