by Amanda Aksel
“But I’m wearing a dress,” I say as if it’s the only good reason I have.
“I noticed.” He tilts his gaze down, lingering below my waist. “You can tuck it in beneath your legs. It’ll be fine.” Drew walks closer to the bike.
My feet are firmly planted on the sidewalk. “But what if I fall off and die a horrible death?”
The look in Drew’s eye changes like he’s finally acknowledging that I’m legitimately afraid of riding a motorcycle. “Kate, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, all right? I promise.”
I want to believe him, which might be more frightening than the prospect of the bike ride. I swallow a dry lump in my throat. “I can’t.”
He gives me a reassuring smile as he steps closer to me. “Yes, you can. I know you can.” I stare into his eyes as they glow amber in the sunlight. And in that moment I believe him, I can do it and it’ll be fine. “If it’s too intense, tap on my chest three times and I’ll stop.”
“Okay. I’ll try it.”
He smirks. “So you are a secret adrenaline junkie?”
My cheeks flush and I check that the helmet’s on tight. I probably look ridiculous. “We’ll see.”
He helps me onto the back of Black Jack. “Just trust me and hang on tight. When I lean, you lean.”
My heart pounds against my chest, partly because I’m actually doing something I never thought I’d do and partly because I’ll be holding on to him the whole way there. I tuck my dress beneath my legs and check my helmet for what feels like the tenth time.
“Grab on,” he says. “Don’t let go.”
I grip his torso tighter as the throttle roars. He glances back, then pulls out onto the street.
Whoa!
My pulse races with the speed of the motorcycle. With my chest pressed up against his back, I bet he can feel my heart pounding. The wind blows my hair off my shoulders and ripples over the edges of my skirt and I pry one hand from around him just long enough to re-tuck my skirt in place. As soon as I’m done, I clutch his leather jacket in my hands and brace myself against the chilled wind washing over me. His hot body between my legs is the only thing keeping me from freezing my panties off. He turns the corner and I lean slightly with him. I shut my eyes tight, feeling like we could tip over at any moment. But once we’re upright again, I open them. A wide grin spreads across my face and I let out a deep exhale. I figured a motorcycle ride would be thrilling in a if-I-don’t-die-this-will-be-a-great-story kind of way, but I’m actually having fun.
A few minutes later, Drew’s bike slows and he eases up near the curb, then turns off the ignition. “That’s it?” I ask, breathless.
Drew laughs and slides off the seat. “Oh, I see. You didn’t want to go, now you can’t get enough.” He offers his hand, helping me climb off the seat. There’s an awkward moment with me yanking my skirt back into place. Pretty sure he just caught a glimpse of my panties.
“You didn’t tell me it’d be fun.”
Drew unfastens my helmet. “Well, the good news is you figured it out on your own. Come on.” He nods in the direction of the shop with the brick exterior and a row of high arched windows—a familiar logo frosted on each one. It’s not at all like the one back home. High top tables with neatly placed computers, tablets, and phones are spread throughout the large, lofty space. The sun shines down through the glass ceiling.
“Hey, Drew,” A guy in a blue polo shirt approaches us. “Long time, no see.” The guy greets Drew with a handshake.
“Hey, man,” Drew says. “We need your help with something.”
“Sure, what’s up?” The guy widens his stance and sticks out his tongue in thought.
“Show him,” Drew says. I pull my phone from my purse and hand it over. “Think you can fix it by the end of the day?”
The guy scrutinizes the screen. “Oh, yeah. I’ve seen worse. One hour okay?”
Wow, only an hour. “Yeah, that would be amazing,” I say.
“Great, I’ll take care of it.”
Drew extends his hand for another handshake. “We’ll be back.”
“See you then.” The guy walks off with my phone and I turn to Drew.
“Doesn’t he need to get my information or something?” I ask, silently praying my phone doesn’t get lost in the shuffle.
“He knows me. It’s like he said, he’ll take care of it.”
“How do you know that guy?”
“We used to box.”
“Box? As in puffy gloves and a ring?” I don’t know much about the sport, if you can call it that. I’m also averse to violence, but the thought of Drew swinging and sweating it up in the boxing ring turns me on.
“That’s the one,” Drew says. “Why don’t I tell you about it over a drink. There’s a place down the way. We can walk.”
I swallow hard. “A drink?” I told myself I’d get my phone fixed, then I’d be done. He’s already talked me into riding a motorcycle, which I’ll admit was awesome, but a drink seems even riskier than the ride.
“Don’t tell me you don’t drink. You’re the one who spilled a martini down my pants.”
“It’s not that, it’s just I should probably get back to work.” Yeah, that’s a good reason. Wait, who am I trying to convince here?
“C’mon, have one drink with me and I’ll drive you back to your store.”
It’s a bad idea, especially if there’s alcohol involved. But it’s not like we’re getting drunk. It’s just one drink and I definitely wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with him. Besides, I’ll pick up my phone and go right back to work. Who knows, maybe he’ll say something idiotic and it’ll kill my crush. It’s happened before. “Okay, one drink.”
He gestures to the door and I waltz in front of him, practically feeling his stare burn into the back of my dress. Around the corner, we walk into a quiet bar with hunter-green walls and oil paintings of polo players in brass-colored frames. It looks like the kind of place that my grandfather would go for a cocktail after work. But it was quiet, the kind of place where you could have an undisturbed conversation. Drew leads the way to a table in the back corner. My hands begin to tremble even more than on the motorcycle ride. Why am I so nervous? It’s just a drink.
Drew suggests we order a bottle of wine. “Red or white?” he asks.
“I like red. It’s my favorite color.” As soon as I’ve spoken, I wince. Favorite color? What am I, five?
He nods as if noting the fun fact about me and orders us a bottle of pinot noir from some winery that I’ve never heard of.
“Thank you for helping me get my phone fixed,” I say.
“It’s my pleasure, really. I’m glad we have a chance to get to know each other.”
I blush, letting out a small laugh. “Well, there’s not much to know about me. My life is pretty much work, work, and oh yeah, work.”
“Sounds like there’s not much room for fun.” And the way he says it makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.
“No, there isn’t.” Kate Golden Lingerie didn’t become one of the top twenty lingerie brands in the world by having fun. And yet, somehow I’m working just as hard, but the business is floundering.
He gives me a curious gaze and leans back in his chair, resting one hand on the table. “So, I guess that means you don’t have a lover back home?”
My eyes grow wide. “Lover?” Are we in London or Paris?
“Boyfriend, I mean.”
I let out a small incredulous laugh. “You don’t seem like the type to care if I have a boyfriend back home. But no, I don’t.”
Drew leans in with suspicion in his dark eyes and completely ignores my dig at him when he asks, “How is it possible that some bloke hasn’t snatched you up yet?”
“Maybe I don’t want to be snatched up.” The moment I say it I swear there’s a twinkle in his eye. Does he view my words as a challenge? Or is he beginning to realize that we’re not so different after all. I don’t date frivolously like he does, but I have n
o interest in commitment. As far as I’m concerned, I’m already committed. To my job.
The waiter arrives and uncorks the wine bottle, pouring each of us a glass. I swirl the burgundy liquid around and take a long sip even though I know it’s too early to drink it. Mmm, that’s pretty good.
Drew nods at the waiter, sending him away. He returns his attention to me, ignoring his freshly poured glass of wine. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are?”
I nearly spit my sip of wine all over his handsome face but somehow manage to swallow the wine more easily than his words. “You think I’m sexy?”
“If you have to ask, you don’t know how sexy you really are.” He lifts his glass to his nose and inhales the bold aroma. “Speaking of sexy. Why lingerie?”
Everyone asks this question and I give him my well-rehearsed answer. “My stepmother was a lingerie model in the nineties. I remember browsing the catalogs and falling in love with teddies and garter belts from the time I was eight.”
“Who’s your stepmom?” he asks.
And that’s the next question. I brace myself before saying her familiar name. “Lisa Turner.”
His eyes bulge out of their sockets. “Lisa Turner is your stepmom! Isn’t she a little young?”
“Yeah, she’s sixteen years older than me. And she’s not technically my stepmom anymore. She left my dad eight years ago.”
“Really? Who’s your dad?”
I shrug and take a quick sip. “No one you’ve ever heard of. Investment banker from New York.”
“Sounds like a catch,” Drew jokes. “How’d your mom take it when your dad married Lisa Turner?”
I shift my eyes for a moment. “She died. That’s why my dad remarried.”
His flirty expression turns serious and apologetic. “Oh, my condolences.”
“Thanks but it was a long time ago. And I don’t like to talk about it because I always get that face.” I point to him as if accusing him of something terrible.
He scoffs. “What face?”
“That face, like I’m a victim. Like you feel sorry for me. Don’t feel sorry for me. She was sick. She died. That’s it. My dad was great. Lisa was amazing. I had a good, privileged childhood. So, please, stop with the pity face.”
Drew straightens his frown. “Fine. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about you, Drew,” I say, trying to keep the mood light. “I hear you’re a rich playboy with a bag full of tricks.” This is when he’s supposed to say something idiotic or offensive.
“I told you, tricks are for kids,” he says in a low voice. “I’m a man. I like women and sex. I don’t lead women on. I’m always very straightforward about my intentions.”
Okay, borderline offensive . . . right? I can’t help but ask, “Which are?”
“Short-lived.”
As expected. “So I guess you don’t want to be snatched up either.”
“No. And now you know all you need to about me.”
I giggle. “Actually there’s one more thing.”
He tilts his head curiously. “What?”
“How did you end up becoming a James Dean wannabe?”
“I’m not a James Dean wannabe. I’m just Drew, remember?” He straightens out his leather jacket and I’m afraid I’m the one who’s said something offensive.
I pick up my small purse and slide it over my shoulder. “Well, Just Drew, you promised just one drink and you’d take me back to my store.”
Drew glances between the few sips left in my glass and me. “I haven’t finished mine yet.”
I let out a long sigh and pull down my purse. “I guess I can wait.”
He smirks from behind the rim of his glass. I finished what’s left in my glass after a few minutes, and he’s nowhere near finishing. My body begins to tingle with that subtle buzz. The kind that makes you think it’s okay to have another glass. I pour another half-glass feeling like I still have some self-control. But the longer I stare at Drew’s sexy five o’clock shadow the more I want to nibble at his cute chin. And I don’t nibble on chins even if they are cute.
For the next half hour that we sit with our wine, I do my best to not engage in conversation, but he keeps asking me questions that allow me to talk about myself. And face it, people love to talk about themselves. It must be one of his tricks. I wonder if he’s even listening to what I’m saying.
Finally, we make our way back to the store side by side to check on my phone. “You got plans tonight?” Drew asks.
“Just work. You?”
“My brother’s stag party.” He doesn’t look that keen on going.
“That’s like a bachelor party, right?”
“Yep,” he lets out with a sigh.
“So, someone snatched up your brother, huh?”
Drew snarls his lip. “Unfortunately. But it’s his life. Not mine.”
“What’s wrong with him getting married?” I ask.
“It’s not that he’s getting married, it’s whom he’s marrying. She’s not good for him or anyone.”
The store’s arched windows come into view. “Have you told him how you feel?” I wouldn’t ordinarily ask this personal of a question, but after a glass and a half of wine on an empty stomach, I don’t see a problem with it.
His gaze lowers to the sidewalk and he shakes his head. “No, he wouldn’t understand.”
I can tell by the sadness in his eyes that he cares about his brother and maybe he’s not just some shallow modelizer. “But if things go sour, won’t you regret not saying anything?”
“I’m not afraid of having that conversation with him, but I know that he won’t believe what I’m saying. He’ll have to see it for himself.” Drew opens the door for me, and the moment we walk into the store the conversation is over.
My newly repaired phone is ready to come home with me. I wait for it at the counter and pull out my credit card.
“It’s already been taken care of,” the cashier says handing back my beloved.
“It has? Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes,” Drew chimes in and places his hand at the small of my back. An electric pulse runs up my spine. “Thank you.” He waves to the cashier and leads me out of the store. When I spot his motorcycle again, my stomach flips. With the alcohol still pulsing through my veins, all I feel is excitement to get back on.
Drew is silent as he helps fasten my helmet. “You ready for another ride?” He raises an eyebrow.
“You know it,” I say like I was born to ride. How could I have gone from fully fearful to extremely eager in only one afternoon? Maybe Black Jack is magic. He chuckles and helps me hop on the seat. I cozy up behind him and soon we’re off. It’s much cooler now that the sun’s behind thick clouds, but the breeze is invigorating. This time, my body’s loose and I feel as fluid as the wind. The motorcycle rumbles beneath me and I squeeze my thighs against Drew, tilting my hips. The vibration hits just the right spot and I move my hips even more.
I let out a little moan but the sound is lost in the growl of Drew’s accelerating bike. With my arms around his waist, I toy with the soft leather of his jacket and press my breasts against his back, inhaling a mix of him and chilly London air. Drew picks up speed as we turn the corner a few blocks from my hotel. As the bike rumbles beneath me, I clench tighter around him, feeling a rush between my legs. “Oh,” I moan again, rolling my eyes back. A tingling wave of ecstasy shoots up my hips and down my legs, and I grip his jacket in my fingers. My lashes flutter as my body releases.
Did I just?
Yep.
Best. Ride. Ever.
Drew pulls up to the Corinthian Hotel. I slide off the bike with trembling legs, nearly tripping on my heel. He turns off the ignition and removes his helmet, shaking his hair loose.
I take a deep breath and look up at the overcast sky then back at him. Maybe it was the ride or the wine but that was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Maybe I am missing out on something. Maybe I should take Garret’s advic
e and loosen up. “Thanks for the ride and taking care of my phone.”
“You’re welcome.” Just like earlier, he studies me, his eyes flicking over my face as if he’s searching for something . . .
“Is everything okay?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Yeah,” he says still straddling the bike, but his eyes show something else.
I hand his spare helmet back and push my tangled hair over to one shoulder, stroking the ends. Then I decide that it’s now or never. Be bold or be boring.
“Do you want to come up?” I ask, my voice cracking a little with nerves. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait the two seconds for his response. After the last two encounters, I’m sure he’ll say yes. Right?
“I can’t. I have to go.” He tucks the bowl helmet away and pops his own back on his head.
I blink, stunned. “Seriously?”
Drew starts up the engine. He is serious. “I had a nice time, Kate. Really. It was fun.”
Nice time?
“But . . .”
“Later.”
I can’t tell if he means bye like a skater boy or that we can talk later. He pulls out into the street and jets off, leaving me on the sidewalk. Not again.
The heat in my body transforms into hot anger. He spent the entire afternoon stringing me along, telling me how sexy I am, and then . . . nothing. I snort. Games are for children, he says. Yeah, right. I ball my fist and let out a frustrated growl.
Drew—you’re a dick.
Four
DREW
I’m such an asshole. What am I thinking leaving that delicious woman on the street like that? Especially when I want her so badly. My body’s still on fire after having those beautiful, slender arms tied around me, the way she squeezed her body against mine.
Kate’s not like the other women I’ve been with. And I like that about her. Today, over wine, I wanted to take her right there in the bar with her shy smiles. She really has no idea how sexy she is. Strange that she’s a successful lingerie designer. I almost wonder if it’s an act. And maybe I’m the one going for the ride.
