The Good, The Bad And The Wild. Heidi RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
right,’ she said. ‘Given that broken ankles are even less attractive than short legs.’
He laughed again, the rough murmur chasing the blush into her cheeks.
Stop being so literal, you muppet.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, mercifully ignoring her pathetic attempts at conversation.
‘I…’ She choked to a stop. She didn’t have an answer. Her instinctive need to flee from him seeming even more ridiculous than her small talk. ‘I wanted some fresh air. It’s stuffy in there,’ she lied.
Unfortunately, the lie didn’t quite come off when she shivered.
‘You’re cold.’ Shrugging off his jacket, he lifted her bag off her shoulder. ‘Here.’ Warm leather surrounded her. His scent clung to the garment, and she had to purse her lips to stop from sighing.
‘Let’s go for a ride.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she stammered, the tone of his voice making all sorts of inappropriate, but far too appealing, thoughts pop into her mind.
‘A ride.’ He buried his hands in his back pockets, hunched against the cold in the crewneck sweater and nodded down the alleyway. ‘I’ve got my bike round the corner. And I was looking for an excuse to escape myself.’
‘You mean a motorbike?’
Placing a warm palm on the small of her back, he directed her towards the end of the alleyway, subtly leading her in the direction he wanted to go. ‘It’s a great way to see the city. You’re a Londoner, right? Like me.’
‘Um, yes,’ she said, dazed by the little sizzles of electrical energy where his palm rested on her lower back.
‘So when did you arrive?’
‘I…’ She paused. She should tell him now. But her tongue seemed to get stuck in neutral again. ‘This afternoon. I’m visiting my friend Tess.’
‘The other nosey one?’
She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Yes, sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said as they drew level with a monstrous black motorbike, its swirling logo and silver trim gleaming dangerously in the street lamp light. ‘I like getting talked about by beautiful women.’
‘Oh,’ she said, not sure how to take the compliment. Was he trying to be funny? She looked good tonight, but no one would mistake her for beautiful, not unless they were seriously myopic.
Unlocking the box at the back of the bike, he lifted out a helmet. ‘Put this on.’
She took the helmet without thinking. Standing dumbfounded as he mounted the huge machine with easy grace.
He glanced back at her. ‘Hop on.’
‘But I’m wearing a dress,’ she said, struggling to slow things down a little. She’d never been on a motorbike before, especially not with a man of his… Power. ‘And heels,’ she added. ‘What if I fall off?’
Placing a proprietary hand on her hip, he nudged her round to face him, took the helmet from her, and plopped it on her head. ‘You won’t.’ He tucked the tendrils of hair into the helmet with a focused concentration that had her pulse throbbing in her throat. ‘Not as long as you hold on tight.’
Fastening the helmet’s strap, he ran his thumb across her chin. The tiny touch made her shiver and her tongue slipped out of its own accord, licking lips that had gone dry as a desert.
His gaze dipped and she pressed her lips together, the buzz of anticipation almost unbearable. When his eyes lifted back to her face, she could see amusement. And a disturbing intensity.
‘Where do you want to go?’ he murmured.
Anywhere you want to take me.
She slammed down on the impulsive thought and the much more impulsive thrum of tension that had her whole body vibrating.
She shouldn’t be doing this. It wasn’t just impulsive, it was reckless—bordering on inappropriate. And she’d never done anything before that bordered on reckless, let alone inappropriate.
But maybe that was exactly the problem, she realised, as the thrum of tension refused to subside. In that split second of indecision, her whole well-ordered and completely appropriate life seemed to stretch out before her in a rolling canvas of total and extreme boredom and the impulsiveness took hold of her tongue.
‘I don’t know. You decide,’ she said, the whispered words so liberating she heard a strange sound come out of her mouth, which sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
Niccolo Delisantro chuckled back. ‘See, that wasn’t so hard,’ he said, with surprising intuition.
Eva stiffened. Did he know how big a deal this was for her? That adventures were something she’d only ever read about in books? That her life was about as dynamic as magnolia wallpaper?
‘Climb aboard and let’s get this show on the road,’ he added, and she shook off the humiliating thought. How could he know? He didn’t know the first thing about her.
She stifled the little pang of guilt at the thought of how much she knew about him. As soon as the ride was over, she’d tell him who she was. And face the consequences. But just this once, she wanted to give in to impulse.
She adjusted the helmet on her head, then hesitated, studying the enormous machine and the small segment of leather seat available to her.
Adventure was one thing, but how on earth did you climb onto a motorbike that large? In four-inch heels and a figure-hugging designer dress?
He stood up to stamp on one of the pedals and the monster roared to life. She jumped at the explosion of sound.
‘Um… I’m not sure how to…’ She shouted above the engine noise. ‘How do I…?’ He adjusted his wrist and the noise subsided to a dull rumble. ‘Do you have any instructions?’
The colour charged back into her cheeks at the easy grin he sent her over his shoulder.
So much for Eva Redmond, wild child. What kind of a loser asks for instructions on how to mount a motorbike?
Swivelling round, he lowered his gaze to her legs. ‘I’m guessing you’ll have to hike the skirt up.’ The mischievous glint in his golden eyes made colour race over her scalp and stand the fine hair on the back of her neck on end. He leaned over and flipped open a short rubber pedal that stuck out above the gleaming silver exhaust pipe. ‘Step on that and then take my arm.’ So saying he held out his hand.
Biting into her bottom lip, she gathered the skirt clumsily up her legs. ‘Here goes,’ she mumbled as she gripped his arm. Feeling the muscles of his forearm tense, she slipped while placing her instep onto the pedal.
‘Easy,’ he soothed. ‘There’s no hurry.’
She gave him a hopeful smile, praying that her blush was dimmed somewhat by the low lighting and that she wasn’t about to knock the two of them into a heap on the pavement. Then took a deep breath and launched her leg over the bike.
He gave a sharp tug as she did so, and she landed on the leather bench with a huff. Her breath sucked into her lungs at the sudden, explosive mix of sensations. The bike’s heavy vibrations shuddered up through her backside, her nipples hardening into peaks as they touched the unyielding slopes of his back. The skin of her inner thighs sizzled alarmingly as the dress hitched up and she came into intimate contact with the rough denim of his jeans.
The tight muscular contours of his backside flexed through his clothing and the blush intensified.
Oh, God. She’d never been this close to a man before. Ever. The sensations racing through her were both exquisite and yet petrifying on some elemental level. She leaned back, worried he’d feel her nipples poking him, but that only intensified the pressure of his denim-clad butt pressing