Page 47 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

He propped his hip on the saddle. “You think I couldn’t keep up?”

She popped her eyes at him “Is that a challenge?”

“Could be.”

“Phhttt, you haven’t seen my moves on the dance floor.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe not on the dance floor.” He let the ending hang between them.

He watched her throat move as she swallowed. Her feet did a little shimmy, like she wanted to rub her thighs together.

His fly obligingly tightened.

An image of their bodies grinding and bumping and covered in sweat in a nightclub had him even more uncomfortable.

He squinted into the lowering sun behind her shoulder. Tried to sound casual. “Maybe you should show me some of the hot spots around Perth sometime.”

He should have let her make the first move, but frankly, with Polly, you never knew which move she was going to make next. So what the hell if he hung himself with the tiny piece of rope she’d thrown him.

He saw her draw in a breath, the swell of her breasts under her plain blouse making his brain flash to the memory of her beautiful dark nipples. Was he hallucinating or was that the outline of them against the material of her shirt?

He flicked his eyes back to her face, only to see her lick her lips, leaving a gleam of residual moisture. What she could do with those lips… he stifled a groan.

The silence stretched loud between them. Was she ever going to answer? She pushed the hair off her face and said suddenly, “Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?”

“So, do you want to or not?”

Solo blinked and picked up his helmet, started playing with the catch. Shit, if she glanced below his waist it was embarrassingly clear he wanted to. He tried to sound super-casual. “Sure, I think I’m free.”

She threw back her head and laughed at that. “Oh yeah, I know what Carts will have planned for you. A night at the Shamrock with Dan and a curry, then on to the casino.”

Solo smirked. That had already happened, last week. And while Dan was a great guy, he had a one-track mind—that track being rugby. Carts, he was warming to by the day, except that he talked non-stop and wore seriously strange exercise gear. Solo was learning to zone out to the constant patter.

However, that did not make a night out on the town with the two of them more attractive than bumping hips with Polly on the dance floor.

“Okay, where? And what time?”

She tapped at her lip and rolled her eyes heavenward as if thinking hard. He drank her in. The line of her cheeks, the softness of her pale skin, the tiny little dusting of barely-there freckles on her nose.

She met his gaze squarely, her lips curving up at the edges.

“Meet me at the Ark. It’s a bar on the main drag in Fremantle. Then we’ll go on to the Fly by Night club.”

“Sweet,” he said, and then thought that was probably more the type of thing an adolescent would say. “Cool.” Frig, that was even worse. “What time?”

“Eight o’clock.”

He swung his leg over his bike and hid a little smirk of satisfaction as he saw those green eyes fix briefly on the v of his thighs over the shiny metal chassis. “I’ll be there.”

Solo flicked the key and the engine roared into life. Polly stepped back, but she was smiling the sort of smile that women wore when they were secretly impressed.

He worked the throttle, let the engine rev. Shoved on his gloves.

“See you tomorrow, 8 p.m. at the Ark.” He grinned, and she grinned back, and then he slammed down his visor and left in a shit-shower of fumes.

They were in a power struggle. He knew it, and for once he was looking forward to seeing who came out on top.

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