Ready to Fall

by Olivia Dade

  He ran a rough hand through his shaggy hair, drawing on the dregs of his patience. “Sarah,” he said firmly, “you have the basics down. But you have to be willing to try riding without me holding on to the back of the bike.”

  “But you’re the one holding me steady.” Her mouth compressed into a mulish line. “If you let go, I’m going to become a Sarah pancake on the ground. The bad news—I’ll be dead. The good news—I’ll make my own syrup. And by syrup, I mean blood.”

  She stood straddling the bike frame, both feet on the pavement of the parking lot. Her cheeks had long ago pinkened from the muggy summer air, and her wide eyes looked wary. His urge to kiss her battled with his urge to shake her.

  He tried to explain it the best way he knew how. “If you want to ride, you have to take the chance you might fall. That’s just the way it is. No risk, no reward.”

  “I’m scared.” She meant it. The truth showed in those beautiful eyes, and every rapid breath she took revealed it too.

  At the sight of her distress, he couldn’t keep his distance any longer. Reaching out, he cradled her hot cheeks in his hands, trying to think of an argument that might reach through her fear. “I know. But just remember what you said to me yesterday. You’re doing this for the possibility of love, right? Isn’t he worth it?”

  She looked up at him, and her hands covered his. “I hope so.”

  The touch of her fingers burned him. He dropped his hands from her face, and hers returned to her handlebars.

  “Then let’s do this.” He did his best to sound confident. “Time to take the chance.”

  He watched her take a deep breath and straighten her shoulders. She placed her feet on the pedals, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the back of the bike and ensuring her safety. Every instinct he had said not to let her go.

  She can handle it, he told himself. She doesn’t need you anymore.

  With a strong push of her feet on the pedals, the bike started moving across the parking lot. For the first few seconds, she overcorrected for every wobble and almost tipped over. But each time he thought she was about to put down a foot or hit the deck, she managed to regain her balance. After twenty or so feet, she was actually riding in a pretty straight line.

  Her laughter trailed behind her, and he smiled at the sound. Pride for her blossomed in his chest, driving out the ache that had settled there last night.

  “Chris!” She was still laughing, still riding. “Do you see this? No Sarah pancake!”

  “I see it!” he called back. “You’re doing great. Now make a big circle and come back this way.”

  She made a slow loop around the parking lot and headed toward him. “I wouldn’t stand directly in my path,” she told him breathlessly as she got near. “My steering isn’t exactly precise, and I may forget how to brake. Even giant mutant men can get hurt by a runaway bicycle.”

  His smile widening, he lowered his voice to a near grunt. “Me giant mutant man. Me trust tiny shrimp woman to use brakes.”

  He watched her feet. A foot or two before she would have hit him, she pedaled backward and stopped the bike. Her feet came down on either side of the frame, and she stood very still for a moment. So did he.

  “Chris . . .” She was breathless. With exertion? Excitement? Something else?

  His eyes rose to hers. “Yes, Sarah?”

  “I know how to ride a bike,” she said with a big grin.

  And with no further warning, she swung her leg over the bike, pushed the kickstand into place, and raced toward him. She landed against his chest with an audible thump, driving him back a step or two. Her arms wrapped around his back, and she gave him a mighty squeeze. He squeezed back, his eyes closing as he luxuriated in the feel of her body plastered to his.

  Just like last night, he couldn’t help but marvel at how goddamn soft she was. Her breasts, her tummy, her hips . . . all of her. Jesus, everything about her was arousing, especially when all that everything was pressed up against his everything.

  She tilted her head back, unfastening her chin strap and removing her helmet. Her grin had disappeared, but her eyes were lit with delight and . . . something else. Something that made his breath catch in his throat.

  “The only reason I could do that was because of you,” she told him, her voice as quiet as he’d ever heard it. “I trusted you to teach me. I trusted that you’d know when I was ready to ride on my own. I trusted you to take care of me if I fell.”

  The affection in her eyes, in her voice, overcame him. He couldn’t help what he did next. Before her words had even fully left her mouth, he’d covered it with his own.

  Her lips were warm beneath his. So warm. For a long minute, he contented himself with simply brushing his mouth against hers, feeling the plush softness give under the slight pressure. Then he clasped the nape of her neck with one hand, the other sliding down to the small of her back. With gentle flicks of his tongue, he urged her lips to open. When they did, he eased inside, his tongue playing with hers and exploring her sweet mouth.

  Gradually, playful teasing turned into passionate hunger. They devoured one another, their tongues delving and their hands grasping. Her short fingernails bit into the back of his neck and she pulled him even closer, almost bruising his mouth with the force of her kiss.

  He slowly backed her against her car, and she moaned as her ass bumped the front fender. Without thinking, he lifted her until she was sitting on her hood. With her in that position, he didn’t need to bend down nearly as far to kiss her, and he immediately took advantage of that fact. His tongue thrust against hers, demanding her participation and passion. She pulled him closer, her legs parting to allow his hips in between.

  He groaned as his hardening cock nudged at the apex of her thighs, where he could feel heat even through layers of clothing. His hands fumbled as they reached for the hem of her long-sleeved T-shirt, but he managed to shove the thin fabric above her bra with one fierce pull.

  One hand still lifting her shirt, he slid his other over her belly and starting moving up. Triumph nearly whited out his brain when he finally felt the weight of her breast in his palm. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he searched for her nipple with his thumb.

  There. She gasped and shivered when he gave it a light flick. So he did it again, and she whimpered. Lowering his head, he began to kiss his way down her neck, hungry to feel the hard nub of her nipple against his tongue.

  She tilted her head to the side, granting him easier access. Her hands, which had been clutching his back beneath his T-shirt, roamed to the front. And the next thing he knew, one small hand was pressing against his jeans-covered cock.

  He groaned again, so loudly he managed to startle himself. And in that moment, reason returned.

  His eyes popped open, and he tore his mouth from her throat. He removed his hand from her breast, quickly tugging her T-shirt back down over her bra and belly. Then he backed a few inches away, making sure no part of him was touching any part of her.

  “That was a mistake. Another one.” He forced out the words through gritted teeth, so fucking hungry for her that he could scream with frustration. “I apologize.”

  As soon as he said those words, she stopped meeting his eyes. Her head turned to the side, and she stared at her bike.

  He waited a moment, but she didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he added. And God knew it was the truth. Now that he’d tasted her and felt her soft body against his for a second time, letting her go was going to hurt even more. Fuck, right now he wanted her more than his next breath.

  But if he didn’t plan to try to change her mind about Ulysses, he had no right to be touching her. No right to lead her on in any way.

  And he didn’t want to compete with another man for her affections. Did he?

  He frowned. No. Of course not. He was still recovering from the pain of having a woman he loved choose another man over him. He had no desire to repeat the experience.


  She hopped down from the front of her SUV, yanked open her car door, and reached inside. When she reemerged, she was clutching her purse in her hand. After a moment of fumbling, she held out a bank envelope to him.

  “Your money,” she said.

  For the first time since he’d known her, he couldn’t read her expression at all. Her face and eyes were opaque. Emotionless.

  He waved off the envelope. “You don’t need to—”

  “Take it. I know how to ride my bike now. And that means my pursuit of Ulysses begins the day after tomorrow. So thank you, Chris. Our lessons are over.”

  Reluctantly, he took the packet of money from her hand. She immediately went to her bike and bent to pick it up, obviously planning on putting it back in her car.

  “Wait!” He didn’t even know what he was going to say. Only that he had to stop her from leaving.

  At the moment he spoke, the sky over the battlefield exploded in pinwheels of color. Thuds reverberated through his body. He saw Sarah jump at the sudden concussion of the fireworks, just as he did.

  “Happy Fourth of July.” He meant it. Sarah Mayhew was a wonderful woman who deserved love and joy in her life. Even though the thought of her finding that love and joy with another man made his stomach churn.

  “Happy Fourth of July,” she repeated in a flat voice. Then she turned back to her bike and lifted it.

  “Sarah.” Desperate, he tried to think of some reason she should stay that wouldn’t involve more kissing. “You should make one more lap around the parking lot. Just to be sure you’re ready for the retreat.”

  Don’t go, he thought. Please, just give me five more minutes with you before you leave.

  She pursed her lips in irritation. “You’re very thorough.”

  He could barely hear her comment between the blasts of fireworks, but it didn’t sound like a compliment.

  “Fine.” She set the bike back down and shoved up the kickstand with her foot. With the ease of two hours’ worth of practice, her right leg swung over the frame. She settled into place. With one smooth motion, she put her feet on the pedals and started her loop around the parking lot. This time, she went a lot faster.

  Eager to be rid of me, he thought.

  She’d made it most of the way around the circle and was heading back toward him when a particularly loud concussion ripped through the sky. The grand finale of the fireworks, he figured. For just a moment, he turned toward the battlefield to catch a glimpse of the show.

  Then he heard Sarah give a short, piercing scream, one that cut off abruptly. His heart stopped at the sound, and he started running toward her even before his eyes even registered that she was no longer on her bike.

  Instead, she was sprawled in a heap on the pavement, her limbs arranged carelessly. Her body seemed tiny, a small patch of paleness against a wide expanse of dark pavement.

  No helmet, he thought in panicked fear. Fuck, she never put her helmet back on for that last lap, and I didn’t remind her. Didn’t notice.

  By the time he dropped to his knees beside her body, she wasn’t making a single sound. Her eyes weren’t open. She wasn’t moving. And as far as he could tell, she wasn’t breathing.

  7

  Oh , fuck, Sarah thought in the split second before she smacked into the ground. I knew bicycles were the instruments of Satan. This is going to hurt like hell.

  She wasn’t wrong. The impact jolted through her bones and jarred every inch of her body. It shocked her into immobility even before she could feel the pain of the fall. But the pain came, of course. After a few moments of blessed numbness, she began to ache all over, though not in any particular place. From the way it felt, she figured she could expect several days of bruises, ibuprofen, ice packs, and warm baths.

  No, the pain wasn’t too bad. More problematic was the fact that she couldn’t seem to breathe. At least not at this very moment. Unfortunately, at this very moment was when she really wanted some air. She forced her arms up from the ground and wrapped them around her middle, balling up into the fetal position as she struggled to inhale.

  “Thank God,” she vaguely heard Chris say as he ran his hands lightly over her arms and legs.

  It pissed her off. Thank God she couldn’t breathe? What kind of monster would say that? Then again, what kind of monster would apologize for the hottest kiss of her life?

  A Chris Dean monster, she concluded. The kind of monster who’ll teach you how to ride a bike, kiss you silly two separate times, call the kisses a mistake, let you fall off your bike, grope your helpless body, and take pleasure in the fact that you can’t breathe.

  She finally managed to drag in a tiny bit of air, and it gave her the strength to raise one middle finger in his direction.

  The hands gently checking her neck and head stopped moving. “I guess that addresses my concern about whether you know who I am and what you’re doing here.” His voice sounded strained, as if he was striving for levity without actually succeeding.

  “Can’t . . . breathe,” she wheezed.

  He didn’t appear to hear her. “I don’t feel any broken bones, and you seem to be able to move all of your limbs without a problem. Do you remember whether you hit your head? What about your neck?”

  She took in another shallow breath and cautiously lifted her head from the ground. “Feels . . . fine. But not . . . enough . . . air.”

  His careful hands lifted her head onto his lap, and then moved to make soothing circles on her chest. “I think you just got the wind knocked out of you. Don’t worry. The air will come.”

  Her eyebrows shot together. “Easy . . . for you . . . to say.”

  “Just relax.” Once again, he raised her shirt and put his hands inside it. This time, though, he seemed less concerned with her breasts and more interested in her diaphragm. He massaged the area, which seemed to help. “I’ve got you.”

  He worked on her for several minutes, whispering encouragement as her inhalations came more and more easily. Finally, she lay breathing normally with her head on his lap. Neither of them seemed eager to rise from the pavement, though. He merely tugged her shirt back down and started stroking her hair away from her forehead.

  She opened her eyes to look up at him. He was bent over her, as if shielding her from any further harm. His blue eyes scrutinized every inch of her face and body, but not with the heat she’d seen earlier. He was still searching for possible injuries, she realized.

  The hands passing over her hair moved in a steady rhythm, but she could feel a slight tremble in his fingers. The past few minutes had deepened the lines around his eyes and furrowed his brow. His jaw was set, his mouth grim.

  He looked . . . worried. More than she would have expected from a man who’d called a fall from the bike inevitable and said kissing her was a mistake.

  “If you’d hit your head, it would have been my fault.” His eyes met hers directly, without any attempt to hide his anxiety and guilt. “I should have noticed you didn’t have your helmet on.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s my hard head, and it’s my responsibility to protect it. I knew I needed to wear a helmet, but I was . . . distracted.”

  “Also my fault.” He lightly touched a spot on her cheek. “Is this blood? Did you scratch your face?”

  “Probably.” She shrugged. “I’m just surprised that the bike didn’t explode on impact. And that I don’t have limbs scattered across the parking lot. Or a pool of blood surrounding me.”

  At that, he gave a small but genuine smile. “That’s my girl. Can you sit up? I need to get a flashlight and my first aid kit, and I don’t want to put your head on the ground.”

  He supported her as she slowly raised her head from his lap and levered herself to a seated position. With one last stroke of her back, he rose easily to his feet and hurried to his car. She enjoyed the rear view as he bent and rifled through a box of items on his passenger seat. His butt was a powerful distraction from her aching body.

  Pharmaceutical comp
anies should patent his ass, she thought. They’d make millions.

  The sight of that ass made her heart race and her nethers tingle, even though every bone in her body felt battered. Even though he’d called their kiss a mistake. Even though she’d initially met him because of her pursuit of another man. Even though they were about five minutes away from returning to their separate existences.

  She barely stifled a disappointed protest when he finally stood up and turned back to face her. He ran a hand through his rumpled blond hair and then hung his head.

  “What?” Her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I must have left the first aid kit at my shop. It’s definitely not in the car.”

  She took a long, last look at him, knowing she’d probably never see him again. The probability that she’d use her bike enough for it to require repairs was—to put it mildly—minimal. Though she’d be mightily tempted to trash it on purpose, just to have an excuse to visit him.

  But he doesn’t want you, she reminded herself again. At least, not for a relationship. Remember what he told you in the shop? He wasn’t even ready to go on a date when he thought Helen set the two of you up. Imagining him as more than that—a lover, a boyfriend—is a waste of your time.

  The smile didn’t come easily, but she forced it anyway. “I’ll just go home. I only live about five minutes away. My demonic bike shouldn’t be able to spring out of the cargo area and injure me between here and there. Especially if I sprinkle it with holy water. And by holy water, I mean Diet Coke.” She leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s the aspartame that makes it holy.”

  His lips quirked. “You know, if this were a horror movie, you would’ve just doomed yourself. Your bike would definitely eat you before you made it home.”

  “I’ll have to take my chances.” With the bike. With Ulysses. With a future that didn’t involve the man directly in front of her.

  When she tried standing, he immediately offered her both his hands. Once upright, she released them as quickly as possible. No need to torture herself.

  “I’m not sending you home alone.” The set of his jaw appeared decidedly mulish, as if he expected an argument. “I’ll follow you in my car to make sure you get there safely. And I’d feel better if I took a look at you in some decent light. I want to make sure you don’t need to go to the emergency room.”