Page 21 of Dangerously Tempting

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Deathtrap? Jesus Christ. Just get on already.”

“Everything, Jameson. No more lies.” It comes out with a hand on my hip, my attitude flaring, and I can tell he’s fighting another eye roll at my dramatics.

“I promise.”

I snatch the helmet from his grip, pull it over my head, and move to climb on but he yanks me a step towards him and clips the helmet under my chin. My breath catches in my throat as his fingers skim my chin, and I grit my teeth. He nods towards the back of the bike and I awkwardly climb on behind him, thankful I wore pants today and not a skirt. That would have made this even more awkward than it already is. I tuck my purse between us and lightly place my hands on his waist.

He growls something under his breath before he takes my hands in his own, yanking me forward to wrap my arms fully around him so my palms rest on his stomach. Only then does he let go and return his own hands to the handlebars before kicking the bike into gear, flipping his visor back down, and accelerates as he lifts his feet. I immediately tighten my grip, resting the side of my helmet against his back.

I try my best to focus on the warmth radiating from his body instead of the fear tightening my muscles, but it’s a true struggle. I feel incredibly out of control on the back of this death machine, and my wavering trust in Jameson certainly isn’t helping matters. I tighten my hold as he speeds up, squeezing my eyes shut.

I’m not sure how long we’ve even been on the motorcycle by the time we pull to a stop. It felt both like time was standing still and breezing by, so I’m not even sure how far we’ve gone. I peek my eyes open to find us in a garage, tucked safely into a parking spot. My mind knows this, my eyes see it, and yet my limbs don’t want to loosen their grip.

I jolt as his hands close over mine where they rest against his ribs, squeezing them before he slides them off of himself. I didn’t even notice he’d taken his helmet off because I’m so stuck in my fear. With the kickstand planted firmly against the ground, he gets off the bike while somehow not kicking me off of it, a feat I doubt I could manage myself. He steps forward, releasing the snap from below my chin so he can pull the helmet off my head before he hangs it on the handlebars.

I expect him to extend a hand to help me off the bike, but instead, he stares at me for a few beats, his eyes flicking between mine before he steps closer. He raises his hands, feeding them into the hair at the back of my neck to tilt my head up before his lips crash to mine. I melt under his touch, everything but his scent, his taste, the feel of his lips against mine, and his hands in my hair is a distant memory. But none of that matters in this moment.

By the time he pulls away, I’m like playdough in his hands. He can shape me and mold me into anything that he wants right now and I won’t even question it. How does a man that I hardly even know have this effect on me? It wasn’t supposed to get this deep, but it’s like he’s the sun and I can’t help but be sucked into his orbit. I’m not even really sure what I was mad about anymore.

“Come inside. Let me tell you everything, and then you can make your decision.”

“Decision?” He helps me off the bike so I don’t fall on my face, and he keeps my fingers gripped in his own.

“Yes. You can decide if you want nothing to do with me, or if you want to pursue this.”

“Pursue this? You mean… us?” I ask hesitantly. I’m not sure that’s what he means, but I don’t know what else he could be referring to.

“Yes,” he says with a chuckle. “I already planned to track you down, Amelia. One night with you wasn’t enough. I want to dive deeper. But that choice will be left up to you, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper and let him lead me away from the bike.

I’m absolutely stunned. This is not where I thought this was going at all. I haven’t even heard what he has to say yet, but it feels almost too good to be true. He’s not my normal type, no, but I did think he was initially, so maybe I’m wrong. Regardless, he fits me like a glove and is capable of reading me better than anyone else ever has. I’m still wary, even though his lips washed away every last ounce of anger that I had, but I’m willing to give this a chance if what he has to tell me isn’t that he really is a creepy stalker serial killer after all.

He leads me across the parking garage to the elevator and he gently rubs his fingers across my palm as we wait for it to come to our floor. Just like when we were together before, it’s like he has to be touching me in some way and I’m basking in the attention. I’ve never encountered a man that wants to touch me just because he can. It’s always been touch with the intention of leading to sex, so it’s hard to wrap my head around it being anything else.

The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and we step aside to let an older couple exit. They’re probably the cutest pair I’ve ever seen, and the love that shines in their eyes when they look at each other warms my heart. Her hand is tucked into the crook of his elbow as she uses her cane with the other to keep herself upright, and his other arm is across his body so that his hand rests over the top of hers. She walks slowly, and his back is hunched, but their love makes them feel much younger.

There’s a tightening in my chest as they walk away and we step inside the elevator. Isn’t that what we all want? The level of love that is unshakeable through thick and thin, sickness and in health. Often, the vows say those words but the truth of what takes place is much different. People are so quick to give up on one another, and sometimes it’s absolutely necessary for your own physical or mental health to do so. But still, we all dream of that everlasting love that transcends everything else.

Jameson pushes the number for his floor and the doors slide closed, and I watch the couple until the very last second when the door cuts them off from view. I get the feeling that’ll stay in my memory for a long time to come. Jameson squeezes my hand like he can sense the change in my mood, and I lift my gaze to give him a small smile as the elevator carries us up to his floor.

We exit when the doors finally slide open and walk down the hall, passing several doors along the way. When we reach his and he slides his key into the lock, I can’t help but notice his door is the newest-looking one that we’ve passed. I pinch my lips, trying not to laugh. I may have judged him for his profession, but it’s clear that he brings it home with him.

He swings the door open and we step inside before he closes the door behind us. I stand just inside the door for several beats, overwhelmed by the scent of him that’s so thick within his space. When you think of a man’s home, it’s not often you think of clean and smelling nice. Untidy and smelly is usually what springs to mind, with sweaty socks thrown in the corner, a sink full of dishes, and blank walls. Soulless.

He’s taken me completely off guard. It smells fantastic, he’s got art on the walls, and there’s not a single pair of socks on the floor. I step farther inside, stopping at the back of the couch where my mouth falls open. “Jameson, are you hiding something from me?”

“Huh?” he asks, completely confused.

“Are you gay? Because the only men I know that have throw pillows are gay.”

“Are you really asking me that?” he asks with a quirk of his brow and I blush. “I grew up with a mother who loves her throw pillows probably more than she loves me. She must have broken me because the couch feels naked without them.” He shrugs. “Besides, pillows have a lot of uses.”

He winks, and the grin that stretches across his mouth is almost feral, the gleam in his eyes making me swallow hard around the lump in my throat. As much as I want to know about every single use of those pillows he knows, that’s not what we’re here for.

“I’ll take your word for it. Right now we’re gonna focus on how you have things to tell me.”

He steps closer, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “We’ll be coming back to that conversation, Amelia. But you’re right.” He motions to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want something to drink?”

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