Daddy, Unexpectedly. Lee Mckenzie
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said after her ex disappeared around the corner. She ducked out from under Luke’s arm. “I am so sorry. And grateful. Thank you. Donald can be...”
An asshole? “Hey, no problem. I probably owed you anyway.”
They both laughed at their collective memories from college days, and she seemed to relax a little.
“Any idea where you’d like to eat?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“There’s a little Irish pub downtown, not far from the market. Best burgers and fries in town.”
“Sure. Sounds wonderful.”
He couldn’t tell if she meant it or not but jeez, look at her. The powder-blue sweater he’d admired earlier was now topped by a cobalt-colored suede jacket. Both emphasized her dazzling blue eyes. She’d always had a classic style and great taste in clothes, and her taste in food was probably more sophisticated than burgers and beer. His was not and he saw no point in faking it.
“Is this place close enough to walk?”
“Guess it depends how much you like walking,” he said. “I’ve got my bike and a spare helmet.” He hoped she’d go for it. If she rode with him, he would have an excuse to bring her back home, and that would give him an opportunity to get inside the building. He was curious about the condo Donald was so determined to unload, but more than that, he wanted to see where she lived in relation to the penthouse they were staking out.
“A bike?” she asked.
“Yeah. Well, a motorcycle.” He gestured to where it was parked next to the curb.
She looked decidedly undecided.
Come on, live a little, he was tempted to say. But that would get her back up and then she’d say no. Instead, he casually handed her a helmet as though he assumed she’d done this a hundred times.
* * *
EVERY SINGLE ONE OF CLAIRE’S instincts—including a few she didn’t know she had—screamed at her to say no. But somehow the helmet was in her hands and then she had it on. She must look like a bobblehead, since she definitely felt like one.
“I’ve never ridden on a Harley-Davidson.” She’d never even pedaled a ten-speed.
Luke grinned. “Then I’m happy to uphold that tradition. This isn’t a Harley.”
“Oh.” She gave the black beast a closer look, took in the silver lettering on the side. Ducati. It still looked like the kind of machine a biker would ride, and Luke, with his longish dark hair, well-worn leather jacket and black boots, looked exactly like the kind of guy who would ride it. His jacket wasn’t biker-black, though. More the color of espresso. Or dark chocolate. And while Harley-Davidson sounded dangerous and intimidating, Ducati sounded sexy. Like Luke.
He pulled on his helmet and climbed on the bike. “Jump on.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. You are such a wimp, she scolded. People rode on motorcycles all the time. Luke was a responsible adult. She hoped. She slid one leg over the seat behind him and settled onto the cushy leather, grateful she hadn’t changed into a skirt.
“Hang on,” he said.
To him? she wondered. Duh. It was him or nothing. She put her hands on his sides, glad for the cool leather between her palms and his rib cage. Every nerve in her body jolted to life when he started the bike, and her pulse roared in her ears. No, that was the rev of the engine. They rolled away from the curb and she flung her arms around him, so tightly she could have counted his ribs through the jacket if she’d wanted to.
The ride to the pub lasted somewhere between five minutes and a lifetime. After he found a parking space and cut the engine, she snatched her hands away from his body and stumbled off the bike. She was both terrified and—oh, God, how could this be happening?—turned on. Being scared, yes, she could understand, but a body all aquiver from clinging to a man on the back of a motorcycle? Who knew such a thing was even possible?
Chapter Two
Luke held Claire’s helmet and watched her smooth her tousled hair with shaky hands.
“Your first time?” he asked.
She responded with a silent question in her eyes and a little extra pink in her cheeks.
“On a motorcycle.”
“Oh, yes. It was.” He liked that the polished, professional grown-up Claire was still college-girl adorable when she got flustered.
“I thought it might have been.” He handed the helmet back to her and guided her toward the entrance. “What did you think?”
“Um...” Her color deepened.
Hmm. That good. Here’s hoping the ride home had the same effect.
He held the door and followed her inside. The bar was packed with the usual Friday mix of tourists and the downtown happy hour crowd. He spotted a table for two that was being vacated near the back, and before two other couples could swoop in to grab it, he was holding a chair for Claire.
She sat and slid the helmet underneath. “That was lucky.”
Nope. That was experience.
The server stopped and pocketed the change left by the previous customers. “Menus?”
“Sure.”
She picked up the empty glasses and put them on her tray, then gave the table a halfhearted swipe with a damp cloth. Claire’s reaction had him second-guessing his decision to bring her here, but taking her to a fancier place might have sent the wrong message.
“Do you know what you want to drink?” the server asked.
The way Claire studied the drink list, she could have been cramming for an exam.
“Give us a minute?” he asked.
“Sure thing.”
After the woman moved on to another table, he watched Claire suck the ripe fullness of her lower lip between her teeth, release it and slowly run the tip of her tongue across the luscious curve of her upper lip. During their many study sessions back in college, he’d watched her do that a hundred times. And he’d known then, as he did now, that she had no idea how seductive it was. She wasn’t trying to tantalize, and that made it even more of a turn-on.
During those study sessions of old he had wanted to kiss that freshly moistened mouth and tease that tongue into coming out to play. But even in those days, when he had been a stereotypical college student with an overactive libido and his party mode in overdrive, he’d had enough sense not to ruin a good thing. The good thing being a study-buddy and a friend. He had never had a female friend who was just a friend, and he’d never had a study partner, period.
Their first kiss had been less than half an hour ago. He had simply wanted to send a message to the jerk of an ex-husband, but now, watching her tongue play with her lips, he wondered if she would let him bookend this date with another kiss when he took her home.
Was this a date? It would be if she let him kiss her again. Was that a good idea? Sure as hell seemed like one from where he was sitting. A kiss was just a kiss, after all. It didn’t have to end with them setting the sheets on fire. Besides, he would never use Claire DeAngelo to scratch an itch, and she’d never let him anyway.
The server returned. “Have you decided on drinks?”
“Coffee for me,” he said.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black, thanks.”
Over the top of the drink list, surprise registered in Claire’s eyes. He couldn’t fault her for that.
She set the tattered menu on the table. “I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
That was