Page 45 of Thornhill Road

Then, in the blink of an eye, his hand was in my hair and his mouth was pressed to mine, kissing my smile clean away.

I took this to mean he appreciated what I had on, too.

The scent of leather, fresh air, and pine mingled with the taste of him, and it was sublime.

I was breathless when he broke our connection and asked, “You got sunglasses in that bag?”

Dazed from the contact high I’d just received, all I could manage was a nod.

“Good. Lock up, baby. Time to ride.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

Once at his Harley, Mustang stowed my jacket and my purse in one of his saddlebags before mounting his hog. This time, I managed to climb on a little more gracefully. Also, he didn’t have to pull me into him. I melted against his back, snaking my arms around him, needing to hold tight to his solid body as I was already starting to feel turned on at the promise of our ride.

He reached down and gave my thigh a squeeze, as if he understood, then started his engine.

Ten minutes later, we were back on I-90. I still had no idea where we were going, but as he picked up speed along the highway, I didn’t care. I just wanted to ride.

And we rode.

We rode for more than an hour.

We rode across state lines.

When we hit South Dakota, ridiculous as it sounded, I felt pretty certain I’d let him take me all the way to Florida if he wanted.

We finally slowed down when we reached Deadwood, and he parked us on Main Street, across the street from the Franklin Hotel. I spotted the Legends Steakhouse sign hanging off to the side and assumed that was our final destination. I’d never beento Deadwood, or to Legends Steakhouse, but something told me I’d like both.

As I sat up, I fussed with my hair a little, making sure it was still parted just off the middle and free of tangles, needing to do anything to distract myself from the longing that pulsed at my center.

When Mustang held out his hand, my signal it was time to climb off, I took hold of it and carefully dismounted. He didn’t let me go when I was on my feet but pulled me toward him, close enough to wrap his arm around my waist. This meant I was straddling his leg, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.

He removed his aviators, hooking them over the neck of his shirt, his eyes on my lips the entire time. After an extended moment, he reached up, pulled my sunglasses off, lifted his eyes to find mine, then asked, “You good, sugar?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, not trusting my voice.

Mustang smiled, as if he saw right through me. “You’ll get used to it.”

I shook my head slightly and confessed, “I’m not sure I want to.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion, and I knew he misunderstood what I’d said. To clear things up, I took hold of either side of his face and brought my lips to his. I knew my message had been received when the hand at my waist descended to take hold of one side of my butt, pulling me even closer before he completely took over our kiss.

I moaned, all consumed by him, and entirely uncaring as to where we were or who might see.

He did that to me.

I was in so much trouble.

He slowed down our exchange, then swatted at my backside before he promised, “Fuck you when we get back. Let’s eat, baby.”

I nodded, my initial arousal assuaged a little after that kiss, then stepped back so he could dismount. He gave me my purse and my sunglasses, then took me by the hand and led me across the street and inside the restaurant.

Even though no one was particularly dressed up, it still felt like a fancy place—at least, fancy for our neck of the woods. Rather than sit at a table, Mustang spotted a couple open seats at the bar and opted to take those. I didn’t mind this, as it put him in closer proximity.

After the bartender offered us our menus and left us to peruse, I jokingly asked, “Are you ashamed to be seen with me or something? We traveled an awfully long way for a date.”

His body already angled toward mine, he looked up from his menu, then ed me up and down with those hazel-blue irises. “Tess, even in jeans, you’re classier than fuckin’ Ruby Tuesday’s.”

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