by Jane Linfoot
‘Okay, point taken.’ He watched Bryony’s pale curls flick as her chin whipped up, no doubt marking some kind of personal victory, which was going to be short-lived. ‘So, if you’re that experienced, then you’ll know you need a helmet…’
‘Oh, damn.’ Her confident flounce was instantly replaced with the squawk of panic. ‘Cressy?’
Point to him. Worth it, if only to see the whites of her eyes as her face crumpled. Not so sure of herself now, was she?
‘No worries, the helmet’s in the kitbag, Bry.’ Cressy posted him a mocking dead-eye as she triumphantly pulled the hat out of the holdall and thrust it at Bryony.
‘One last thing—’ And it had to be said. ‘From your VPL I’d say you’re wearing a thong?’ From the way she coloured up, he knew he’d scored a bulls-eye there. ‘Are you sure that’s wise? Cutting in and all that? There’s a reason I go commando.’
‘Too much information.’ She vaulted in, glaring at him like she’d love to throttle him and finish off with a happy dance. ‘I know you think you’re God’s gift, Jackson, but, honestly, my underwear choice is up to me.’
‘Okay, it’s your call, I’m only trying to help.’ Eyes snagging on Bryon, as she fiddled alternately with her chin strap and – God help him – her thong elastic, he wheeled the tandem out to an open patch of car park. ‘If you insist you’re up for it, then climb aboard.’
He braced himself. Stood back, holding the handlebars at arm’s length as she approached. Something about the way her steps hung back screwed up his stomach again. What was it with this woman and the way she tipped his guts upside down?
Definitely committed then. His pulse picked up speed as she arrived beside him, grasped the rear handgrips and shot him a hesitant scowl; yet he was still totally unprepared for the scent of her. One sweet, warm, blast of pure sex hit him as she bumped against his hip and swung her leg up, fumbling her way onto the saddle.
Guts on full spin now.
‘Seat at the right height?’ He had to ask, though getting in close enough to raise it might be beyond him.
‘Errr. I guess so.’
‘Bemused of Scarborough’ speaking there, but giving the right answer from his point of view. No way could he cope with the up close and personal that adjusting her saddle would involve. Even though it was obviously too low, he wasn’t about to force the issue.
She sat up shakily, one toe on the ground, and stopped biting her lip long enough to manage a slip of a smile. ‘So where do I put my feet?’
A question to make his heart sink if it hadn’t been pounding so fast. Experienced bike rider? What a load of…
‘You need to clip the cleats on the base of your shoes into the pedals.’
Easy. If you weren’t a high-maintenance female who couldn’t tell a bottom bracket from a chainset.
‘What?’
Nice move. Neatly making it sound like he was the one over-complicating this.
‘Twist your feet and attach them to the pedals.’ Watching the clouds scudding across the bright blue sky, he counted to ten.
‘No, not happening.’
No surprise there then. Dammit.
His pulse already in overdrive, anticipating the next bit. Taking the weight of the bike on one arm, he bent to help, sliding his face down, mentally blocking the slippery heat of her Lycra-clad thigh perilously close to his cheek. Grasping her foot and yanking it into place on the pedal.
‘Not so hard, is it?’ Not for her, at least. ‘Twist your foot on and off. Get the idea?’ He aimed for nonchalant, rather than ready-to-take-her-against-the-wall.
‘Cool. They seem to be clipped in now.’ She dragged in a deep breath, pushed him an accusing stare.
The full heat and weight of her body plus the bike rammed up against his as he straightened to stand, and the surge in his groin came as a firm reminder to him to somehow sort the desert of his sex life as he disentangled himself from the scent of clean hair. Moved hand over hand, towards the front of the tandem.
Why the hell was he going ahead with this? More to the point, why was she? She could act as feisty as she liked, but he’d felt the nerves juddering through her, heard the rattle of her chattering teeth, even though her jaw was clamped tight shut. He had an idea that, despite her bravado, Cherry Bomb was silently freaking out here.
He was suddenly aware as he swung his own leg over the crossbar and clipped a foot onto his own pedal that they had an audience. Winding the pedal into position, he raised his eyebrows to the arc of bystanders.
‘Right, I’m going to push off. All you need to do is to sit still and pedal along with me, okay? And stop pedaling if I stop.’ Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he saw Bryony clinging onto the handlebars, eyes wide with terror.
Anything but okay, then.
‘Yep.’ She gave a wobbly nod and threw a desperate grimace at Cressy. ‘Great.’
Lying through those perfect teeth and hyper-ventilating too. She was about to get a whole lot more than she bargained for. For a nanosecond he considered stopping, taking pity and letting her off, but the caveman in him overrode that. Now that he’d got her jammed in behind him, he was loath to let her go. True, she might turn into a complete liability on the back, but some strange part of him was relishing the thought of spending a half-hour with his buttocks thrust between her hands on the bars, the two of them rushing through the air together. Despite the fact it was barely eleven in the morning, he felt a sudden compulsion to forget all about the race and pedal off into the sunset, dragging her behind him. It was only a fun bike race after all. Fifty tandems racing ten miles along a road, a linear course rather than laps, and judging by the fancy dress he’d already seen charging round the streets, most of the entries were about the fund-raising, not the speed. But an overwhelming desire to go AWOL, taking the Cherry Bomb with him? Weird, or what? He put it down to too much caffeine.
‘We’ll have a trial run. A couple of turns around the block, see how it goes.’ Laughing over his shoulder in a desperate bid to block out the sunset image, he decided to join in the lie-fest. ‘You’ll be fine.’
As he pushed off, a crescendo of yelps from Bryony rose over the cheers and wolf-whistles of the small crowd. Too bad. He powered on the pedals, clicked up the gears.
‘Go Bryony!’ Cressy’s yell followed them across the car park. ‘You’re gonna have the ride of your life!’
At least someone thought so.
Chapter 4
Three swift laps round the block later and she was shaping up better than he thought possible. His barked instructions to sit still and move with him had worked. Now they were coasting down a quiet residential road lined with elegant terraced houses, the screaming had stopped, she’d lost the attitude and her gasps had subsided into small moans. Although this was good news for his aching ears, it was pretty disastrous for his good-behaviour policy, given the way the small mews that she was emitting now sounded sexual enough to drive his libido wild.
He tried to close his ears to the distracting noises behind him. She needed to man up. If she couldn’t take the heat, she shouldn’t go in the damn kitchen in the first place. That was better. Quiet was good. Although maybe she was too quiet.
‘Are you alright back there?’
The reply, when it finally came it was more of a whisper than a groan. ‘No…’
Not sounding good. One glance over his shoulder confirmed that she was green.
Damn. He’d known this was a ridiculous idea; it was his fault, he should never have set off. Just another example of the disaster area his life had become.
Bad decisions, bad calls. When did it all go so wrong? And why did bad follow bad like a toppling cascade of dominos, making it seem like all the good years had been down to luck and nothing else? Yanking the bike into the side of the road, the tourniquet tightened around his gut again as he watched her struggle onto the pavement.
‘Why didn’t you say something?’ That sounded way harsher than he intended no doubt as his own s
elf-recrimination spilled over.
He caught the flare of surprise in her eyes as she sank down to squat on the kerb. With a big shrug, she shook her head. Gulping for air, she brushed a hand across her cheek and a slash of tears streaked the dust. Oh, shit, she was crying. The woman who seemed so goddamn sure of herself, and he’d broken her in three blocks. She swallowed again, rubbed her nose and sniffed hard.
‘Something wrong?’ May be best to act like he hadn’t seen the tears.
‘I don’t want to wimp out.’ Her bottom lip juddered. ‘But I feel sick.’
Unbelievable. ‘Not another one.’ He let out a slow breath. What was with everyone today?
‘I’m too scared to look forward, so I look sideways, but then everything flashes past and makes me dizzy.’
Pulling herself together might help. ‘You need to look forwards over my shoulder.’
She grimaced. ‘It’s all so fast.’
Now he’d heard it all.
‘The speed’s the best bit. The exhilaration. It’s the closest to flying you’ll get without wings.’
‘I don’t do thrills. Or flying.’ She chomped hard on her thumbnail and gave what looked like an involuntary judder. ‘I hate sledging, I refuse to ski, going downhill fast is my worst nightmare, because I hate not being in control.’
A control-freak to boot. Today just got better and better. ‘Great. You’ll just have to postpone your enjoyment until you get back in your armchair then.’
‘I thought that with the flat course it would be okay.’ Her eyes staring up at him were gut-wrenchingly blue.
‘Flat? Whoever told you that?’ Someone clearly forgot to mention the gentle ten mile climb to a big final descent and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. Biting back his exasperation, he pulled his water bottle out of its cage on the bike frame and thrust it towards her. ‘Have a drink, it might make you feel better.’
The shake of her hand as she grasped it sent an unexpected jolt of sympathy through him, making him want to reach out, rub a comforting palm across her back. Yet he held back, firmly, as he watched her lips close around the bottle top. Chasing sunsets? Reaching out? Not him. Not in this life. Even though the vulnerability of her neck as she tipped her head back to drink sent his stomach crashing to hit the deck. She took a long draft, then pulled her legs up and tucked her chin onto her knees.
‘Too many raspberry muffins, maybe.’ Flicking a strand of hair away from her mouth, she gave a rueful grimace and tapped the drinking bottle with one, perfectly manicured, russet nail.
Polished nails and tandems? He should have known better. ‘You don’t have to do this. We can walk back; it’s only round the corner.’
She flew back at him in an instant. ‘There’s no way I’m giving up.’
So, that put him in his place. Again.
‘Okay. We’ll give it one more go. I’ll raise the saddle, so you’ll sit higher. This time you face forwards and we’ll take it steady. You only have to say the word and we’ll stop.’
Hopefully, that would placate her.
‘You don’t understand.’ She fixated on him with narrowed eyes as she unfolded her legs, rubbed her nose again and clambered to her feet. ‘Giving up isn’t what I do.’
Got that now. And staring down your top isn’t what he did, except the way she was standing, tugging at her jacket. He couldn’t help but notice. He swallowed hard, trying to dispel all thoughts of rolling his tongue around what had snagged his attention; but he failed, just as he failed to avert his eyes.
‘Are you cold?’ That was enough to break the spell.
‘Oh, drat.’ She flung her arms around herself, and, dammit, he lost the view of what had the potential to be the most promising set of nipples in the history of the world. Although, on the plus side, he gained an insight into how fast a blush could splash across a girls cheeks – also sexy as hell. Somehow he didn’t have her down as a blusher, but her grimace was telling him she was dying here.
‘Here. Take this.’ In a flash he’d unzipped and flung his own jacket round her shoulders. ‘I’m warm anyway.’
Ever the gentleman, as long as he wasn’t mesmerised, obviously. Warm had been an understatement. Overheated more like.
‘Thanks.’ Absentmindedly, she pushed an arm into a sleeve. ‘If you’re sure.’
Not looking at him when she was talking to him, then. Following her sightline downwards, he saw that her eyes had locked onto something a lot lower than his face.
‘Aw, damn.’
Length and width – and plenty of both – bulged against the glossy black sheath of his shorts on proud display, and still more to give. Thanks to the God of Lycra for the stretch. His attempt to whack the bulge into submission with the heel of his hand failed.
‘Gotcha.’ Bryony, eyes shining, proving she could serve an ace return.
Cheeks pinker than ever now that he’d caught her, her lips twisting into a grin that lit up the world, as she zipped herself into the safe haven of his jacket. And not backing down.
‘So you did.’ He gave a snort. ‘No place to hide in Lycra.’
Not backing down. And sharing the joke. He liked that in a woman, even a high maintenance one.
‘Come on.’ He glanced swiftly at his watch. ‘We’d better get moving if we’re going to catch this race.’
‘Made it!’
Bryony caught the grin Jackson flung over his shoulder as they whizzed under the start banner, chasing the other riders who were already a hundred yards down the road. At least now her seat was higher and she could see ahead, she was less queasy. Getting travel sick on a tandem…she’d never live that one down. In a blur out of the corner of her eye, she caught Cressy, arms flailing like windmill sails, yelling.
‘The camera bike will catch you up!’
Then she was gone, her words lost in the rush of air. And who even cared about cameras? Damn it to that, in spades. A TV production woman who forgot about filming?
In front of Bryony, Jackson was up on the pedals now, bouncing from side to side, giving chase. Navigating, steering, and zig-zagging alarmingly between the other tandems as they caught up with the bunch.
‘Oh, my. This so wasn’t my best idea.’ One groan to comfort herself, perked up by the view.
Wow, that was one toned butt. As for the muscles in those thighs… Nudging her hand too, as he sank back onto his saddle. OMG. I just touched Jackson Gale’s…
‘Blimey.’ A bump in the road threw her out of the saddle, cancelling all wayward thoughts.
‘You okay back there?’ He slung a grin over his shoulder. ‘Don’t forget to hang on.’
She locked her fingers more tightly on the handle bars. If she didn’t concentrate here she’d be off the flaming back. Her wrists were already burning with the effort of holding on, and they’d hardly even begun. If it had been achingly scary going slowly round the block, now they were weaving in and out of other bikes right across the road – it was terrifying.
‘At least I haven’t chucked up.’ Yet.
‘It’ll soon be over, it’s only ten miles.’ Another nugget tossed in her direction. ‘We’ll get ahead of the rest of the field and keep out of trouble.’
So comforting. Not.
‘It all feels like trouble.’ It was alright for him. He was used to it.
‘There’s no serious competition. Most people are in fancy dress.’ Another spurt, and he gave a loud guffaw as they accelerated past a custard-yellow cloud. ‘We ruffled Donald Duck’s feathers there!’
What crazy place had she landed in?
‘Only a guy could be that competitive about overtaking cartoon characters.’ Craning her neck as she shouted, she peered past his ear and saw capes up ahead. ‘Batman and Robin – they’ll give us a run for our money.’
She should have shut up. Like a red rag to a bull. Jackson was up again, and her feet were flying around on the pedals in time with his as they soared past them.
‘Batmobiles can’t keep up with me.’ He was shouting
back with the enthusiasm of a five year old. ‘I top sixty miles an hour downhill on a good day.’
Not what she wanted to hear. If it hadn’t already been in free-fall, her heart would have sunk.
‘Can’t we ride with the rest?’
That groaning appeal fell on deaf ears.
‘The faster we go, the quicker we get there.’ One flash of a backwards grin told her he had no intention of slowing down. He might even be enjoying tormenting her. ‘It’ll all be over in another twenty minutes. Keep pedaling.’
As if she had any choice.
When had she ever been this out of control? Another bump sent her rocketing skywards.
‘Ouch!’ The dull ache in her butt exploded as she crashed back onto the saddle, the padding in her shorts doing nothing to save her bottom. As for her legs, they were on fire.
Twenty minutes more? She’d be dead.
Gritting her teeth, she clamped her eyelids shut and sent a juddering prayer to the God of accelerated-career-progress, to make it end soon.
‘Hey, Cherry Bomb, time to wake up.’
One more jaunty comment flung in her direction and she might just throw up after all. This one penetrated her self-induced trance deeply.
‘If you’re expecting me to open my eyes, think again.’ She growled through gritted teeth as no way would her bone-shaken jaw unclench.
‘We’re almost there. You need to wave to the spectators. The camera bike is lining up ahead of us too.’
Weakly, she opened one eye a crack. She couldn’t have ached more if a forty-four wheel pantechnicon had driven all the way over her then reversed back again.
‘Smile! It’ll make a perfect shot, us flying down this hill to the finish.’
It was so like this joker to be mocking her.
‘Hill…’ The shock of the word unlocked her jaw. ‘What hill?’
She snapped her eyes open in time to register a hairpin-bend sign whooshing by. Blinked to bring the blur into focus and saw the road dropping away in front of them, dipping sharply like a roller coaster, then corkscrewing round. She hurled out her mental anchors.
‘Hold on tight!’ Another superfluous instruction from Jackson.
