Page 37 of Her Maine Risk

“I’m assuming you keep it around for the hordes of women you take for rides, so it better be clean.”

“What’s with you thinking everything I own is covered in women?”

“What?”

“Last night you told me you didn’t want to sleep in my bed because it was filled with other women. You really don’t think much of me, do you?”

I said that?

“I’m not wrong to think that though, am I? You don’t strike me as a one-woman man. Every time I see you, you’re flirting with a different woman.”

“You’re not wrong. But flirting isn’t fucking.” He looks at me with hard eyes, and I know I’ve struck a chord with him.

So, I’m not wrong about the revolving door of women, but he doesn’t have sex with every woman he flirts with? I already knew he didn’t. That would mean he’d have to have sex with about fifty women a night.

Walking over to a chest under the stairs, he opens it and takes out a helmet, handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

Holding it between my thighs, I pull my hair tie out and shake my hair from the high bun I had it in, and redo it in a low ponytail so the helmet will fit better. But as I’m about to put it on, I see Alex staring at me like I just walked out of a pool in a bikini – dripping wet. “You good?” I ask, and then shove the helmet on my head.

“Yeah,” he croaks, clearing his throat.

Swinging a leg over his bike, he starts it up, and I can feel the vibrations from here.

Oh my god, I can’t do this. I can’t straddle him from behind and wrap my arms around him as we fly down the streets of Pine Cove.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

Oh yeah, I was drunk last night.

“Get on,” he tells me over the roar of the engine.

“Don’t you need a helmet?”

“Nope. Now get on.”

“I…uh…” My feet refuse to move, and I look around at anything but him.

“I promise you’ll be safe,” he assures, and when my eyes meet his, I can see the certainty there, and that’s all I need.

Taking slow, deliberate steps up to the Harley, I think out how I’m going to do this.

“Hold onto my shoulder, put one foot on that peg, and swing your leg over and put your other foot on the other peg.”

“Okay,” I whisper, even though he can’t hear me over the engine.

Reaching out with a shaky hand, I place it on his shoulder and grip it hard as I do what he said. There is barely any room for me back here, and when I’m fully seated, I’m practically on top of him.

The junction of my thighs is nestled against his ass, my legs are molded to the outside of his thighs, and my chest is smushed against his back.

I should get off. I really don’t think I can do this.

But just as I pull away slightly, Alex reaches back and grabs my hands, placing them around his waist for me – pulling me even tighter against him.

I lock my fingers together and press them into his stomach, his muscles flexing on instinct beneath me.

“Hold on tight,” he says, and I nod against his back, unable to speak. I’m absolutely terrified right now.

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