Page 18 of Coming Up Roses

Abigail on my bike in the skirt and heels … way hotter.

Abigail on my bike in the skirt and heels with her body pressed into mine so I can feel the swell of her breasts and herarms wrapped around me, palms splayed across my chest and stomach … the hottest thing that’s happened to me in my life.

I feel a little dizzy at her proximity, at the heat of her, at the way she smells, at the feel of her breath against my neck as she clings to me.

“You good?” I ask in a hoarse, raspy voice.

Abigail nods and I feel the movement against my shoulder. “Yeah,” she whispers, then steels her tone. “Let’s do this.”

“Atta girl.”

9

ABI

I startthe bike ride with my eyes squeezed shut, clinging onto Flynn like I’m going to fly away if I lessen my grip at all. I quell the shaking in my hands by pressing them against Flynn’s stomach, my fingers clutching at his shirt and listen to the sound of my heart galloping in my chest.

I’m expecting him to rev the bike and speed through the farm, but the pace he sets is sedate and after a few moments where I try to get my breathing under control, I pry my eyelids open.

Flynn must feel the moment my grip on him relaxes slightly—I’m still hanging onto him for dear life—because he takes a hand off the handlebars and pats my arm where it’s wrapped around his middle. “See, you’re all good. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.Somehow it feels like more than just in this moment. Since I got here Flynn’s had my back, even when I don’t want it. He gives my arm a soft squeeze, then returns his hand to the handlebars, which I have to admit, I’m relieved by.

We follow the road around to the main part of the farm, where the house is, and I’m just a tiny bit disappointed we didn’t get to go through the farm. I was looking forward to seeing just how beautiful it is.

“We aren’t going through the farm?” I ask.

“So you’ve managed to open your eyes, huh?” he asks, and I can hear the humour in his voice.

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question.” It comes out grumbly and I hope he doesn’t think I’m feeling bitchy about this.

“There’s a lot of gates to open if we go through the farm. You’re not exactly dressed in appropriate bike gear, or farming footwear. I’m just trying to preserve the shoes.”

“You’re really taken with my shoes.”

“You always have great shoes. I’m assuming it’s because you like them. I’ll take you down the farm sometime when I’m not worried about what you’re wearing. I don’t want to ruin your nice stuff, or have you get hurt.”

I glance down and realise the way I’m sitting on the bike, and pressing against Flynn’s back, has made my skirt ride up. My bare thighs slot in against the backs of Flynn’s denim-clad ones. The expanse of exposed skin, the way my green suede heels are propped on the little pegs Flynn showed me, and the way this position forces my knees apart is downright pornographic.

I let out a groan and my head falls forward, coming to rest on Flynn’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, immediately on high alert.

“I just realised what I look like on this bike, dressed like this. I look like some bike guy’s wet dream.”

He slows to a stop in the middle of the Wildflower Ridge driveway, resting one foot on the ground to hold us and the bike upright. He twists his body, turning to face me as much as he can.

His gaze trails over me, eyes darkening as they linger on the hem of my skirt, hitched somewhere around the underside of my ass instead of near my knees. His tongue slips out and swipes along his lower lip and something in me twinges at the sight of it. The scruff on his jaw makes me want to reach out and feel the roughness against my fingertips.

He drags his gaze upwards until it locks with mine. “I’m not going to deny you look incredible right now, but it wouldn’t matter what you were wearing, you’re probably always going to be some bike guy’s wet dream. You’re hot as fuck. You know that.”

It’s more than just a twinge this time. White-hot lightning strikes through my body at his rough voice. If I physically could right now, I’d be pressing my thighs together, trying to quell the sudden ache there.

It’s not even him telling me I’m hot, or that I look incredible. It’s the way he says “some bike guy”, like he knows exactly which bike guy would be dreaming about me.

It’s him.

He’s the one who’d be dreaming about me.

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