At exactly seven the rumble of a motorbike shakes the porch. Travis kills the engine, swings off. All black again—leather jacket, slim jeans—hair neater but still perfectly tousled. He looks at me with that same slow, appraising gaze.
“Well, fuck,” he says, voice low. “You look...unbelievable.”
My cheeks flare. “Thanks,” I manage, breath catching.
He holds up a helmet. “Ready to go?”
“On the bike...in this dress?” I tug at the hem. It’s riding halfway up my thighs already.
He shrugs, smooth as silk. “I’m not complaining...”
My stomach tightens. “The entire town will see between my legs.”
He hands me the helmet, brushing my fingers with his. “No one will see because your legs will be around me,” his voice is a low rasp.
My heart leaps. I force a smile. “You say that to all your...uh...passengers?”
He chuckles, low and warm. “You’re the only girl I’d ever put on my bike.”
“So you save the crazy sex for your limo?” I tease, trying to sound casual.
He fits his helmet on, voice muffled but clear. “I can have crazy-hot sex anywhere. Even on two wheels.”
My pulse spikes. I take the helmet, buckle it, fingers trembling. He pats the seat behind him. I swing a leg over, dress bunching up, and clinging to the leather. I tug at it, no luck. His arm reaches back, pulling me until I’m flush against him. Heat spreads through me.
He runs a finger over my knee. “Nice legs.”
My face burns. He pulls me closer, the curve of his back against my centre. My heart is in my throat.
“Wish you didn’t smell so fuckin’ good. You’re makin’ this hard.”
I clamp my lips shut, saying nothing even though my entire body is on fire. He starts the bike, the engine growls, and we’re off. Wind slams into me, city lights blur. His hand on my knee is steady, reassuring and terrifying all at once.
We slow in front of a bar slash restaurant, neon sign half-hidden in shadow. He kills the engine. My legs wobble as I climb off, desperately pulling my dress down as quickly as I can before anyone sees. I try hard not to stare at him, but my God he’s perfection. I wonder if he knows just how beautiful he is.
God, this night could make everything so much worse.
5
INSIDE, THE MURMURof patrons and the clink of glasses feels distant. No one glances our way. We might actually have a night without screaming fans. He leads me to a booth, calm and in control. Me—I’m still catching my breath, wondering if I’m brave enough for whatever tonight holds.
“Table for Phoenix,” he says to the waiter who greets us.
“Oh my God, I was right, that’s Travis Phoenix!” A woman shrieks from behind us. Well, that didn’t last long.
Travis looks to the waiter. “Keep all the fans away from me, and I’ll give you one heck of a tip.”
The waiter smiles and nods, then turns and gives the staring women a warning. They pipe down right away. I release the breath I was holding.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Your best wine, the whole bottle.”
“Very well, sir.”
The waiter walks away, and Travis smiles over at me.
“What if I don’t drink wine?”