Page 23 of Kilo's Edge

Kilo held out his hand and I stepped forward to take it, internally cursing myself. If this went beyond one dinner, I was going to have to tell him. I couldn’t risk putting his life on the line. Not for something he had nothing to do with.

“You hungry?” he asked.

I loved his voice. It was deep and gruff, but I had yet to see him lose his temper. The other day when he’d been working on the window he’d let out a few curses, but they were lowand barely audible inside the house. That was a novelty to me. My father had been a screamer. He thought the solution to everything was to roar at the top of his lungs. I hated it. I only realized later, once I was older, it was because he didn’t have the ability to control himself. Though, he never hit us. Just screamed. I was grateful that was as far as it ever went, despite how much I hated the yelling.

Kilo led me outside and kept looking over at me as we walked around the building. He must have sensed the shift in my mood. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied, giving him a smile. It died on my face when the motorcycle came into view. It was a beautiful machine, all black and chrome.

“You ever ridden one?” he asked.

I shook my head, clasping my hands together when he let go so he could grab the helmet that was hanging off the handlebars. My mother would kill me if she found out I rode on his motorcycle, but I was all but shaking with excitement. I’ve always wanted to ride one. Everything I read about motorcycle clubs was that they were very selective about who they let ride on the back of their bikes, though. I’d been doing a lot of research since I met Kilo. I doubted I’d even scratched the surface.

He came over and our eyes locked as he lowered the helmet down over my head. His fingers brushed my throat as he secured the buckle and tightened it. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe as he touched me. I’d never had this reaction to a man before. Maybe because the few guys I’d hung out with before were boys. Not men.

My reaction to Kilo was visceral. My nipples ached to be touched. My pussy was wet. And all he’d done was put a damn helmet on me. I needed to pull myself together. I shoved the visor up as he swung a leg over his bike. “Where's yours?” I asked.

“You're wearing it,” he replied with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. There’s no helmet laws in Arizona. I don't need it.”

“That won’t stop your brains from splattering all over the pavement if we get hit,” I pointed out. I lifted my hands to the buckle and started to undo it. “I can’t take your helmet, Kilo.”

He was off the bike in a flash, his fingers wrapped around my wrists. “The only way you’re getting on this bike is with that helmet.”

My eyes widened at the determination in his voice. I blinked, my fingers falling away from the strap. His eyes were narrowed and he had a stern expression on his face, but he wasn’t angry. He was just telling me the rules. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he added, readjusting the strap under my chin again. “I’ll get a second helmet.”

Uh oh.

He was not only letting me ride on his bike, when we could just as easily take my car, but he was planning on getting another helmet? I sighed as anxiety twisted inside my stomach. This was a great sign for my heart—which was already invested—and my pussy, which was hopeful. It was a bad sign for keeping my secret. I just knew if I told it to him and he ran from me, it was going to break my heart. Not that I would blame him. It was a shitty situation that no one would want to be in.

He got back on his motorcycle and held out a hand for me. As soon as his fingers wrapped around mine, he held me in place when I would have tried to get on. “Put your feet on the pegs back there,” he said. “And lean when I do. Not too much. Just look in the direction I do and let your body do it naturally.”

“Okay.”

“Hold on tight.”

I nodded as he reached out with his free hand and closed my visor. As soon as he motioned for me to, I threw my leg over, tucked the ends of my dress under me, and settled onto the backof his bike. Sucking in a deep breath, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on. He maneuvered us through the parking lot, and out onto the street and my eyes widened behind my helmet as he gained speed.

This must be what flying feels like.

I never wanted it to stop. As soon as we got onto I-10, I let out a laugh of amazement. The wind was whipping past us as he accelerated. The vibrations were added torture, as if I wasn’t wet enough. I wanted to hold my arms out and see if maybe I really could take off into the sky, but there was no way I was letting go of him. I curled my fingers into his t-shirt, beneath his cut. He reached back with one hand and rested it on my thigh. It was a comforting gesture. He probably thought I was nervous. And maybe I was, a little, but mostly I was elated. For some unknown reason this felt like freedom. Like no one could touch me. Like they couldn’t catch me. And for a woman who has been hunted for the last four years, that was a heady feeling.

The ride ended too fast. Before I knew it we were pulling into the parking lot of a little restaurant. I scrambled off the back so that he could get off, and smiled as he removed my helmet again. This time he tucked it under his arm and brought it inside with us.

“A friend owns this place,” he told me as the hostess showed us to a table.

It was a cute little Italian restaurant and it wasn’t too busy since it was so early. I looked around and smiled as I saw older couples enjoying their time together in the quiet atmosphere. It wasn’t a stuffy place, but it was romantic. “It’s great,” I told him.

The waiter came by and grabbed our drink order. I waited for the man to leave, then met Kilo’s gaze. “I have something I should tell you-”

“Kilo!”

We both looked over as an older guy, with a huge belly, walked up, his arms extended out. Kilo stood up and he and the man embraced.

“It’s been too long, my friend.” The man’s eyes dropped to me and he grinned. “Who’s your pretty lady?”

Kilo chuckled. “Camila, this is Roger. Roger, Camila.”

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