But his expression was solemn, unrevealing. “Zach, what are you doing here?” she asked.
He reached behind him and handed her a helmet. “Let’s go for a ride.”
It was a command, not a request. She bristled, wanting to tell him no. But curiosity got the better of her and she took the helmet from him. “Okay.”
He helped her strap her bag onto the back of the bike and showed her where to put her feet. She fastened the helmet and climbed on.
The bike rumbled to life beneath them, a loud, growling beast that both thrilled and frightened her. When they began to move forward, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to put her arms around Zach and lean into him.
He smelled of leather and ink and warm male, an intoxicating mix of scents no cologne could ever capture. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his back and inhaled deeply while the world flew past them.
She’d never been on a motorcycle before, but she decided she liked it. The rumble and throb of the engine between her legs was surprisingly erotic, and the feel of her body against Zach’s aroused her further.
She eased her arms all the way around him, pressing her breasts into his back. He stiffened, and she grinned as she realized she could do whatever she wanted to him now and he’d have little recourse, as long as the bike was moving.
She eased closer still, her legs spread wide, the leather of his pants soft against her inner thighs, the heat of his body seeping into her. He clamped one hand over her wrist, his fingers tightening, but she only smiled and squeezed her thighs against his.
He shifted, leaning into a turn, and she stifled a moan, wishing she could be closer still. If simply riding behind him on a motorcycle had her this wet and aching, what would it be like to make love with him?
The audacity of the idea startled her. “Good girl” Jen would have never dared to imagine such a thing. But now, the thought of her and Zach together sent an illicit thrill through her. Why shouldn’t she see where this attraction she and Zach had for each other took them? Not in a childish attempt to get back at her father, but because she was an adult woman who had finally found a man she really wanted.
They rode to Town Lake, to the park at Auditorium Shores. He parked the bike near the gazebo and shut off the engine. They sat for a moment, her body still snugged to his, listening to the sounds of traffic up on the highway, distant laughter from boats on the lake and the rasp of their own heavy breathing. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he grasped her wrists and gently pushed her away. “Let’s take a walk,” he said.
Fearful her jelly legs wouldn’t carry her far, she managed to climb off the bike and remove the helmet. Zach did the same, then led the way down the path. She frowned at his back, wondering if this caveman routine had a point. Then she shrugged and followed him.
The trail led through a tunnel of oaks before following the lakeshore. Lights from tour boats and the occasional lone sculler shone across the water, and surfacing fish made ripples across the otherwise still surface.
“Why did you come to see me tonight?” she asked when they’d walked about a quarter of a mile.
“Your father was waiting for me when I came out of the brewpub after supper.” He glanced at her. “He warned me to stay away from you.”
Mingled hurt and anger tasted bitter in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry. What did he say, exactly?”
“He said he didn’t want you to have anything to do with a loser like me.”
The words were sharp and painful as a slap. “How dare he call you a loser!”
“I don’t know. By his standards, that’s exactly what I am.” He turned away, walking faster.
She ran to catch up to him and grabbed his hand. “Stop.”
He slowed, then halted and turned to face her. “What? You don’t have to apologize or make excuses for your father. I just wanted you to know what he did.”
“I know.” She kept hold of his hand, half-afraid at any moment he’d leave her here, before she could do or say everything she wanted. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sight of his shadowed face, his dark eyes fixed on her, stole her words away. All she could do was let feeling take over. Standing on tiptoe, she slipped her arms around him and put her mouth on his.
For a man who looked so hard, his lips were soft. Soft and warm and skillful. For one-hundredth of a second, he froze, absolutely still. Then his arms went around her, crushing her to him. His mouth was firm and insistent, his tongue teasing, tasting, claiming her the way an explorer claims new territory.
She felt seared by that kiss, all trivialities burned away, reduced to elemental need and longing. She arched against him and he nudged her legs apart, guiding his thigh between hers.
It was all she could do not to rub shamelessly against him, to ease the ache building inside her. And all the while, he continued to make love to her with his mouth, building the fire inside her.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, lost to passion and need. He was the first to break away. He raised his head and shook it, like a man recovering from a blow. Looking dazed, he stared down at her. She sagged in his arms, the taste of him still in her mouth, the feel of his beard stubble still rough on her skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He stepped back, but kept hold of her. Otherwise, she might have slid to the ground, her trembling legs too weak to hold her up.
She managed a shaky smile. “I’m doing what I want. Being selfish for a change.”
He wiped his hand across his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” She reached for him again, but he stepped back.
“Why? Let’s face it, I’m not really your type.”
She frowned. “What do you think is my type?”
“I don’t know. Some guy who wears a suit and works in an office and drives a Beemer.”
She made a face. “Somebody boring.”
“Somebody safe.”
“Maybe I’m tired of being safe!” She shoved him back, away from her. Couldn’t he, of all people, understand that? “Maybe I want a little danger in my life.”
“Then take up skydiving.”
She didn’t even realize she’d put her hand up to cover her tattoo until she noticed him staring at it. She flushed.
“I get it,” he said. “You’re still trying to get your old man to take off the cuffs and let you go to Chicago to join that dance troupe.” He nodded. “If he thinks we’re together, he might decide sending you away is better than having you stay here with me.”
She raised her chin. “That’s one possibility. Another is that he’ll realize I’m determined to live my own life, whether or not I have his approval.”
“Then maybe he’s mad enough to see to it you’re kicked out of the dance troupe.”
She shoved down the doubt that threatened to overtake her. “I guess that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Right.” His voice was scornful. “I can tell you’re a big risk taker.”
His eyes burned into her, daring her to deny the truth. That was the trouble with truth, though—everyone had their own version. Her father had his and Zach had his. And then there was her version—different because she didn’t necessarily believe she had to be, or act, the way they saw her.
Fine. If he wanted truth, she’d give it to him. “There’s another reason I want to…to be with you. A more personal reason.”
He was silent, waiting, so she took a deep breath and continued. “That first day in your shop, when I said I wasn’t