Page 31 of 1 Last Shot

"You're the first girl to ride bitch. Is that what you're asking?"

I glare at the back of his head, even though the admission makes the butterflies in my stomach take off. "Has anyone ever told you that you're shockingly charming?"

He revs the engine. "It's practically my main descriptor."

I open my mouth to give him adifferentdescriptor, but Kane revs the engine again and cuts off anything I want to say. I want to scold him for it, but suddenly, I'm more nervous about the fact that he's going to take off.

"Umm," I start, looking around my seat. "Where can I hold on? Is there anoh shitbar on this thing somewhere?"

I hear a soft chuckle in answer to my question, which is enough to snap my attention to the grizzly jerk currently holding my life in his hands.

"Sorry, princess, you're going to have to settle for my waist."

"Absolutely not," I splutter. "And ifthat'swhy you offered me a ride, then I might as well get off right now."

He shrugs, which draws my attention to his shoulders. "It's not, but suit yourself."

Slowly, hesitantly, I lift my hands to grip his shoulders. Shoulders are safe—there’s nothing sexual about shoulders.

Except, when my palms slide over the rippling muscles and a shiver tears through me, that theory is soundly squashed.

And then Kane chooses that moment to shoot forward.

The force of it is so strong, and so sudden, that my body jerks backward before I can do anything. With a shriek, I dig my fingernails into Kane's shoulders and try with all my might to stay on.

Except, that was only a warning shot. Kane stops just as quickly as he started, and the whiplash slides me forward and plasters me right up against his back. I don't question the instinct; I just scramble to wrap my arms tightly around his waist.

Kane's laugh is deep, and booming. The sound rings through my brain and fills my chest with warmth.

Of course, he has to ruin it as he starts to pull away from the curb—slower this time.

“Hang on and try not to come again.”

12

KANE

My entire shift at the strip club, I can't get rid of the phantom feel of Isabella’s arms around my waist.

It’s fucking infuriating.

I know it was my idea, but I’m chalking that up to not being able to stand seeing her look like she’s on the verge of tears. I have no experience with crying women–mostly because I never get close enough to them to experience it–but something aboutIsabellabeing upset hit me in the gut. I couldn’tnotoffer the ride.

And yet, the second her arms wrapped around my waist, I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. I thought her tentativeness was cute at first, and managed to laugh it off, but it took barely any time to slip into silence, just so I could focus on breathing through the feeling of her hands on my body. Because all I could think about was what they would feel like on my skin.

Part of me wonders if it’s because I’ve never had a chick on my bike before. I know most guys get a motorcycle as awayto pick up women, but I’ve never wanted to be responsible for another person’s life like that. I only got mine because bike rides were as close to therapy as I could get.

But the idea of leaving Isabella alone and upset in the yoga studio was worse than being careful on the bike for a short ride. At least if she’s with me, I knowIcan protect her.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m so annoyed with the direction of my obsessive thoughts, I have to go for a walk as soon as I get home, just to find a shred of peace. I drop my keys and bag off in my apartment, and then immediately take off down the street at a brisk pace.

I have no idea how long I walk for. Probably a while. I cycle through the memory of training this morning, and my shift at the club last night, but I’m constantly coming back to yoga today, and my ride around the city, and… Isabella. And every time my thoughts turn to her, I scowl to myself and walk another block.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I almost don't pick up on the rustling sound in the alley I pass. But something about it catches my attention and makes me pause.

Frowning, I backtrack and peer into the alley. There's a dumpster halfway back, but other than that, I don't see anything. I take a hesitant step back in the direction I was heading.

Except, there it is again. The distinct rustling sound of trash bags.

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