“No one ever is their first time. Now I want you to aim the barrel down, take the safety off, and aim at the first bottle on the end of the fence.” When she completed the task he forged ahead, racing against the nerves he knew must be forming. “On three, one, two, three.”
Her body flinched and her eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets. She missed the shot by a few feet.
“You all right?”
“My heart’s beating about a mile a minute. That is some scary shit.”
“Then you’re going to hate me because I want you to do it again.
“Now,” he said.
“O-okay.”
She lifted her arms once more and took the shoot, missing the bottles again by a shorter distance.
“Again,” he barked, feeling like a drill instructor. She fired, missing once more.
“Again.” Glass shattered.
“Good job now let’s go for another one.”
She peered over her shoulder at him and he stared back, daring her to challenge him. War was coming. Shit was about to get ugly. He’d be damned if she’d be caught unprepared on his watch.
* * * * *
Hilary took one last look at the cabin. Today they were moving to Hawk’s house. The thought made her nervous. There was an intimacy that came with living together. She felt out of sorts and exposed in this new skin. The jeans she wore molded to her body like second skin. The biker boots came up to mid-calf, and the off-the-shoulder Mayhem T-shirt had been slashed in the back. Her red hair was slicked back into a ponytail that hid her mid-back. Who knew I had this much hair? It’d been years since she’d straightened it. This week had been a crash course in all things Mayhem. As much as she’d been around the girls and their men, she hadn’t understood how much went on behind the scenes.
She’d never been the type to let go of control. As spontaneous and outspoken as she might be, there was always a method to her madness. She needed to have a plan to work from or a goal to move toward. This put all that on hold and forced her to take a good long look at herself and her current place in life. Usually when the bad thoughts came, she buried them under work. There was no instant gratification like finishing a chapter or a really challenging scene.
It never occurred to her that outside of her friends and writing, her life was sorely lacking. Until now. After a brief conversation with her mother and editor, there’d been no one else to inform about her vacation. With her work shelved, she had to try not to climb the walls. Her thoughts drifted to Hawk. The man was masculine, commanding, and—if she was being honest—arresting. He intrigued her. Despite his tough exterior there was a keen intelligence in his eyes, and a story to be told. She knew next to nothing about him, but she found herself wanting to know more. Beneath the snark, impassive face, and tough-guy exterior, she’d seen glimpses of a remarkable man.
She walked over to the bike where Hawk waited.
“You ready to ride?”
Hilary nodded.
“Give me your bag. We can get going.” It was a command. Biting the inside of her cheek she lifted her head, determined not to be the first to yell uncle. He was testing her, and she would not fail. She handed him her bag to stow in a saddlebag. Once he completed the task, he turned to her with a black helmet and a sly smile. “You need help on?”
“No, I got it,” she said quietly. Retrieving the helmet from him she smoothly placed it on her head an
d belted the chin strap. Confident, she mounted the bike behind him, expertly using the foot peg as if she’d been doing it all her life. She’d practiced with the prospects over and over until it felt natural. A house mouse would be old hat about being on the back of a bike. So like any actor prepping for a part, she’d rehearsed all the small details that made it believable. Wrapping her arms round his waist, she molded her body to his, ready for the surge forward that came with the initial takeoff.
“Maybe I underestimated you,” Hawk said.
“Maybe you did,” she said, hoping her flippant tone disguised the anxiety rocketing toward the moon. They took off, and the wind caught the end of her hair. The rumble of the massive machine, and the heat pouring off the man in front of her were a welcome distraction from the mess she was plunging into.
By the time they pulled into his driveway she was achy, exhausted, and grateful for the sissy seat on the back that allowed her to relax between the curves in the road. She could fake the motions, but her body wasn’t used to long rides. That kind of familiarity took time. He cut the engine and she let her hands flop down, resting her palms on her thighs.
“How you doing back there?” he asked.
“I’ve been better,” she said.
He chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. I think you held up pretty good. Not even one stop between here and there.”
His home was farther out on a nice spread of land. She hadn’t pegged him for the country-home type. The rolling hills, two-story white house with green shutters, and the massive front porch with a wooden swing were downright charming. All he needs to complete the picture is an old hound dog. Bikes lined the driveway.
“Who’s here?”