It occurred to her as they whipped through the chilly morning breeze that, other than riding a block here and there, she’d never really been on a motorcycle before the adrenalinepumped journey with Mac last night. Instinct had roared to life and caused her to jump on the back of the Harley as if she’d known what she was doing.
In the bright light of day, she realized as Mac flew around sharp curves, this was a rather terrifying experience.
The passenger seat, such as it was, was minimal at best, barely affording a spot for both her butt cheeks. There was no backrest in case she slid backward, forcing her to lean forward and hold onto Mac for dear life.
Funny how she hadn’t noticed any of these things last night. The thoughts had never crossed her mind, since bullets had been zinging at the time. Now that she was safe and actually paying attention, the whole bike-riding ordeal was a little hair-raising and not at all like her fantasies of hopping onto the back of a bad boy’s bike, the wind whipping through her hair as the engine roared and they zipped down the road.
Well, she was definitely on the back of a bad boy’s bike right now. Her fantasies had always centered around Mac and his Harley. And now she was riding with him, living out her dream.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. The wind was definitely whipping and she sure as hell felt like she was flying.
If she focused on the positives rather than the negatives, she could see that this was a rather liberating experience, actually.
The roar and vibration of the bike between her legs was a giant moving turn on. Her br**sts pressed against Mac’s back, her thighs aligned with his—oh yeah, this was pretty cool.
After about an hour or so the thrill wore off and she wondered if they’d be stopping anytime soon. Her butt was getting sore. He mentioned getting a new seat. She hoped it had lots of padding.
After two hours nonstop on the bike, Lily was more than ready to get off. In fact, her body was screaming for it.
Her back was tight, her butt was numb and the tender spots between her legs…she just wasn’t going to go there.
Thankfully, not too long after that Mac pulled into a bike shop. Lily stretched her tight muscles, resisted the urge to massage between her legs where she was really sore, and followed him inside.
She waited at the counter while he purchased a new seat for the bike, then he pulled her over to the clothing section and made her try on some jackets.
“These are heavy.”
“The elbows and shoulders have built-in Kevlar to protect you in case we wipe out.”
She arched a brow. “But we won’t do that, will we?”
He grinned. “Hell no. But I like the thought of you being protected when we ride. Plus, the jacket will keep you warm. Even though it’s nearly summer, riding a bike is chillier than being in a car. And the nights can still be cold.”
So she’d noticed.
“You need chaps, too. And boots.”
She looked down at her feet. “I have shoes.”
“Yeah, and the heat of the pipes are melting the soles.
You need boots.”
She rolled her eyes and followed him around the store while he chose gear for her to wear. After he’d picked out chaps, boots, helmet, gloves and goggles, he added them to the well padded leather jacket. She had to admit, he chose a pair of kickass boots for her too. Finally, he called it good and they checked out, new seat in hand.
“What are you going to do with your current seat?” she asked as he switched out bike seats there in the parking lot.
“Leave it here. Nothing else I can do about it. I’ll get a replacement for it after…later.”
After what? After he dropped her somewhere? She almost felt guilty about him losing the original seat to his bike, but immediately shoved that thought aside. It hadn’t been her idea to come along on this expedition, so she had no business feeling sorry for him and his lost bike seat.
The new seat looked thick and cushiony, and he’d also purchased a padded backrest that he called a sissy bar.
Hallelujah!
“Good bitch seat. You should be comfortable now.”
“Bitch seat and sissy bar, huh?”
He grinned. “That’s what I call them. If you’re going to be a biker babe, you need to learn the lingo.”
Biker babe. Cute. And that was some terminology.
She’d known Mac for years and he’d always had a bike, but he’d never let her ride with him. In fact, he’d always tried to push her away, get her to go home, even though she’d insisted on hanging around him.
Like a disgusting, lovesick puppy.
Live and learn. She should have listened when he told her to get lost. How different her life might have turned out.
Yeah, right. If not for Mac, she’d have dutifully followed her father’s dictates and gone to college, then law school, never once thinking about what she really wanted to do with her life.
Despite her broken heart, Mac had taught her a lot about thinking for herself, about demanding the freedom to live her own life, not one that had been decided for her. She’d done that and more, thanks to him. If she’d only learned to guard her heart around him, their relationship could have ended on a good note.
But no. She had to go and fall in love with the bad boy.
The one she had no business going crazy over. The one who’d tried his best to push her away.
Lily had refused to take no for an answer. She was her father’s daughter, after all. A lot of John West’s DNA was deeply embedded within her. Like stubbornness and refusing to yield. Yeah, she definitely had an armload of that. So every time Mac had tried to get rid of her, she’d come back, determined to win him over.
He’d been so wrong for her. Everything he represented was what her father hated. Mac had been poor, in trouble, going nowhere in life. His parents had been warring alcoholics, his dad in and out of prison. Mac had most definitely not been college bound, had no career or educational goals in mind. All he’d wanted to do was hang out, ride his bike and work on cars. And petty thievery—oh yeah, that was one of his specialties. That’s why he was so good working with his hands.
Work with his hands. Lily had been mesmerized by his hands. Watching him every day after school, leaning over the hood of a souped up muscle car in the garage had made her nerve endings tingle.
All Mac ever said was that she’d get dirty.
She’d wanted to get dirty. She’d craved Mac’s greasestained hands all over her pristine clothes, wanted his workroughened fingers on her bare skin, his stubbly beard brushing against her cheek, his mouth on hers… The memories alone were like a forest fire on a snowcovered mountain. Despite the morning chill, the memories of Mac thoroughly heated her to the core.