Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 131916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
He dragged me along until I was standing at the side of a vicious looking motorcycle that was parked in an angled spot facing out.
Completely matte black and low to the ground.
River didn’t let go of my hand as he swung a leg over the machine, straddling the metal, before he patted the minuscule seat behind him. “Hop on.”
Incredulous, I gaped at him. “Excuse me?”
He let go of a low, scraping laugh. “Said, hop on.”
My head shook, and I tried to pull my hand from his hold. “I don’t do motorcycles.”
Those wicked eyes glinted beneath the rays of sunlight that streaked through the tops of the trees. The man was so cruelly beautiful that I felt like I was being impaled every time I looked his way.
“You do now.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
River was off the motorcycle and towering over me before I could make sense of his sudden movement, my hand released in favor of him gripping me by both sides of the face.
I gasped, the rake of air drawing his presence into my lungs.
Leather and ink and wicked things.
He dipped in close, and I could feel the whisper of his lips as he rasped, “Do you not get it yet, Charleigh? I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.” He tightened his hold and brought me even closer, his words a command, “I promise you, you’re safe with me.”
How reckless did it make me that for once I felt that way? After getting this sense twice in the last two weeks? One that I was being tracked? Hunted?
And there I stood, a trembling, brittle leaf that wanted to float in the security of his hands.
A smirk cracked at the edge of his menacing, beautiful mouth. “Now, are you goin’ to climb on the back of my bike or am I goin’ to have to make you?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
CHARLEIGH
Air whipped across my face as we traveled through Moonlit Ridge, and the sunlight that slanted from the blue-spun heavens was warm on my cheeks.
My arms were wrapped around his waist, my front plastered against his back, clinging so tightly I was afraid I might be causing him physical pain. I was afraid if I gave even a fraction, I’d go toppling off onto the pavement that blurred beneath us.
Heat blasted from his body, a blaze against mine, and I did my best to focus on holding on rather than burrowing my nose in the back of his tee to inhale his intoxicating scent.
I needed to be careful. I was already distracted enough.
Tiptoeing so far out of bounds there was no chance I wasn’t going to get caught.
As if he felt the unease ripple through me, River splayed his right hand over my trembling arms that I had locked around him. I knew it was supposed to be some show of comfort, but it only served to freak me out, and I was shouting over the howl of the wind and the roar of the heavy engine, “Two hands!”
I could feel the roll of his dark, deep chuckle, and he squeezed my arm a little tighter before he reclaimed both handlebars, and he shouted over the battering of the wind, “Told you that I’ve got you.”
River took us all the way to the end of Culberry where it came to a T at Vista View. He made a right onto the two-lane road that wound around to the west side of the lake.
Here, the scenery was gorgeous.
Breathtaking.
What tourists flocked to the mountain-side town to experience in both summer and winter.
A bunch of cabins and homes ran alongside the smooth, crystalline waters, the colossal, peaked mountaintops their backdrop.
Slowing, River took a right, and I held my breath as the bike dipped to the side before he accelerated, the engine a loud grumble, and the motorcycle righted again.
He traveled maybe a quarter of a mile before he slowed even more so he could make the sharp left onto a tree-lined driveway.
I blew out what could only be construed as surprise when I saw the house sitting on what appeared to be about an acre of land.
It gave off a cabin vibe, fronted by dark wood planks and accented by stone. It was two stories with a pitched roof, and abundant, colorful flowers grew from pots situated around the elevated wraparound porch.
River somehow managed to get his phone from his front pocket, and he spread out his legs to support the bike with his booted feet as he punched a code into his phone and the garage door slowly lifted.
He pulled the motorcycle up beside a dark SUV and killed the engine.
In an instant, we were surrounded by a thick, tacky silence.
Uncertainty billowed as strong as the breeze. I kept my arms locked around him because I had no idea what to do at this point.