Undressed by the Billionaire: The Ruthless Billionaire's Virgin / The Billionaire's Defiant Wife / The British Billionaire's Innocent Bride. Susanne JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
machine pressed up close to Ethan?
‘If you have any better suggestions, Ms Ross …?’
Watching Ethan settle a formidable-looking helmet on his thick, wavy hair, she mutely shook her head.
‘Well?’ he said, swinging one hard-muscled thigh over the bike. ‘Would you care to join me, or shall I leave you here?’
She was still staring at the tightly packed jeans settled comfortably into the centre of the saddle, Savannah realised. ‘No … no,’ she repeated more firmly. ‘I’m coming with you.’ Remembering the door incident, she already knew he took no prisoners. Holding up her skirt, she hopped, struggled, and finally managed to yank her leg over the back of the bike—which wasn’t easy without touching him.
‘Helmet?’
As Ethan turned to look at her, Savannah thought his eyes were darker than ever through the open visor—a reflection of his black helmet, she told herself, trying not to notice the thick, glossy waves of bitter-chocolate hair that had escaped and fallen over the scars on his forehead. But those scars were still there, like the dark side of Ethan behind the superficial glamour of a fiercely good-looking man. Her stomach flipped as she wondered how many more layers there were to him, and what he was really thinking behind those gun-metal-grey eyes.
‘Helmet,’ he rapped impatiently.
Startled out of her dreams, she started fumbling frantically with it.
‘Let me,’ he offered.
This was the closest they’d been since the stadium, and as Ethan handled the catch he held her gaze. In the few seconds it took him to complete the task every part of her had been subjected to his energy, which left her thrumming with awareness. And he hadn’t even started the engine yet, Savannah reminded herself as a door banged open and a dozen or so photographers piled out. Snapping his own visor into position, Ethan swung away from her and stamped the powerful machine into life. ‘Hang on.’
There was barely time to register that instruction before he released the brake, gunned the engine, and they roared off like a rocket.
Propelled by terror, Savannah flung her arms around Ethan, clinging to as much of him as she could. Forced to press her cheek against his crisp blue shirt, she kept her eyes shut, trusting him to get them out of this. But as the bike gained speed something remarkable happened. Maybe it was the persistent throb of the engine, or the feel of Ethan’s muscular back against her face—or maybe it was simply the fact that she had a real-life hunk beneath her hands instead of one of her disappointing fantasies—but Savannah felt the tension ebb away and began to enjoy herself. She was enjoying travelling at what felt like the speed of sound, and not in a straight line either. Because this wasn’t just the ride of her life, Savannah concluded, smiling a secret smile, but the closest to sex she’d ever come.
As Ethan raced the bike between the ranks of parked cars she was pleased to discover how soon she became used to leaning this way and that to help him balance. She could get used to this, Savannah decided, sucking in her first full and steady breath since climbing on board. She felt so safe with Ethan. He made her feel safe. His touch was sure, his judgement was sound, and his strength could only be an asset in any situation. There was something altogether reassuring about being with him, she concluded happily.
When she wasn’t being terrified by him, her sober self chimed in.
Ignoring these internal reservations, she went with the excitement of the moment—not that she needed an excuse to press her face against Ethan’s back. As she inhaled the intoxicating cocktail of sunshine, washing powder and warm, clean man, she decided that just for once she was going to keep her sensible self at bay and ride this baby like a biker chick.
Ethan was forced to slow the bike as he engaged with the heavy traffic approaching Rome, and Savannah took this opportunity to do some subtle finger-mapping. She reckoned she had only a few seconds before Ethan’s attention would be back on the bike and his passenger, and she intended to make the most of them. He felt like warm steel beneath her fingertips, and she could detect the shift of muscle beneath his shirt. She smiled against his back, unseen and secure. She felt so tiny next to him, which made her wonder what such a powerful man could teach her, locking these erotic reveries away in record time when he gunned the engine and turned sharp right.
The bike banked dramatically as they approached the Risorgimento Bridge spanning the river Tiber, forcing Savannah to lean over at such an angle her knee was almost brushing the road. As she did so she realised it was the first time she had ever put her trust in someone outside her close-knit family. But with the Roman sun on her face, and the excitement of the day, clinging on to a red-hot man didn’t seem like such a bad option, she told herself wryly. In fact, who would travel by helicopter, given an alternative like this?
She was feeling so confident by the time Ethan levelled up the bike again, she even turned around to see if they were being followed.
‘I thought I told you to sit still.’
Savannah nearly jumped off the bike with fright, hearing Ethan’s voice barking at her through some sort of headphone in her helmet.
‘Hold on,’ he repeated harshly.
‘I am holding on,’ she shouted back.
As if she needed an excuse.
They took another right and headed back up the river the way they’d come, only on the opposite side of the Tiber. Ethan slowed the bike when they reached the Piazalle Maresciallo Giardino where there was another bridge and, moored under it, a powerboat …
No.
No!
Savannah shook her head, refusing to believe the evidence of her own eyes. This couldn’t possibly be the next stage of their journey. Or was that one of the reasons Ethan had been making that call back at the stadium, to line everything up?
‘Come on,’ he rapped, shaking her out of her confusion the moment they parked up.
As she fumbled with the clasp Ethan lifted her visor and removed the helmet for her. As his fingers brushed her face she trembled. Staring into his eyes, she thought it another of those moments where fantasy collided with reality. But was Ethan really looking at her differently, as if she might be more than just a package he was delivering to the airport? The suspicion that he might be seeing her for the first time as a woman was a disturbing thought, and so she turned away to busy herself with the pretence of straightening out her ruined hair. She still had her precious high-heels dangling from her wrist like a bracelet, which turned her thoughts to her mother and what she would make of this situation. Her mother was a stand-up woman and would make the most of it, Savannah concluded, as would she.
‘Are you thinking of joining me any time today?’
She looked up to find Ethan already on board the boat, preparing to cast off. He leaned over the side to call to her, ‘Get up here, or I’ll come and get you!’
Would you? crossed her mind. Brushing the momentary weakness aside, she called back, ‘Wait for me.’
‘Not for long,’ he assured her. ‘You’re not frightened of a little mud, are you?’ he added, taunting her as she teetered down the embankment.
Frightened of a little mud? He clearly hadn’t seen their farmyard recently. ‘What sort of wet lettuce do you think I am?’
‘You’d prefer me not to answer that.’
‘I’m not all sequins and feathers, you know!’ She kicked the hem of her gown away with one dirty foot for emphasis.
‘You don’t say.’ Ethan’s tone was scathing, and then she noticed their chins were sticking out at the same combative angle and quickly pulled hers in again.
‘There is an element of urgency to this. Paparazzi?’ Ethan reminded her in a voice that could have descaled a kettle.
And then car horns started up behind her. She was providing some unexpected