The bike came to life beneath us, rumbling and vibrating my legs all the way up into the center of my crotch. Cam reached behind him, taking my arms and looping them around his waist, where the sensitive skin of my wrists brushed against his middle. When I thought he would pull away, he didn’t, instead he flattened his palm against my hands, sandwiching them between the smooth skin that pulled taut over his ribs. His skin was warm, like it never lost the heat it soaked in during all his time in the sun.
“Hold on,” he yelled over his shoulder, still pressing my hands against him before letting go and grabbing the handles.
The bike began to glide over the pavement, and I found my arms tightening around him just a little bit more. We moved slowly at first. He was very good at maneuvering the bike through the parking lot, and I began to relax a little. The nerves I initially felt when climbing on this bike dissolved a little with every passing second.
And then he turned onto the main road.
The bike quickly picked up speed. I squeezed my eyes shut against the blurry scenery around us. I wasn’t sure I was meant to travel at this speed. All the tension in my body came back plus some, and I held myself rigidly, afraid if I even shifted once it would throw the bike sideways and we would barrel into oncoming traffic, or worse, fall over.
I didn’t notice the way his body shook at first because everything on this bike was shaking—vibrating from the hum of the engine—but this was different. He was laughing.
“What?” I screamed and then squeezed my eyes shut, sure that just my talking was going to make us crash.
His shoulders shook more. “You’re scared!” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Am not!” I yelled like a petulant five-year-old.
His hand, large and warm, covered mine where I was gripping at his chest and he gave it a light squeeze. I was about to yell at him for only driving with one hand when he spoke again. “I got you.”
Three words.
How could three little words cause something inside me to bottom out and then swell with emotion?
I got you.
They weren’t even particularly exciting words. But there was something about the way he yelled it while he covered my hand with his. It was like instead of asking me to trust him, instead of telling me not to be scared, he was showing me.
And I believed him.
My muscles relaxed; they quivered slightly from the exertion of being so tense. Suddenly, I realized I was plastered up against him. It seemed every part of my body touched him. I practically wrapped myself around his body in a giant bear hug. Even my ankles had hooked themselves around his calves.
If I hadn’t been wearing such a massive helmet, I had no doubt that my cheek would be pressed against his back and my hair would be trailing behind us as he drove.
It was just one more reason to hate this helmet.
I opened my eyes and looked around, really looked.
Because of the late hour, the roads weren’t filled with traffic like they usually were. All the shops, the tattoo parlors, the bars, and restaurants were lit up with bright neon lights and large signs. As we moved, the lights whipped by us, creating a blur of color in my line of sight.
The air outside was hot, but traveling like this, the wind pulled at my clothes and body. It brushed over my skin, creating goose bumps in its wake, and I huddled just a little bit closer to his warmth.
Just as I was starting to enjoy the ride, the bike downshifted beneath me and slowed as he turned off the main road and drove a short distance to an apartment building that rose up out of the concrete like some imposing force.
This wasn’t my apartment.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t even given him directions.
He stopped the bike in a spot by the curb and shut off the engine. I pried myself off his body and lifted up the face shield. “Where are we?”
“My place.”
“You live here?” I asked nervously as he climbed off and turned to face me.
“On the third floor. I’d invite you in, but I’m not that kind of guy.”
I snorted. I bet he wasn’t.
He laughed and gently pulled the helmet off my head. My hands automatically went to my hair because I knew it was probably mashed to my head like I’d been wearing a hairnet.
“So I didn’t kill you,” he said, hooking the helmet on the side of the bike.
“You didn’t bring me home either.”
“I figured we could grab my car and go back to the bar. I can jump your car and then you’ll be able to take it home. You might need it tomorrow.”
Actually, I did need it. “You have a car and a bike?”
He pointed to a vintage mustang convertible parked next to the bike. It was cherry red with a white ragtop. “Yep.”
Damn, I didn’t know what was hotter—the bike or the car.
“I like it,” I said, climbing off the bike. My legs felt funny, like the cells inside them were still vibrating—like they thought I was still riding on the bike. As I stood, I stumbled a little bit and fell against his chest. Automatically, his arms came up around my waist and I stood there in his embrace, completely dumfounded as heat rushed through my veins and scorched every active brain cell.
“Your legs will feel normal in a few.” His voice was a mere whisper; he didn’t have to talk loud because I was right up against him. He pulled back, still keeping his arms around me, and looked down. Our eyes met and the heat that had been rushing through me all drained into my stomach, pooling in the bottom of my belly and placing this heavy pressure down against my core.
I shifted, trying to get a little relief, but it made it worse because my body brushed against his hips.
Oh my God. I was acting like some hormonal teenager.
I stepped back and he let me go, and I rushed to put some much needed distance between us. I didn’t know what was happening to my body, but it was losing its mind.
He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and went around to unlock the passenger side of the Mustang. I climbed in and breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind me. We didn’t speak on the way back to the Mad Hatter, and I busied myself with looking at everything but him.
When my car came into view, I wanted to scream with relief but decided that might be a little rude. He pulled the Mustang right up in front of my Toyota so the cables would reach from one battery to the other.
Before he climbed out of the car, I laid a hand on his forearm. He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “I really appreciate this, Cam,” I told him. “You don’t even know me and you’re going out of your way in the middle of the night to help me.”
“I’m getting something out of it too,” he said slyly.
I lifted an eyebrow. “You are?”
He grinned. “Did I forget to mention that you owe me now?”
“I’m pretty sure this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
He grinned and dammit, even in the dark his dimple caused my heart to melt. “You owe me, Harlow.”
“What do you want?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Something about the way he said that caused a commotion to erupt inside my belly. It felt like there were tiny people in there doing jumping jacks. Very clumsy tiny people.
I stayed in the Mustang as he lifted the hood to both our cars and then retrieved the jumper cables out of his trunk. When they were connected, he knocked on the window and I looked over, my eyes colliding with the view of his defined abs. And yeah, his abs were really good-looking, but what made my hands clench was the little indentations on each side of his hips… you know that hollow indent that really in-shape guys got that led all the way to… well, to you know where.
I had this incredible urge to reach out and run my fingers over that part of him, to follow it to the very spot where it ended.
“Earth to Harlow,” Cam called, leaning down and looking in the window.
I jumped like I was just caught robbing a bank and hurr
ied to open the door. It swung open a lot easier than I thought and it smacked into Cam, making him grunt and double over.
“Cam!” I gasped, shutting the door and rushing to his side. “I’m such a klutz! Did I hurt you?”
I placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned down just as he was standing up, and his head caught my cheek.
When we smacked together, I shrieked and stumbled backward as searing pain cracked across my cheekbone.
A string of curse words fell from his lips and he grabbed my head, angling it back and turning my face so he could see me under the dim lights of the parking lot.
“How old are you?”
“Why, do I have wrinkles?” I asked, watching him study my face.
He rolled his eyes. “No, you do not have wrinkles.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“How in the hell have you managed to keep yourself alive for twenty-one years?” he wondered as he smoothed the pad of his thumb across the tender flesh on my face.
It hurt, but I barely noticed. Every time he got close to me, it’s like my brain went into some other universe, and in that universe everything consisted of only him.
His words followed my brain into that universe and I bristled. “I beg your pardon?”
He snorted. “Please. Like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I’ve managed just fine!”
He dropped his hands—clearly deciding I wasn’t that hurt—and smirked. “Since I’ve met you, you have tripped and fallen over a pair of flip-flops, fell onto a table, spilled beer all over two guys, managed to murder the battery on your car, fallen over while getting off my bike, hit me with the car door, and then slammed your face into my head.”
“You hit me!” I growled, but in the back of my mind, I was thinking about that impressive list. Wow, I was practically a walking apocalypse. I reached up and brushed the still-stinging area and prayed I wasn’t going to get a black eye. That would not be good for tips.
He palmed my face again, tilting my head back and studying it again. “Still hurt?” he asked low.
I nodded.
He bent, his breath brushing across my face before he pressed his lips not once, not twice, but three times over the area. They were feather-light kisses, but they mowed me over like a Mack truck.
“I’m sorry I hit you, baby. I’ll make it better.” Then he kissed me again.
I reached up and wrapped my fingers around his wrists. My heart thudded so unevenly it was hard to breathe. I felt lightheaded from his kisses, and all I could think about was getting just one more.
“Feel better?” he murmured as I clutched him to me. My eyes fluttered open and met his, which were so dark they looked like glittering black pearls.
I nodded just slightly. I did feel better… I couldn’t even remember what hurt in the first place.
His lips quirked up in a half smile and then he kissed me again.
On the lips.
It was another one of those feather-light brushes, but oh my God, every single place inside me felt it. Something deep within me opened, something I hadn’t even realized was closed… like there was this secret place and the combination to enter was his lips.
I made a soft sound as he lifted his head, so he came back, giving me just one more short taste.
His hands fell away from me and he stepped back, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe. The only thing I could do was stand there and let the sensation of his kiss sink deep inside me until reality came rushing back.
I blinked. Kind of like I was waking up from some dream.
He watched me, an odd look on his face.
I was acting like a freak. Like someone who was starved for attention and would cling to any guy the first chance I got.
How pathetic.
I cleared my throat. “So are we going to do this or what?” I pushed past him and sat in the driver’s seat of the Toyota. “Tell me when.”
He went around and started up the Mustang, then signaled for me to turn the key. I did and nothing happened. So I tried again. I could hear him rev the engine of the Mustang, so I pumped the gas a bit and the engine finally turned over and purred to life.
I gave a shout of joy as the car rumbled and showed no signs of stalling.
Cam removed the jumper cables and closed both hoods and gave me a thumbs-up through the windshield.
I climbed out of my seat to fetch my bag from the floor of his car, but he met me halfway, extending it between us. “You should let the car run for a few more minutes just so the battery will charge up a little more.”
“Think it will start tomorrow?” I worried.
“Should.”
“Thanks again.”
“Anytime.”
He held up his finger, signaling for me to wait, and he jogged to his car, reached inside, and then came back to my side and extended a white business card to me.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking the card.
“It has my number on it. If you get stranded or need a ride to work tomorrow, call me.”
He was giving me his phone number. A little thrill went through me. I glanced down at the image of a surfboard sticking up out of a pile of sand.
Cam Malone
Custom Surfboards Made to Order
“You make surfboards?”
He nodded. “It’s a hobby, but someday I hope to have my own surf and board shop.”
“Wow, that’s incredible.”
“You like to surf?” he asked. I could see the passion for the sport in his eyes. I wanted to say yes so badly.
“Never been,” I admitted.
“You live in Myrtle Beach and you’ve never surfed?” He gaped.
“I only moved here a couple years ago for college.”
“Where you from originally?”
“Beaufort.”
“There’s beaches around there.” He scoffed.
I shrugged. Surfing wasn’t something I ever thought about doing. Until now.
“Of course, maybe it’s better you haven’t tried. You’d probably drown.”
Ignoring his jest, I slid the business card in the back pocket of my cutoffs. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Don’t you want to know what you owe me?”
I braced myself for some wild proposition. “Yeah. What?”
“Come surfing with me.”
That wasn’t what I expected to hear. “Surfing?”
He nodded.
“Didn’t you just say I would probably drown?”
His teeth flashed white in the dark with his quick grin. “You’re not gonna drown. I’ll be with you.”
“What if I take you down with me?”
“You’re not going to go down at all.” He paused. “I got you.”
Inwardly, I groaned. He said the magic words. “Okay, I’ll go.”
“I go every morning. Tomorrow?”
I gaped. “What time?”
“Usually around six.”
“As in a.m.?” I raised an eyebrow.
He nodded.
“That’s inhuman.”
“I take it you aren’t a morning person?”
“Not at all.”
“You owe me.”
I sighed. “Fine. But I can’t tomorrow. It’s already after three. I’ll drown us both if I only get two hours of sleep.”
“Day after tomorrow…” He tilted his head and flashed a crooked grin.
“Yeah, okay. But I have to work at ten. Will that be long enough?”
He seemed a little surprised. “You have another job?”
I nodded. “Yeah, this is my second job.” I really needed the money.
“What do you do during the day?”
I blushed. “I run the snow cone cart over at Broadway at the Beach. It’s just a summer job.”
“What’s your favorite flavor?”
“Pineapple.”
“Original,” he noted.
“How about you?”
; “Cherry.”
“A classic,” I said as he moved closer, once again taking over my personal space.
“What can I say?” he murmured. “Classics never go out of style.”
Tease Page 5
