Page 41 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

So instead, I press on, the bike humming beneath us, the road stretching endlessly ahead. I tell myself to focus on the destination, on the job, on anything but her. But it’s a losing battle, and deep down, I already know it.

Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to win.

15

MAGNOLIA

The roar of the motorcycle fills my ears, the wind whipping through my hair as we speed down the road. I’ve never felt anything like this before–this wild rush of adrenaline, of freedom…and somehow, of complete belonging to one person. My arms wrap tightly around Colt’s waist, my fingers curling against the warm, solid muscle beneath his t-shirt. Each bump in the road sends a jolt through me, and I feel every shift of his body as he maneuvers the bike–his strength, his control, the effortless way he owns every movement.

I want him to steer me like that.

To move me how he wants me, to ride me hard.

The wind whips my curls into a frenzy, the sun beats down on us, and the scent of the earth mingles with Colt’s, making him seem primordial, like we were always going to be in exactly this place. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t tell if the heat rising in my cheeks, all over my body, is from the wind or the fact that my thighs are wrapped around his. The vibration of the bike courses through me, rattling me…almost making me feel like I’ll come right here and now.

I’ve never been this close to a man before, clinging to him, breathing him in. The thought makes my stomach flutter, heat bloom low in my belly.

“Doing okay back there?” Colt calls over the roar of the engine, his voice rough and teasing.

I nod, catching his eye in the side mirror. “I’m fine!” I yell back. “This is amazing!”

His lips curl into a smile that makes my heart stutter. “Good. Hold on tight.”

I don’t think it’s possible to do that, but I grip him a little more firmly, my fingers brushing the edge of his belt. He shifts slightly, his muscles flexing under my touch.

I know he’s enjoying this just as much as I am…and it makes me practically feral with need.

The road winds through the hills, wildflowers dotting the sides with the first blooms of the spring, their colors blurring together in a riot of reds, yellows, and purples. The sun is higher now, the morning light softening everything, casting a golden glow over the landscape.

“Colt!” I call out, raising my voice to be heard over the engine.

He glances back at me briefly, his brow furrowing in concern. “What is it? You okay?”

“Stop!” I yell, pointing toward the meadow. “Pull over! There—just for a minute!”

He hesitates, but only for a second. With a quick nod, he slows the bike, guiding it off the road and onto the grassy shoulder. The engine growls as he eases it to a stop, and I can already feel my legs trembling from the ride as I swing them off the seat.

“What’s going on?” he asks, cutting the engine and turning to look at me. “You alright?”

I nod, unable to hide the grin spreading across my face. “Look,” I say, gesturing toward the meadow. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He follows my gaze, his brows lifting slightly as he takes in the scene. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “It is.”

I hesitate, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Can we…stop here for breakfast? Just for a little while?”

He blinks, his eyes flicking back to me, and for a moment, I think he might say no. But then his lips quirk into that faint, lopsided smile of his, and he nods. “Sure,” he says, kicking down the stand and dismounting the bike. “Why not?”

I beam as I grab the small picnic bag from the saddlebags. Colt watches me with an amused look, his arms crossed over his chest as I dart toward the meadow, tall grass brushing against my ankles. I find a patch near the center, where the sunlight is bright and the flowers rise around it, and spread out a blanket.

Colt follows me, more measured, surprisingly careful not to crush any baby flowers. He sits down on the blanket across from me, leaning back on his hands, his gaze sweeping over the meadow before landing on me.

“You really don’t get out of the den much, huh?” he teases.

I scoff. “Anyone can appreciate flowers, no matter how much they get out…but no, not as much as I like.” I start to set the food out–homemade bread and strawberry preserves, with a thermos of coffee to split between us. “There’s always something to do back home,” I add. “It’s hard to find time for stuff like this.”

“Stuff like sitting in a meadow and eating breakfast?” he smirks.

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling too. “Exactly.”

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