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“It’s a short ride. I’ll be fine.”
I took the helmet and tugged it on, fiddling with the straps. Guilt prickled the back of my neck. He was going through a lot of trouble on my behalf, and I couldn’t pinpoint why the hell he would do that. What did he expect in return? Sex? Is that why his buddies acted like he had some claim on me? Is that why Gideon growled at Spike like a wolf over his kill?
On the other hand, I had a full belly. I was freshly showered, with clean hair, and the layers of dirt scrubbed from my skin until I was scoured pink. And no one had breathed a word about me keeping their bed warm. Sure, Spike had joked about kinky stuff, but that was different.
When Gideon reached out, I automatically took a step back with a look of suspicion.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I’d buckle those straps,” he replied. “You’ve been fucking around with them for almost a minute.”
I huffed, annoyed.
“Well, I can’t see them when they’re under my chin—”
This time when Gideon reached out, I let him hook a finger into the belt loop of my jeans and draw me toward him. I stood close enough that my hip pressed into his knee. The rough, cracked skin of his knuckles grazed my throat as he buckled my straps. I swallowed hard as an electric jolt of pleasure fizzled through my blood.
“Done,” Gideon declared.
He looked away but his hand settled on my elbow with a squeeze for a moment. I swayed forward on my toes, wishing I could lean into that brief contact. It felt…steady. Reassuring. Strong. I wasn’t used to touch like that.
“Get comfortable,” Gideon said, patting the seat behind him.
I hesitated as I faced my next hurdle. Hitching a ride with Gideon would require close quarters. There was no room for personal space on a motorcycle. I forced myself to move, swinging my leg over the bike.
Then I found myself facing Gideon’s broad back. Blackjacks MC arched across his shoulders in bold letters. Underneath the text was a depiction of a playing card—a jack of spades. Tattoo ink marked the nape of his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. He smelled incredible—warm leather, cigar smoke, and a musky, masculine cologne that had a lusty haze fogging the edges of my common sense.
“If you don’t hold on,” Gideon said. “You’re going to fall off at the first sharp turn we take.”
I curled my fingers into fists, steeling myself for the inevitable. I preferred to keep people at a distance. It was safer that way. I had a better chance of dodging a slap or a right hook when I could see it coming.
Finally, I wrapped my arms around Gideon’s middle. He was solid as a brick wall, surprisingly warm, and the urge to cuddle against him was stupidly irresistible. I’d never cuddled with anyone in my life. I wasn’t about to start now with a man I’d met less than an hour ago.
When Gideon guided his bike out of the parking lot and picked up speed, I breathed in deep. This must be what flying feels like—weightless, soaring. The pavement was a blur beneath us, and the wind tugged at my clothes.
After only a few short minutes, Gideon pulled up outside a small brick house with an attached garage. When he parked his bike and shut off the engine, my ears were still ringing from the noise.
“Home sweet home,” he said. “Doesn’t look like much, I know.”
I removed my helmet and tucked it under my arm, surveying the house for a moment. It wasn’t exactly homey, but there was something comforting about it. Worn in like a favorite pair of old boots that still proved to be sturdy and reliable after years of wear and tear.
I followed Gideon inside as he began turning on the lights.
“The guest bedroom is all yours,” he said, gesturing down a hall to the left. “It hasn’t been used in a while though, so give me a minute to grab some sheets before you settle in.”
I didn’t move from the threshold. A pair of old leather couches were in the living room to my right, with Harley Davidson memorabilia on the walls. I spotted a few pictures of Gideon with his Blackjack buddies—at a concert, singing at the top of his lungs with Baby Doll; scowling in the background as he played pool with Credence and Hot Shot, probably unhappy over his impending loss; surrounded by his club as he slid his leather vest on, shoulders squared and chin held high with pride.
My chest ached. These bikers were tight. Thick as thieves. What did that feel like? To trust someone the way Gideon trusted these people to have his back?
I tugged at my limp sleeve, suddenly feeling dirty despite my shower. I didn’t belong here. Maybe there was still time to run—
“Liss?”
Snapped out of my thoughts, I turned to see Gideon standing in the hallway. The light was low, dim, and the shadows made him appear more menacing than he really was. Tattooed, black leather, heavy biker boots, and those piercing dark eyes. I should have been startled. I should have felt some foreboding or misgiving that maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to spend the night with a biker I didn’t even know.
But I’d faced more than my fair share of monsters in the dark.
Gideon wasn’t one of them.
