Page 10 of Full Out Fiend

“Have you ever ridden a bike, angel?” he calls out over the sound of the engine.

I blush at the pet name he seems set on. I wonder if he plans to use it later tonight. I sort of hope he does.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice to reach him over the rumble of the bike.

A spark of concern flashes on his face, and his eyebrows crease together in the most adorable way, forming a little wrinkle above his nose. Two seconds later, he’s dismounting and stalking toward me.

“I’ll call us a car then.”

That.

That right there.

That attentiveness and concern—it’s foreign to me, but I like it. It’s like a warm hug. Genuine and real.

That’s why I’m doing this with him.

If he can read me this well, I’ll be fine. Maybe even more than fine if any of his dirty talk from that alley plays out as promised.

“No way,” I object, striding to meet him on the sidewalk. “I want the full Fielding experience. Take me on a ride.”

He freezes where he stands, smirks, then holds out his hand in offering. The punchline passes between us silently. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the unspoken dirty joke.

I’m not kidding. I want him to take me on a ride tonight.

He’s a stranger.

A stranger with a motorcycle.

But something in my gut tells me he’s also a good guy. Even if he claimed not to be a good man. I’ve already decided he’s decent. Kind. And if that cocksure attitude is any indication, he’s also really good in bed.

I don’t need or want a good man right now. Everyone said Ihada good man—and look where that got me. I just need a good distraction. This motorcycle and the six-foot-two blond holding out a helmet for me will be more than good enough for tonight.

Chapter 7

Daphne

Beingonthebackof a motorcycle is thrilling. The rumble of the machine under my bare thighs serves as the perfect teaser for the night ahead as we zoom headfirst toward the main event. I don’t even blink as we whiz through a construction zone, orange barrels blurring in a visual inferno. I’m done toeing the line and playing it safe. I don’t need a warning about what happens next.

Fielding slows the bike as we approach a gated driveway. I dig my nails into his sides like I’ve done multiple times over the last ten minutes. First I gripped him out of fear; now my touch is all anticipation.

The bike comes to a smooth stop, and he punches a passcode into the security box. What in the world…? I don’t mean to watch, but I do.

The gate swings open like something out of a movie. Or an episode ofMTV Cribs.

We coast along the tree-lined driveway as a huge home comes into view.

I guess he forgot to mention that hisplaceis a literal mansion.

I school my expression as he rolls the motorcycle into the opening garage bay.

He stops and secures the bike, then swings off with ease. My legs wobble after straddling a vibrating hunk of metal for the last ten minutes, leaving me to contemplate how to approach my dismount.

Within seconds, he’s offering me his hand and murmuring, “Offer stands, angel. Say the word and I’ll take you home.”

I scoff at his presumption. “I’m not going anywhere but into that enormous house.”

He bites down on his lip, then hits me with a dazzling smile. Hand in hand, he leads me through the dimly lit garage.