Page 40 of Heart of Stone
Hawk sits astride his bike, one boot planted on the ground. He’s changed too—dark jeans, white T-shirt under his cut, his hair still damp like he’s showered after whatever mysterious biker business he’s been handling all day.
He looks dangerous. Devastating.
And he’s watching me like I’m something he wants to devour.
"You clean up nice, little lamb," he says, his voice a low rumble that does things to my insides.
"You expected me to show up in coveralls?"
His eyes track down my body, lingering on the places where my jeans hug close. "Wouldn't have complained."
Heat blooms in my chest. "Right."
"But this..." He reaches out, catching a loose strand of my hair between his fingers. "This is something else."
"Good something?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
His eyes darken. "Very good." He holds out his spare helmet. "Ready?"
No. Not even close.
"Yeah," I say, taking the helmet. "I'm ready."
I hesitate with the helmet in my hands. "You going to tell me where we're going?"
"Get on and find out." His slow grin has my pulse jumping. "Trust me."
"About that..." I shift my weight, fighting the urge to run back inside. "Look, if this is about the house situation?—"
"It's not."
"Then what is it about?"
He studies me for a long moment. "Maybe I just want to take a beautiful woman for a ride."
"Hawk—"
"And maybe," he continues, "I want to see if you taste as good as I remember."
Heat floods my cheeks. "That's... that's not fair."
"Never claimed to be fair." He pats the seat behind him. "Coming?"
Ishouldsay no. Should get in my car and drive home to the kids. Should do anything but climb onto a bike with a man who makes promises with his eyes that have my whole body humming.
Instead, I put on the helmet.
His answering grin is pure sin as I swing my leg over the bike, settling onto the seat behind him, keeping a safe, respectable distance. I know how to ride. I’m confident, capable. I’ve been on a bike plenty of times before—felt the power of the engine, the wind on my skin. But this?
SittingbehindHawk is a whole new experience.
His presence makes the machine feel smaller, my whole world rapidly. My breathing is shallow, my pulse a frantic thrum I can’t quite steady.
And then he moves.
His big hands slide under my thighs, the rough drag of his fingers against denim making my stomach flip. With a deliberate yank, he drags me forward, erasing the space I’d left between us. My leather-clad chest presses flush against the cold leather of his cut, my thighs snug against him. My nose grazes his neck, catching his scent—smoky leather, clean sweat, and something darker,him—intoxicating in the worst way.
Hawk reaches back, finds my hands, and reels me in tighter, wrapping my arms around his solid middle until there’s no space left between us. Until my body molds to his, every hard line of him pressing into every softer curve of me.
