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WARNER

“Helmet, please.” Zoey holds her hand out.

“You’re not worried about messing up your hair?” I unsnap a saddlebag and pull out the half helmet I barely ever bother with.

Her lips twist to the side in a grimace. “I’m betting a skull fracture would do a hell of a lot more to mess with my side part.”

Before she can take the head protection from me, I’m already settling it in place, enjoying the silky brush of her hair against my fingertips as I go to snap the buckle. After tightening the chinstrap, I slide a finger in between the strap and her chin, noticing the flutter of her pulse.

I can’t pass up any opportunity to touch her. Still, I don’t linger. If I come on as strong as my instincts clamor to, I might scare her away.

Slow and steady. Let her come to me.

I step to my bike, about to throw a leg over, when Zoey’s hand on my arm stops me.

“Where’s yours?”

“My what?”

She gives me an are you trying to be dense look. “Your helmet.”

“I’m good.” I flash her my most confident smile. My lady-catching smile, as my sister dubbed it.

Must be losing my touch because Zoey crosses her arms and glares at me.

“No. Anyone riding a motorcycle should be wearing a helmet.”

Sure. Any human should wear one , I want to say.

But I keep that distinction to myself.

“Really, it’s okay. I ride without one all the time.”

If I thought she was glaring before, it’s nothing compared to the intense smolder that furrows her brows. Zoey steps forward, placing a hand flat on my chest, almost in a caress. Then, she fists my shirt and drags me close.

“Put on a helmet. Now.” Her growl is impressive for a human.

“Zoey—”

“Warner, I swear to whatever biker gods you pray to, if you do not wear a helmet, I will find a way to superglue one to your head.” She gives another tug, rising on her tiptoes to get in my face, voice dropping low with menace. “And trust me when I say, however much superglue you think I have”—her fierce eyes scorch—“you are underestimating.”

That last threat sounded like she was spelling out how she planned on murdering me.

In my entire life, I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman as badly as I do Zoey Gunner in this moment.

As I stare down at a scowling Zoey, my mind fixates on the idea of kissing her.

Would she taste as sweet as honey straight from the comb?

Better not risk it. She might superglue my mouth shut too.

Instead of sliding my arms around her waist and nipping at her tempting lips, I step back, forcing her to release her grip. I raise my hands in defeat.

“All right. Holster your glue guns. I’ll find another helmet.”

As I make my way down the line of bikes, she calls out to me, “A spare one! I don’t want anyone else riding without one.”

Damn it. She’s making it really hard not to turn around, scoop her up, and kiss her senseless. There aren’t many people in this town who would talk back to a member of The Dark Moon Riders, much less lecture them about motorcycle safety and threaten them with crafting tools.

If I thought talking to Zoey would make me less curious, I was naive.

Roderick often carries extra supplies. When I check his pack, I sigh in relief, spotting two helmets. After holding them both up for Zoey to see, I tuck one back in his bag.

Returning to my bike, I strap on the head gear and throw a leg over my pride and joy. This bike was basically scrap when I first got my hands on it, but now, it gleams in the parking lot spotlight, and the engine runs smoother than any other one here.

“You good to go now?”

Zoey nods, hands resting on my shoulders while she climbs on. I rev the bike to life. The engine purrs, vibrating through my limbs, more soothing than a massage chair.

For the first time in a long while, a warm body presses into my back.

Did it always feel this good to have a woman riding with me?

Wouldn’t I have offered more rides if it had?

Maybe it’s just Zoey. Knowing that the chest cushioned against my shoulder blades is hers, same with the arms twining around my middle. And, hell, those perfectly shaped thighs are the ones cupping my own legs. Plus, that extra bit of heat soaking into my lower back is from her?—

I shake my head, trying to focus on guiding my bike out onto the dark road toward town. If I let thoughts of Zoey’s body wrapped around mine take up too much of my concentration, we might end up careening into a ditch on the side of the road.

At least, if that happens, we’re both wearing helmets.