Page 20 of Heron's Flame

“Yeah.”

I wished I had been. Some people shouldn’t become parents. They perpetuated misery from one generation to the next. “Does it bother you?”

“Naw. Maybe it should have, but I always felt different. That showed me the reason why.”

“I get it. Were you close to your mom too?”

“Sure, but my world revolved around Pops.” He shrugged. “What about you?”

I didn’t want to talk about it. Not about my parents, Paul, or the reasons I ran away during my teen years. Too many fucked up memories. I spent a long time trying to put that shit behind me. I didn’t want to think of the people who hurt me. They had taken enough.

“It’s a long story,” I began, sitting back in my chair. I shoved the wine away, no longer interested in it. A part of me felt I should be as open and honest as Heron, but I wasn’t mentally in the right place to have this conversation. “Is your real name Heron? Or was it a nickname before you used it as a road name?”

Heron blinked, pushing his empty plate aside. He gave me an intense stare, then reached for my hand. After a gentle squeeze, he replied. “Neither. I grew up Manu Hale Williams. When I started riding, Heron fit. I remember reading a book about different types of birds as a kid, and that one stuck in my head. I’ve been Heron ever since.”

“Manu Hale,” I whispered. The name sounded sensual, almost exotic. “Hawaiian?”

“Yes, I’ve got Pacific Islander roots. I can’t say much about it because I’m still searching for my birth parents.”

“I hope you find them.”

“I will,” he replied confidently. “Eagle Eye has been helping. We’re close.”

I tightened my grip on his hand. “I’ll talk about my parents another time. Not tonight.”

His gaze softened. “There’s no rush. You tell me when you’re ready.”

Such patience. Heron wasn’t at all like I thought. I’d avoided him for so long, pushing him away because I believed him to be arrogant, cocky, and only after the chance to get me into his bed. I assumed he’d sleep with me and then ignore me. I’d seen it happen to girls before, and I wouldn’t become a notch on someone’s bedpost.

But I had been wrong about Heron. He’d proven to be thoughtful, observant, and sweet. A big biker like him towering over me, and he was still capable of being gentle. I wasn’t a short girl by any means at five foot nine, but I still had to look up into his eyes when we faced each other.

“You wanna get out of here?” His voice had lowered and gotten raspy, and as he stared, his expression betrayed nothing but contentment.

“Yes.”

Heron paid the check and left a generous tip, pressing his hand against my lower back as he guided me through the restaurant.

I wasn’t ready to return to The Roost yet. “Can we take a ride?”

“Sure. Anywhere you want to go?”

I shook my head.

“Then we’ll just let the wind lead us.”

The sun was setting as we rode outside of Vegas, racing along the highway as purple, red, orange, and golden yellow crept over the horizon. It was breathtaking.

With the wind blowing my hair behind me, the warmth of Heron’s body close, and the freedom of the open road, I felt the stress of the last months fading away. On two wheels, everything seemed different—better, easier, like I had no worries, and nothing else mattered.

Knees in the breeze, I hugged Heron closer, resting my head against his back. The helmet hindered the hug, but he didn’tneed anything to decipher what I was doing. Before I knew it, we entered Henderson and headed toward The Roost. Even after another hour on the road after the restaurant, I still didn’t want to end the evening or my time with the sexy, tattooed biker.

Heron must read minds or have felt the same way. We pulled into a little ice cream shop, and he parked the bike, switching off the engine before he rose off the seat. He impatiently unbuckled my helmet like he couldn’t wait to see my face. In an instant, his arms encircled me, bringing my body hard against his, allowing no room to misunderstand his attraction or the need flaring in his dark gaze.

“I don’t want to end our date.” His fingertips danced along the edge of my jaw, sweeping upward to lightly pull on my lower lip. “So soft.”

“Kiss me, Manu.”

“Say it again,” he growled, tightening his grip.

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