He laughed. “Don’t get too comfortable back there.” They’d reached the end of the city speed limits and were on the open road. With a twist of the handlebar, he opened up the throttle and they shot forward.
Bree’s hands tightened around his middle, her chest coming flush with his back. Electricity shot all the way through to his fingertips. He pushed the bike harder and faster, hoping to outrun the feelings Bree created inside of him.
Chapter Ten
Bree leaned into Owen’s back as they cruised down lonely stretches of highway lined with vineyards and open fields. Initially, the speed had been too much, but now that they were the only people on the road, she liked going fast.
She also liked leaning into Owen. Not because she needed the support or because she was scared, but because doing so added a whole new level to the experience. Owen’s presence stirred things inside of her that had heretofore remained unstirred by the men she dated.
She was the quintessential librarian with her no-makeup Mondays, glasses, conservative clothing, and love of reading. What was the point of going on dates when book boyfriends were so much better than real men? However, the man sitting in front of her was everything physical that books claimed men could be. And she had her arms wrapped tightly around him. The whole encounter blew her mind.
“Are you hungry?” His voice was like honey through the speakers in her helmet.
The sun was going down, casting golden light over the fields. Wasn’t there a song about that, something about fields of barley and true love or finding love? With her heightened sense of awareness when it came to Owen, she had a hard time remembering what was real and what was a dream. “Sure.”
“Great.”
He didn’t ask her where she wanted to eat. There weren’t that many options in town. They weren’t dressed for the steak house. She was pretty sure her hair would have more than a few knots.
A little while later, Owen steered them down a long paved driveway with twists and turns. Trees lined both sides, giving the air of mystery that always surrounded unknown forests and sending a shiver down her back. She hugged tighter to Owen, drawing on his body heat. She could cozy up to him any winter day and be perfectly warm and content.Whoa there, girl, no need to get big ideas.
He cut the engine, the sound fading into the night and taking with it the spell that had allowed her to let down her guard and hold on to him as if she had the right. Embarrassed that she’d plastered herself all over him—and liked it!—she tried to get off and fell. The beautiful stone patterned driveway came up fast.
Owen caught her arm before she hit the stamped concrete, saving her from skinned palms and pain.
“Thanks. I’m usually not that clumsy.”
He set her upright as if she didn’t weigh a pound. She wasn’t used to being touched by men, let alone manhandled. But his grip was tender and his attention was kind.
Her heart fell a little for him in that moment. She shouldn’t let it, but it had slipped before she could stop it, and now there it was, waking up the butterflies in her stomach and thickening the air between them with desire.
“No worries. I’m good at catching things.” He winked and withdrew his hands, releasing the heat between them like he’d opened a window. He took off his helmet and set it on the seat. His short hair was flat and sweaty.
She grimaced, thinking what hers probably looked like. There was no away around it: she couldn’t eat in the helmet. So she unlatched the chin strap and pulled it off. With quick movements, she let her hair down and ran her fingers through the tangled tresses.
Owen watched her, a look of apprehensive awe on his face. He cleared his throat and turned away. “Come on. Food’s inside.”
Bree followed him, taking in the plush landscaping, the tall trees, the strategically placed boulders and accent lighting that got brighter as the night grew dark. She hadn’t seen the front of the house when they’d pulled in, because she was taking in the gardens and forest. The building was done in brown brick and cream stucco, and there were lights on upstairs and down. “This is your house?”
“Yeah.”
She hesitated at the doorway. As a rule, she didn’t date strangers, and as a double rule, she didn’t go into a stranger’s house. Especially one who could pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and do whatever he wanted.
He stopped, holding the door for her. She looked right into his eyes, hoping to ferret out nefarious motives. All she found in his brilliant blue eyes was a hint of interest, a dash of curiosity, and an eagerness to share this space with her. If he was a closet serial killer—and yes, she read just as many thrillers as romances to know that they existed—then he was a master at concealing his motives.
She stepped inside and gasped. The door led right into the kitchen. She scanned the space, feeling as though she’d stepped into the good ol’ 747 “interior decorating” section of the Dewey Decimal System. She laughed right out loud.
“What?” Owen asked, a bemused smile teasing his lips.
“I can honestly say I’ve never been inside a professional football player’s home. It’s not what I expected.”
He swaggered to the fridge. “What did you expect?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “A frat house?”
He wagged his head. “Sorry. Wrong professional football player.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a plate of food, prepared and ready for grilling.
His nickname popped into her head: The Lone Ranger. She’d seen it on his Instagram account and pondered over it once or twice. Or thrice. “It’s nice.” She lifted a hand, indicating the Italian marble flooring, the high-end appliances, the light paint colors that created a sense of air, and the brass lighting fixtures. What really took her breath away were the large, clean windows overlooking the valley behind the house.