Page 50 of Catching Trouble

Maxime grunted. “Don’t be. Last I heard, he was still very much alive.” The sneer on his lips wasn’t lost on me.

“You don’t know?”

He gave a wry smile. “We don’t keep in touch.”

At the growl in his voice, I opened my mouth, then closed it. Awkward, much? Best to change tack. “So, he gave you the bike?”

I expected another growl, or at least an irritated sigh, but Maxime curled one corner of his lips into a smirk. My breath thinned. I had to admit; it was a glorious sight to behold—sexy and just a little arrogant. And I was definitely there for it.

His gaze lingered on my parted lips, and his eyes sparkled. “Let’s just say I took the bike for a ride one day and never returned it. I don’t come from the warmest family.”

I swallowed. Neither did I, but I couldn’t imagine borrowing my dad’s old bicycle and never giving it back. How would he get to his weekly trivia nights?

Maxime let out a sigh and folded his arms across his chest,his tattoos melding in a mess of glorious ink. “My father was an unforgiving man with little time for me.”

I frowned. “Do you mean cold?” The question slipped out without thought, but Maxime didn’t flinch at the intrusion.

Instead, he grunted. “Try arctic.”

“Got it. So, no hugs at Christmas?”

He shook his head, giving a wry smile. “No.”

“Do you have siblings?” I asked, brushing imaginary dust off my cut-offs.

A dry laugh rumbled in his chest. “No. I doubt my parents were willing to roll the dice again.”

My chest tugged. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged his broad, ink-laden shoulders. He glanced away from me, shifting on his feet. “What’s done is done. It was a long time ago.”

“Yes, but time doesn’t make dealing with memories any easier.”

Something sparked in his eyes, and he gripped his bottom lip with his teeth. He drew his eyebrows tighter than I’d ever seen. “Look, I was going to take the bike for a spin along the coast road. The exhaust needs a blow out every now and again.” His gaze danced over my face. “Do you want to come?”

A sudden chill swept over me. Of all the things Maxime could’ve said, those words were the least expected.

I probably shouldn’t go. Hadn’t I spent the last week fantasising about him and his knot-tying skills late at night? How would I keep a grasp on a basic conversation with those pictures dancing through my brain? But with the full force of his glowering glory hitting me square in the hormones, how could I say no?

He shifted, his folded arms loosening. “I have a spare helmet and if Sophie is out for the afternoon, what’s stopping you?”

What indeed? And if he had a spare helmet, who was I toprotest? Still, shouldn’t I play hard to get? I tilted my head. “My boss might not approve.”

Maxime’s almost permanent brow crease disappeared. “I don’t think he’d mind—just this once. And you never know, he might like the company.”

I smiled, my insides feeling a lot like honey—sweet and a little messy. “I’m not dressed properly.”

He gave me a slow once-over, head to toe. “I beg to differ.”

My heartbeat picked up at the sudden intensity on his face.

Well then, the debate was settled. If Maxime thought my clothes were appropriate, in his words, what was stopping me?

“Okay,” I said, wondering what the hell I’d just agreed to.

16

MAXIME