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“What do you do with the bikes once you are finished fixing them?” Anya asked, facing him.
“Most times, I sell them to collectors.” He joined her next to the Yamaha and patted the black leather seat. “But this one, I think I’m going to keep her once I’m done.”
He wandered around the machine and took in his handiwork. He didn’t have much more to do to the bike before it would be in riding condition.
“I had fun.” Anya glanced at him with a sparkle in her eyes. “You made my first ride on a motorcycle interesting.”
His eyebrows rose at the remark. “Interesting?”
“I never thought I’d be on the back of some hot guy’s bike—” She stopped suddenly with wide eyes.
He barked a laugh and ambled over to her. “So, I’m hot, huh?”
She did a dramatic eye roll and shook her head. “As if you didn’t know. You and your brother were always the talk of the neighborhood.”
He took her hand in his and tugged her to him. “That’s not what I asked you.” He couldn’t care less about what the neighborhood had thought back when they were younger.
He wanted to know what she thought now.
She leaned into him, her head tilted back to meet his gaze. “I think you are the sexiest man alive,” she whispered.
He swooped his head down with a growl. He covered her lips with his. A gasp escaped her, but she didn’t shy away from him. The kiss was intense and deep. He loved the feel of her soft body melting against his.
His dick sprang to life from the sensation of holding Anya close.
He tore his mouth from hers. They were both breathing heavily. He stared down at Anya while her eyes were still closed. She opened them, her gaze unfocused.
“Wow,” she breathed, blinking several times.
He didn’t know what it was about her, but whenever she was near him, all thoughts went out the window. He couldn’t think straight, and having her near drove his cock crazy.
He needed to be buried inside her.
“I promised you food.” He drew in a shaky breath, willing his dick to go back down. He reached up and smoothed her hair down, trailing his fingers along her cheek. “I always keep my word.”
“Umm…food. Okay. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”
His gaze flew to hers, and he was sure she wasn’t talking about food.
Anya was in a constant state of arousal.
She was horny as hell, and it was all because of Dalton McNeil.
He fought fires, rode a motorcycle, and he cooked.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself locked away in her bedroom strapped down to her bed. She held back a snort. She wasn’t into BDSM or anything, but watching Dalton move around the kitchen had her thinking of a few things she’d like to try.
A man like this was rare.
And she didn’t want to let him get away.
The smells circulating the air had her stomach grumbling.
“Does Dallas know I’m coming Saturday?” she asked. Her feet swung in the air as she sat on the barstool at his kitchen island.
“I was going to call him tonight and tell him.” Dalton glanced over at her. He’d refused to allow her to help with anything, stating she was a guest, and the guest doesn’t cook in his house. He’d plopped her up on the stool and made her promise to sit still while he cooked.
“I don’t want to be like a third wheel or something.”
