She couldn’t contain the loud shout of pure exhilaration rushing through her lips, the loud scream announcing to the world of her joy, letting the man controlling this bike know she was enjoying it. She was not inhibited about it.
Morana spread her arms, closing her eyes, feeling the wind rub against her, feeling him rub against her, feeling the bike rub against her.
She yelled even louder - unashamed, unbound, unchained.
She let herself feel deeper - uncaring, unhinged, unabashed.
It was just a bike. It was just a ride. It was just a man.
It just was.
It was almost an hour later that reality intruded.
Tristan Caine turned from the main road onto a dirt lane she’d known all her life, and for the first time in an hour of bliss, her heart started pounding again. Her fingers flexed against his abs as she saw the massive structure of the Vitalio mansion loom behind the wrought iron gates.
What the hell?
He stopped the bike on the side of the property, nearer to her wing than the gates. He parked behind thick bushes that were tall enough to hide them from the view.
The sudden quiet under her thighs contrasted starkly with the buzz that coursed through her body, setting her senses on high alert, only the sound of nocturnal creatures penetrating the area around them along with her own blood pounding in her ears.
Slowly, she removed her fingers from his stomach and her arms from around him. She pulled back enough to give him the space to get down. He did one of those leg-over-the-handle moves that she’d only seen on Sons of Anarchy, and was standing on solid ground within minutes, waiting for her to disembark.
Morana removed her helmet and handed it over to him, pulling her glasses from between her breasts and putting them on her nose, blinking at the world suddenly coming into focus. She found his intense blue eyes on her, just watching her as she threw her leg around the bike and hopped down.
Big mistake.
The sudden standing position made her knees crumple beneath her just as hands gripped her low on her hips and pulled her upright, her hands landing on his hard chest for support as blood rushed to her legs.
“You enjoy riding,” he said softly into the space between their faces.
Morana watched the moonlight play with the shadows on his face. His scruff hid his cheeks while his eyes seemed even bluer, focused on her with the same expression she could feel pulsing inside herself – sheer, undiluted exhilaration.
“You enjoy making me ride,” Morana shot back just as quietly.
His lips twitched for a second, his eyes drifting to her mouth for a long, heady moment, before the veil came back over his face and he took a step back, leaving her standing on thankfully steady legs.
Taking out his phone, he pressed it to his ear and spoke, “Now,” before hanging up.
Morana raised her eyebrows. How eloquent.
A moment later, a chunk of the wall of the property came away. A man with a thick beard stood on the other side in a guard’s uniform, nodding respectfully at Tristan Caine.
He had spies in her father’s house?
Of course, he did.
That was how he’d gotten inside and climbed her wall so easily all those weeks ago. God, that was so long ago. She’d been so different then, in so many ways.
Morana looked at him, taking him in, and realized how much she’d changed since then, and how much he had to do with it.
“Clear?” Tristan Caine asked the guard, his voice cold, lethal.
The man nodded. “Yes, sir. You can go straight to the wing. Nobody will bother you.”
Holy… okay. That was a first. Another first.
Morana watched, stunned, as Tristan Caine entered the premises, telling her with his eyes to follow him.