Page 18 of Kill for a Kiss

I blink, forcing myself back to center, clearing my throat. “I—”

“Let me guess.” He taps his chin. “You’re wondering what it’d be like to ride with me. Wind in your hair, arms wrappedrealtight around me…”

I wasn’t. But now I am. Still, I shake my head, as if that might banish the tempting image.

“Yeah,” he continues with a teasing lilt. “You like the thought of it, don’t ya?”

I stay silent. His grin only grows, full of mischief and charm. Then, without breaking eye contact, he swings a leg over the bike, settling on it with a casual ease that only makes the machine look even more tempting.

He gestures toward the space behind him. “Come on, Elle. Take a chance.”

I should say no. I should remember the unease at the edges of my mind, the missing pieces of my past I keep brushing aside. But Stan feels like the distraction I need. And I want to feel something—anything—other than this gnawing emptiness, and the throbbing ache it leaves behind. So, before I can talk myself out of it, I step forward.

Stan’s hand is already outstretched, waiting. I hesitate, just for a second, before placing mine in his. His palm is firm and steady, as if he expected me to take it.

He pulls me closer, and I nearly stumble. The smoothness of his movements leaves me a little off balance. Then he picks up a helmet and gently slides it over my head, his fingers brushing against my skin as he adjusts the strap beneath my chin.

“There,” he says. “Wouldn’t want anything happening to that pretty head of yours.”

I try to even out my breath from the unexpected tenderness of his touch.

His grin turns as wicked as the gleam in his gray eyes. “Still speechless? Damn, I’m getting better.”

I breathe deeply, trying to hold on to whatever composure I have left. But it’s difficult, especially when his fingers brush so closely. And I realize, as I stare into his gray eyes, that something about his gaze makes my pulse hasten. Familiar in a way that unsettles me. But the memory slips before I can catch it.

Blinking a bit, I watch him pull back, looking satisfied. “You lookgood in my gear,” he notes, giving me a quick glance up and down. “Now, let’s see how you look holding onto me.”

He pats the space behind him again. I eye the bike, feeling the heat creep back. The seat looks narrow, too close to him.

Stan chuckles at my hesitation. “Come on, Elle. It’s easy. Step on the peg, swing your leg over, and”—he places my hand against his side—“hold on to me tight.”

I follow his instructions, feeling awkward in my loose shirt and tights as I slide onto the leather. My hands hover uncertainly at his sides, unsure how to place them.

Stan glances back, smirking. “Oh, come on. You can do better than that.”

Before I can protest, he grabs my wrists and pulls them around his waist. I freeze when my front presses on his back.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I don’t answer. Heat flares as my fingers meet the solid lines of his body.

His chest moves with each breath, sending a ripple through my arms as he laughs. “Ooh, that feels good, Elle.”

I grip tighter, barely able to breathe. The engine roars to life beneath me, sending vibrations through my entire body.

Stan smirks over his shoulder, sunlight catching on his skin. My breath catches as I take him in. His hands steady on the handlebars, all confidence and ease. “You keep starin’ at me like that, Elle, and I’m gonna start getting funny ideas.”

I flutter my eyes, trying to will away the heat. “I was just wondering…” I clear my throat, changing the subject. “Are you going to wear a helmet too?”

“Aww. Ya worried about me?”

Before I can respond, he reaches for his own helmet, sliding it on. And just like that, he looks even more devastating. The helmetenhances the sharp cut of his jaw, and the way his eyes gleam behind the tinted visor.

He winks. My pulse stumbles. “Now, you’rereallystaring,” he teases.

Thankfully, he faces forward and revs the engine, sparing me from any more embarrassment.

The engine hums beneath us, and my fingers curl around his flexing torso.