Page 68 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
We stay there a beat, another.
There’s not a house in sight, or another car. We’d been driving up a B road, one of those picturesque thoroughfares that run parallel to the highway. If there had been enough light, I would have noticed the vista of rolling hills and storybook cottages. No, strike that; even if it had been earlier in the day, I wouldn't have noticed the scenery, because I had been too busy reveling in the firm expanse of the back which I had been tucked into all this while—the planes of which clenched and unclenched as if there were a fight going on underneath his skin.
"Damian?" I finally venture. "You…you okay?"
He stays still, the motorcycle’s engine throbbing underneath us. Then he switches it off and the silence that descends is almost painful to my ears. I swallow and my eardrums pop. That’s better. "Damian?"
"How many times have I told you not to talk about dying?"
"I…I’m sorry."
"I’m not."
"Wh…what do you mean?"
"Get off the bike."
"What?"
"Do it," he snaps.
My muscles uncoil and sensations sizzle up my legs. Is it pins and needles of blood circulation being restored, or the primitive urge to comply with what he wants, when he wants, how…he wants? Holy hell, what’s this insane need to comply with his every demand? Even the insane ones… Particularly the insane ones. Like this… I scramble off of the bike, stand next to him. "Give me that." He jerks his head toward my helmet. I take it off. A gust of wind blows my hair about my shoulders. He points at my jacket; I shrug off the protection. Goosebumps immediately shiver over my skin.
He tosses my stuff aside; then removes his helmet and throws it aside as well.
I wince. It's not my gear, but hell, if I don't appreciate the craftmanship that went into it. "Hope the stuff is unbreakable," I mutter.
He doesn't respond. Instead, he lowers the kickstand of the Harley, leans the bike into it. He looks me up and down, then jerks his chin at my shirt, "Take it off."
I stiffen, "What? Here?"
"Where else?"
"Why would I do that?" I scowl.
"You want the job, remember?"
"And this is another…test I need to pass?" I frown.
"Maybe," he shrugs his shoulders, "maybe not."
Asshole’s trying to dare me, huh? Is that what this is? Because I challenged him first? Likely, that’s all it is. We’ll see who blinks first, buster. I unhook the first button of my shirt, then the next. The cold wind instantly seeps down into the space between the fabric and my skin. My nipples tighten painfully… And it’s not because he’s following my progress…with those brooding, blue eyes of his.
I undo the last button on my shirt. He holds out his hand as I hand it over.
He takes in my bra—thank God I had worn one under the dress, then drops his gaze to my borrowed jeans. "Off with them."
"What?" I cry in horror. "No."
"Yes."
"Not here."
"There’s no one here."
I glance around, don’t see a single other person, or bird or insect, for that matter. I can do this. I am not gonna give in to whatever mindfuck thing he has got going on here. I lower the zipper of my jeans, then pause.Shit."I don't have panties on," I gripe.
He tilts his head, and I shake my head, "Are you insane? I’m not going naked out here in the open."
