Page 3 of Riding Home

The morning cast a golden hue over my hotel room.I stirred beneath the crisp sheets, remnants of a dream clinging to the edges of my consciousness.Images of Clark flickered behind my eyelids.His penetrating gaze, the way his lips curved into that teasing smirk.Except in my dream, he wasn’t just the intriguing stranger from the bar.He was intimately familiar.My fake fantasy boyfriend and the real live man rolled into one.

My eyes snapped open as realization dawned.Did I really just dream about him like that?Embarrassment washed over me as my cheeks flushed.I sat up, pressing a cool hand to my heated face.This was ridiculous.I’d met the man once, for goodness’ sake.Shaking off the lingering sensations, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, determined to put Clark—and my naughty dream—out of my mind.

Get a grip, Aurora, I chided myself.It was just a dream.A very vivid, wet dream.

After a quick shower, I dressed in jeans and a cozy cream-colored sweater, hoping the simplicity would ground me back in reality.I packed my suitcase, mentally preparing for the drive to Brevard and the impending family drama.I checked out of the hotel, but the scent of fresh coffee beckoned me to another counter.Perhaps caffeine would help clear my head.

As I exited through the double doors, I almost spilled my coffee.There, leaning against a gleaming motorcycle, was Clark.Gone were the casual jeans and t-shirt from last night.Instead, he wore a black leather jacket adorned with chains and patches, his rugged boots and dark sunglasses completing the badass look.The morning sun glinted off the metal of his bike, casting an almost halo-like effect around him.

Damn.My heart did an involuntary flip as I struggled to pick my jaw off the ground.Man’s even more sexy in daylight.

Seriously?

But no.Not just a man, but a biker.

Reality set in.The emblem on his jacket caught my eye—a symbol of a notorious biker gang from Music City.The Royal Bastards MC.

I lifted my chin, determined not to let him see any hint of interest.As I walked past, he glanced up, a slow smile spreading across his bearded face.

“Morning, Aurora,” he drawled.

“Clark,” I replied curtly, not breaking my stride.

He pushed off from his bike, falling into step beside me.“In a hurry?”

“Yes, actually,” I said, keeping my gaze fixed ahead.

“Heading to Brevard still?”he asked casually.

I shot him a sharp look.“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged.“Just making conversation.”But then he gestured toward the road.“Need a ride?”

I scoffed lightly.“No, thank you.Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I’m not interested.”

He cocked an eyebrow, like he was genuinely puzzled.“Trying to pull?”

“I know who you are,” I said, pointing to his jacket.“You’re part of that biker gang from Nashville.I’ve heard stories.”

He laughed softly.“Gang?You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

I glanced at my watch, eager to escape the uncomfortable encounter.“Well, I should get going.”

As I walked away, I heard him call after me, “Offer stands if you change your mind.”

Reaching my rental car, I unlocked it and slid into the driver’s seat.I inserted the key and turned it.Nothing happened.Frowning, I tried again.Still nothing.You’ve got to be kidding me.

I got out, popping the hood in a futile attempt to diagnose the problem.Not that I knew the first thing about cars.As I stared helplessly at the maze of metal and wires, the rumble of a motorcycle approached.

“Car trouble?”Clark’s voice carried over the sound of his bike.

I closed my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before turning to face him.“Just a minor issue.”

He parked next to me, cutting the engine.“Need help?”

“I’ve got it handled,” I insisted.

He hung on his handlebars, watching me with an amused expression.“Doesn’t look like it.”

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