At your service, sunshine.
Now, hurry up.
Me
So bossy.
Purse thrown across my chest, I shut down my computer and bolt out the door.
Rowan doesn’t see me right away when I round the corner. The entrance to the hotel where I almost got married five years ago is flanked by towering floral topiaries, and the bell hop out front nearly opens the door for me when I breeze by, assuming I’m a guest. I wave him off, attention fixed on the soldier down theblock.
Parked in the spot where I first met him, Rowan leans against his grandfather’s vintage Ducati. Ankles crossed, dark jeans, basic white T-shirt that hugs his upper body a little too tight. His arm muscles flex beneath his tattoos as he taps away on his phone—those pesky prickles strike again, sending a tingle up my spine.
I run and pin him with a searing kiss before I can think better of it. He pulls me in instantly, returning the kiss with a fervor so intense I’m breathless by the time it’s over.
“Hi,” I say, topping off the greeting with another light peck.
“Hi. Thought you might like an adventure ride back to the lake.”
I pull my lip between my teeth. “I’m wearing a dress.”
Rowan’s languid gaze takes in my emerald-green shift dress. The material isn’t form-fitted and the hem hits a few inches above the knee. It’s not restrictive, but it’s still a dress andthatis still a motorcycle.
He flashes a wicked grin. “Never stopped you before. Here.” A black helmet matching his thumps my sternum.
“My very own Batman helmet? You shouldn’t have,” I tease while he puts his on and hikes a leg over the seat.
His reflective visor lifts, blue eyes meeting mine. I fight the wind to tame my hair into submission as I squeeze my head inside. After fiddling with my view shield for several seconds, Rowan chuckles and crooks a finger from his seat on the bike.
I step in close. “What about my car?”
He tips my head to reach the mechanism and the visor drops into place. “We’ll come back for it tomorrow.” The engine revs and a deep vibration rumbles the concrete where I stand. “Hop on, let’s get outta here.”
He lowers his shield while I climb on behind him.
“Closer, baby.” His voice is muffled, deep, all sin and gravel from behind his helmet. “Nobody gets a peep show.”
Another shiver races through me as I wrap my arms around his middle. He grabs the backs of my knees with both hands to pull me forward. The fabric of my dress rests high on my thighs, the solid pillar of him wedged between them.
One quick squeeze of my hand on his stomach, a look over his shoulder, and we race off the curb in a rush of wind and speed.
We weave through the city streets, the breeze while we’re in motion softening the intensity of the summer sun. Rowan’s hands are everywhere—handlebars, fingers twirling with mine on his stomach when we’re on a straightaway, braced on my thigh leaning into a turn.
A forty-five minute stretch of highway extends before us when we reach the edge of Boulder proper. The horizon glows vibrant hues of amber and gold, clouds parsing the sky between the Flatiron peaks bathed in large swaths of green pine trees.
My hair a hurricane at the back of my neck, I extend an arm like a bird with clipped wings attempting flight. Rowan swivels his head to check on me, then back to the road. His hand lands on my leg with a firm grip, anchoring me. He scares a bit when I push off his back to feel the wind on my chest. His arm darts behind him, encircling my waist to urge me closer.
When I throw my arm out again and his hand immediately follows, I think he might reign me back in. Instead, he twines our fingers together mid-flight, holding them there while cutting glances between me and the highway ahead.
He doesn’t stop me. Just steadies me, makes sure I’m safe. Always aware. Always protective. Never stifling.
I fold myself back around him, rest my cheek on his spine.
I love him.
Rowan’s arm comes to rest against my knee. I coast my palms from his biceps to his hands, squeezing once. Then up his chest, curving over his shoulders, carving a path as though I can communicate my thoughts through touch alone. Every time our hands find each other, every time he inclines his head looking for me, I swear it feels likeme too.
Out here, I have no reservations. With the wind biting my skin, the rumble of the engine beneath me, and this brick of a man between my legs, I worry for nothing. I’m notscared. Not anxious. Because Rowan issafe, a calm in the storm.