Page 63 of Jingle Belle's Biker

The kiss is slow and romantic with the right bite of roughness to it, the edge of carnal need and promises. I sink down into it, lips melding to his as our tongues dance. His kiss is a wonder, a revelation, and it’s just like coming home.

Losing myself in his kiss means I don’t need to think about the heart of his words, the fact he’s leaving. Like there’s a future between us. We’re too different. Our worlds aren’t in the same galaxy. But it’s nice to dream, to give over to the pleasure of someone, something dipped in magic.

It’s sweet, no strings, except while he’s here, it’s like he’s promising he’s mine.

I hope so.

Because I know I’m his.

For however long that might be.

Saint bites my lower lip, sucking it gently between his teeth. “Honey and fucking spice,” he says, letting me go. “That’s how you taste. And you taste like that everywhere.”

“Saint . . .”

He pulls me closer, and I can feel the hard steel of his erection, see the arousal in his gaze, the slightly blown pupils, the beat of his pulse in his neck.

“We should get out of here, get home, and maybe fool around.”

“I like the idea of that.”

He kisses me again and grabs Nomad, stuffing him in his jacket. I lock up. He secures the helmet on me, and we ride back, my heart thumping out little thrills with each beat. A short time, a long time, I guess it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s good, I decide.

My buzz of happiness lasts until we pull up in the courtyard, and I see another bike.

He helps me off and lets the cat jump free.

Saint utters one word. “Fuck.”

Then I see why.

All the happiness and thrills crash to the ground.

This woman is stunning.

She’s tall, her tight, ripped jeans show off the kind of legs that belong on a supermodel, and her dark hair’s long and wild. The woman’s also drop-dead gorgeous and, as she flicks her hair back, her hand’s tattooed.

Never, in a million years, could I compete with her.

Compete because they’re something, or were. It’s in his stillness. The heat in her gaze, hot like a brand of ownership.

“Saint,” she says. “Good to see you.”

“Sin, you too.”

Like I’m not there, she crosses to him and kisses him.

Chapter Fourteen

Saint

Fucking Sin.

The kiss isn’t one that’s a fuck you to Belle. I know Sin and those kinds of kisses, what she’d do when we’d break up or fight in the past. This is a hello, corner of the mouth, over before it starts.

But I know how it looks.

“Fuck, Sin.”

---