Page 8 of Ex-Military Biker’s Bride

“You going to tell me why, or are you sticking with the elk story?”

I shake my head and drop my eyes.

“Okay.”

That's it. He doesn’t push me, even though I’m barely dressed and pressed against him. I put my hand flat on the scarring over his ribs.

“Olivia.”

“My name sounds good when you say it. Say it again.”

He says it roughly, half under his breath, and I can’t take it anymore. I tilt my head up and kiss him.

His hand slides into my wet hair and holds my head. He kisses me back, not gently but like he’s been waiting a long time to do it. My knee moves over his hip as I press closer, while his palm runs down my bare back and pulls me closer. His tongue explores my mouth and I can feel how hard he is against me.

Then he stops, pulling his head back.

“No.”

I stare at him.

He's breathing hard, his hand still entwined in my hair. “You're half frozen and injured. This isn’t the time.”

“Lucky.” I push up on my elbow. “I promise you I’m of sound mind, if not of sound body.”

He laughs and pulls me in against his chest again, huge arms locked around me. “There’s stuff I haven’t told you. You’ll want to be of sound mind and body for that.”

“Well,” I say into his chest. “That makes two of us.”

Chapter Four

LUCKY

Olivia’s curled around me, my arm across her waist, when I wake up.

Her back’s against my chest and her tousled hair is under my chin. One of her hands is gently wrapped around my forearm, as if she found it in her sleep and didn’t let go. In the dim gray light from the window it looks like it’s still raining, but not as heavily. My cock is hard and aching, pressed tight against my zipper.

For six weeks I've been running her face through my head, trying to talk myself out of the overwhelming attraction I felt for her. Except now she's warm against me, wearing my damn shirt. There’s no talking myself out of this.

Her breathing gets faster, so I ease my arm back to give her some space, but she tugs it back again.

“Don't,” she whispers, her eyes still closed.

We lie there for a while, saying nothing. I stroke my thumb rhythmically over her hipbone through the shirt. She makes a small sound and pushes back into me, and I have to think hard about different types of engine oil to stop from coming in my pants.

“How's your ankle doing?”

“It hurts. And it’s a very weird purple color…but thank you for asking.”

“Will you let me carry you to the plane?”

“If you’re bossy enough about it, I might.”

I laugh, squeezing her hip, then get out of bed before I do something stupid. The rain outside has stopped and the sun is peeking through the clouds.

I make breakfast, which is coffee, two protein bars and an orange cut in half. We eat it sitting on the bunk with the door propped open. There’s a fresh breeze, rather than last night’s high wind, and visibility’s good. Which is great for my flying skills, and not so good if someone from Rotmere is keeping an eye on the sky today.

“We need to leave soon. The weather’s changeable.”