Page 50 of The Forbidden Trio

She ran her fingers through his hair. “When do I get to hear it, Cole? You’ve been writing a lot, but you won’t play anything for me.”

“I’ll play them all for you when they’re finished. They need to be perfect.”

Why did some part of him feel like it could all be over if he played the new songs for her before he got every note, every lyric, just right? He’d made some sort of deal with himself after that first time he saw her at the yoga studio. The song had come to him while he was riding his Harley down the highway, the scent of motor oil and the ocean in his lungs, images of Janie in his mind. He’d promised himself that he’d sing that song for her and ask her to come back to him. But was she ready to hear it? Or was she already back? All the way back—for good?

“Cole? I have to go.”

He blinked. “Sure, baby. Have a great day at work, bendy girl.”

She laughed. “I will.”

Wrapping a hand behind her neck, he pulled her down for another long kiss. “Bye, Janie. See you tonight.”

Every night.

It had been nearly every night. But things still felt a little fragile, as if one wrong move could scare her off. That total trust wasn’t there yet, and he couldn’t blame her for that. It was more than a feeling—she still wouldn’t let him tie her up or blindfold her, even though those were games they’d played long ago, and some of her favorite aspects of power play. Being held helplessly. Being deprived of her sight while he touched her, teased her with hands and mouth. But it would all come in time. He had to keep wooing her. Fighting for her. It was a fight he never intended to give up on.

The sun was setting as they headed toward Silverlake, her arms wrapped around Cole’s waist, the engine of the Fatboy purring beneath her. This was her personal favorite of his bikes. The bronze and silver paint job reminded her of the L.A. sunset, and she loved the classic, chopped style—it was the most graceful of Cole’s motorcycles, but still totally masculine. Totally bad-ass, in fact. But what Harley wasn’t?

Even with a helmet and her sunglasses on she could feel the wind warm on her face as they passed the older homes and funky cafes, tattoo shops and retro boutiques the area was known for. She leaned into him, holding more tightly onto his big, solid body, pressing into his muscled back even though there was no need to… except that sheneededto. He let go of the handlebar to squeeze her hand for a moment, and she loved the touch of leather from his fingerless road gloves. She loved the hum of the engine between her thighs. That he controlled this powerful machine. She’d never admitted to anyone how much she loved the vibration, the low, guttural rumble when he gunned the engine, making it reverberate through her body.

By the time they reached Silverlake, she was a little turned on, and half in love with the awesome machine. Every time she got on a bike with Cole, it reminded her of their early days, the romance with that touch of danger in being out on the road on a motorcycle—unable to do anything but cling to him and enjoy the ride. She still loved the romance of it. And the danger, which, she supposed, meant she would always be destined for the bad boys. Right now, with her arms around Cole’s body, his scent on the wind, the roar of the motorcycle in her ears, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

They pulled up in front of a funky, low stucco building painted in bright blue and yellow. There was no sign on it, just a mural of Frida Kahlo surrounded by the calla lilies her artist husband, Diego Rivera, had made famous. She was glad Cole had picked an out-of-the-way place to eat. She wasn’t in the mood to be swarmed by people asking him for an autograph, or the paparazzi that hung out at the trendier spots, hungry for a scandal.

He parked and let her jump off with a protective hand on her arm before swinging one long leg clad in tight, faded blue jeans over the bike, then helped her off with her helmet before removing his own. He strapped them both to the bike and locked them there.

Laying a hand on the small of her back, he moved toward the front door of the restaurant. “You enjoy the ride, Janie girl?”

“It’s such a beautiful evening—it would have been a shame to take your car.”

He smiled, the warm glow of the twilight sky reflecting in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

She stood back as he opened the door for her and ushered her through. Feminist or not, she knew better than to try to open it herself. He’d always been a gentleman, a bit old-fashioned, and it was something she appreciated when she remembered to stop fighting it.

Inside, the lighting was dim, but she could see the colorfully painted chairs at the tables, the booths upholstered in turquoise and red vinyl. The hostess led them to one of the curved booths, and Cole gestured for her to sit, then slid in next to her, his thigh touching hers, making her warm all over. Making her tingle. He always did, this charismatic man whose bed she’d shared for weeks. The thrill had definitely not worn off. She didn’t think it ever would. If anything, the attraction grew stronger every day, and she still got butterflies every time she saw him.

She looked at him, his strong profile outlined in the dim amber light as he browsed the menu. He had to be the best-looking man she’d ever seen. So strong and sweet at the same time.

So utterly commanding, in presence and voice and his hands on her body.

She had to stifle a moan.

Her heartbeat was a steady rhythm in her chest, beating faster the longer she gazed at him. Almost impossible to look away, as if a magnet held her there. But it was more than the intense chemistry. It had been there from the start—not only the first time they met all those years ago, but back again the moment he set foot insideOm.

No.

She wasn’t sure how long she could fight it, or even if she should.

She took a breath, filling her lungs.

Be in the moment. Don’t look back. Don’t look ahead.

Except shewantedto look ahead. Wanted to think about—wanted totalkabout—their having a future.

No.

She was being ridiculous. It had only been a month, and despite their past,thiswas still new. Still unproven. But how much did she have to prove to herself? How much did he have to prove before she truly believed this was real? Celine had given her good advice about being a little wary, letting time be their testing ground. It had only been a month.

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