Page 5 of Lured By Shadows

Still, something about him held my attention despite every sensible instinct telling me to keep walking toward campus. The contrast between his awkward phrasing, old-fashioned habits, and the intensity in his eyes stirred a curiosity I couldn’t ignore. Worse, he watched me as though he already knew what I would decide, and that confidence left an uneasy knot twisting low in my stomach.

I let out a breath. “Fine, okay. Sure, I’ll take you up on the offer.”

He brightened instantly, as though he’d been waiting for that. “Before you reconsider,” he said, holding something out to me, “take this.”

He offered me the helmet, and I eyed it suspiciously. My hair was already damp from the rain, and that thing was about to flatten it beyond saving.

“I’d rather not.”

“I will not accept your refusal,” he replied, completely serious, as though it were a principle he genuinely followed.

Oh, cool. So he was insane.

He stepped closer and lifted the helmet toward me with careful consideration. I leaned back. “Don’t you dare mess up my hair!”

The second it touched my head, I knew I’d lost. I let him settle it into place, scowling through the visor while he fastened it carefully, as though my safety mattered more than anything else around us. “Why’d I say yes again?”

This was exactly how girls ended up in documentaries, making one bad decision in cute shoes. Amy would’ve slapped me upside the head.

“Ira,” she’d say. “You can’t die just because a hot man asked politely.”

He adjusted the strap beneath my chin, his cold fingers brushing my skin. That same strange sensation followed again, making me wonder how the chill outside seemed to exist inside him too.

“Your complaints are valid,” he said quietly. “However, I prefer you safe.”

The words slipped past me, simple enough to sound polite but close enough to feel like something more. I hated how warmth crept into me despite the cold rain surrounding us.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your helmet?”

“I only have one,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

I reached up to pull it off. “Then take it.”

His hand moved fast and caught mine. Not harsh, but firm. The glove brushed my skin, and even through it, that same electric spark flickered again.

Twice now.

Too much to ignore.

“You are my passenger,” he said. “I would sooner ride into a storm bareheaded than risk your injury.”

My mind scrambled for a response. I drew in a quick breath, and his cologne settled into my senses: warm cinnamon edged with crisp mint. The scent heightened everything around me and pulled me deeper into the moment. It smelled strangely recognizable for some reason, and I couldn’t explain why it left me softening around the edges.

By the time he swung onto the bike and gestured for me to follow, my heart was already pounding. The rhythm matched the low hum of the engine as uncertainty settled heavily through my limbs while I climbed on behind him.

“Careful, little lamb,” he murmured, the words softened by the engine and the helmet.

My stomach tightened. The nickname ought to have sounded condescending or unsettling or, at the very least, too intimate. Instead, something in the way he said it settled low and warm inside me.

If he started calling me “my dear” next, I was jumping off the bike.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He paused just long enough to make it obvious he was choosing his words carefully. Then, with ease, he said, “I said… hold on tight.”

I didn’t question it. I simply wrapped my arms around his waist. Climbing onto a stranger’s motorcycle should’ve been enough to stop me, but beneath all the uncertainty was a quiet, unexpected sense of safety.

I couldn’t ignore how solid he felt beneath my hands. Not bulky or heavy, just lean and strong, as though completely at ease in his own body. As my fingers settled against his sides, I realized I was taking in the feel of him without meaning to. My touch lingered a second longer than necessary while the awareness between us slowly built.