“There’s scared, and there’s insanity.” I point over his shoulder. “That is insanity. I saw how crazy you are on that thing, and this might be hard to believe, but I’d love to live to see my birthday in eleven days.”
He chuckles. “You have such little faith.” Leaning in, he presses a lingering kiss to my cheek. “I promise you’ll survive the ordeal.”
I thump him on the arm, as he turns to the side, frowning a little. “This is no laughing matter.”
He sighs, losing the snarky humor. “Vivien Grace.” His fingers sweep along my cheekbone. “I promise I will take care of you. I will go slow, and I won’t make any risky moves. I’ve been riding for three years, and I’ve never had an accident. You can trust me. I swear.”
“Trust isn’t easy for me.”
“I’ll bet.” He drops his hand, and his pinkie hooks in mine. “I’m guessing you’ve never been on a bike.”
“I haven’t.”
“Then you’ve got to do this. It’s Saturday. The sun is shining. We’ll hit the open road, and as soon as you feel the wind on your back, it’ll blow all the troubles from your mind. There is nothing as exhilarating as this.” He wraps his hand around mine. “C’mon, Hollywood. Take a risk with me.” He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Live a little,” he whispers.
His words could be construed as condescending, but I can tell it’s not. “Okay, but don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t.” He looks over my shoulder, frowning.
“What?” I whip my head around, spotting a man dressed in jeans and a navy jacket leaning against the wall by my building. He’s wearing shades while he whistles under his breath and scrolls through his phone.
“Is that guy familiar to you?” Dillon asks.
I shake my head, peering into Dillon’s eyes. “No, why?”
“I thought I saw him outside Whelans last weekend.” He shrugs. “Must be my overactive imagination at work.”
Alarm bells blare in my head, and I swallow back bile. Dillon smiles while I cast a shaky glance at the guy, but he’s gone. Prickles of apprehension wash over my skin. I haven’t noticed anyone hanging around, and I sincerely hope Dillon is mistaken. If the paparazzi have discovered my location, I will legit cry. Especially since I already told my parents I’m staying here until August and Moira is in the middle of extending my rental agreement.
Dillon helps me to put my helmet on, and I climb onto the motorcycle behind him, jumping when he kick-starts the engine, and it roars to life. He grabs my hands, pulling my arms tight around his waist. My body is flush against his, my core pushed up against his ass, and his spicy scent swirls around me when I press my helmet against his back.
Slowly, he inches out into the traffic, carefully weaving in and out of busy city center traffic, until we hit the M50. We pick up speed, and I hug him tighter as we drive toward our destination, enjoying the thrill of being this close to him. I never did get to ask him where we’re going, but it doesn’t matter. I’m enjoying this a lot more than I thought I would, and apart from fleeting nerves at the start, I’m relaxed and comfortable. Dillon has stayed true to his word, pulling no dangerous maneuvers, and I no longer fear for my life.
Sun beats down on my back, heating me through my jacket, and it makes a welcome change from the cold and the rain. Now we’re into April, the weather is definitely more pleasant though still a lot cooler and less predictable than I’m used to.
After a while, Dillon takes an exit off the highway, and we fly down smaller tree-lined roads, passing through a couple of towns, before we hit a sign for Killiney. He slows our pace as we ride over speed bumps in the road before turning right between stone pillars, entering a park. Driving past open fields on both sides, we reach an open-air parking lot at the top, and Dillon slides into a vacant space, killing the engine, and parking the bike.
I ease my helmet off as he does the same. Strands of hair have come undone from my ponytail and I swat wispy hair off my face.
“Surprise. You’re alive,” he drawls, and I laugh.
“That was actually fun.”
“Told ya!” He tweaks my nose, helping me off the seat. He unzips his black leather jacket, revealing a wrinkled U2 shirt.
“You love your band shirts,” I tease, unzipping my own jacket.
“I’m a rocker.” He shrugs. “And I like shirts.” He lifts the seat up, removing a Nike backpack. “Bono lives near here.”
“Really?”
“Yep. If it’s not too late when we leave, I can drive by his place, if you like.” He slams the seat down, and it clicks into place.
I shrug, because I’m not really fazed.
A wide grin stretches across his mouth. “I keep forgetting you’re not bothered by celebs.”
“One of the things I love about Ireland is how relaxed people are about fame. It’s a refreshing change.”