Page 43 of Writing Mr. Wrong

“Or you can steady yourself by holding on to my hips,” he said.

Yep, she was definitely blushing.

“You can also hook your hands around my thighs.”

Now her cheeks went scarlet as she leaned over the bike, murmuring, “Mmm-hmm.”

“Whatever feels…” He was about to say “best” but switched to “safest.” Then he touched her hand, making her jump.

“Hey,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I want you to be safe, but I also want you to be comfortable. No matter where you put your hands, I’m going to presume it’s to hold on and nothing else, okay?”

Her lips twitched. “No matter where I put my hands?”

Andthatwas a puck pass. Just not enough of one for him to reply that she could grip on to anything she wanted.

“No matter whatnon-distractingplace you put your hands,” he said, though he was pretty damn sure it was all going to be distracting.

She tugged on her helmet as he climbed aboard and leaned the bike her way, bracing on one leg. It took her a few tries. Then she was up and sliding down right against the small of his back, her body pressed to his, her legs wrapped around his.

Tight quarters indeed.

He grinned, pulled down his visor, and motioned for her to hold on.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MASON

At first, Gemma had only gripped his jacket, which was kind of disappointing, but Mason had focused on the rest—her legs, the heat of her body, the thrill of having Gemma Stanton on the back of his bike. Once they got up to speed, though, her hands moved to his hips, and when he took a tight curve, they went around his waist, nestled right under his jacket.

Yep, this had been a very fine idea indeed.

He would admit that a selfish sliver of him didn’t want to pull over at the arena for a lesson. That part wanted to keep going with Gemma exactly where she was, take off up the coast and feel her pressed against him, shifting closer around every corner and down every hill.

But he had promised a lesson, and so a lesson she was getting.

He took her to a suburban arena under construction, the back lot empty. Then he stopped the bike, lifted his visor, and looked over his shoulder at her.

“How you doing?” he asked. “Warm enough?”

She flipped up her visor, and her smile made his heart skip.

“Ready for a lesson?” he said.

“You really don’t need to,” she said. “I know you have insurance, but this is a very expensive—”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I care that you’re having fun, okay?”

Did her cheeks redden again? She ducked his gaze, almost shy, as she nodded.

“Now hop off, and I’ll set you up.”

She did, and he waited until she’d stepped away before swinging off himself.

“It really has been a long time,” she said.

“Do you still remember where the gas pedal is?”

She gave him a look for that. “Yes, I remember that a motorcycle has a throttle, not a pedal. I also rode dirt bikes as a kid. I know what I’m doing. I just feel the need to be very clear that it has been a long time, in case you want to change your mind about me being on your very expensive…” She turned, following as he walked behind her. “Where are you going?”

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