And that makes him perfect for you!
Sophie puffed out an indignant breath. She’d been desperately trying to ignore the goddess of free love who’d come out to play the moment she’d laid eyes on Jack Armitage. The goddess embraced life, specialised in spur-of-the-moment decisions, and Sophie had locked her down two years ago after her life had become complicated and she’d unwittingly inflicted pain on a good man.
I’ll never forgive you, Sophie. She was never going to risk hurting someone again, and since Simon she’d only dated men who were upfront about what they wanted—fun, good times and the short term. She didn’t do long term—couldn’t do long term—and that was why bad boys fitted the bill. It was the only safe way. But even her definition of ‘short term’ had never been as short as a few hours.
The engine’s roar calmed to a low thrum and Jack held out a helmet. ‘Have you got a jacket of some description?’
Sophie had managed to tear her gaze away from the man in black and realised her rucksack was strapped on the back of the bike. She glanced from Jack to the four-wheel-drives and back to him, confusion pounding at her. ‘Are we going on this? I thought I was following you in the vehicle I’m being supplied with while I’m here.’
He nodded in agreement. ‘You’re being provided with a four-wheel-drive, but it’s out at my place. Hop on; it’s only a short fifteen-minute trip and you can cuddle up behind me if you get cold.’
The goddess beamed. Now there’s an offer you can’t refuse—cuddling the gorgeous Jack before he leaves. She almost said, ‘Shh,’ but somehow she managed to stay silent, probably because her mouth had dried so fast at the thought of her chest tucked up firmly against his broad muscular back that her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth.
She didn’t trust herself. For six months she’d lived and breathed extreme caution and coming to Australia was part of her not having to second-guess every move to avoid a mine blowing her up. If she wrapped her arms around Jack, she was pretty certain she’d give into the ever-growing need to throw caution to the wind.
‘Hey, Sophie, hurry up. I’ve got a date with my departure, so hop on.’
‘Sorry, I seem to be in the habit of holding you up.’ She jammed the helmet on her head, adjusted the chin strap and reached out her hand. Her palm connected with the hard muscle of his shoulder and the tingling that shot up her arm made her stumble. Somehow, her foot found the foot-peg and with a practised swing she swung her leg up over the high touring seat, careful not to touch the exhaust pipe. A moment later her bottom hit the seat, and she no longer had an excuse to keep her hand on his shoulder, but it took a Herculean effort to pull it away.
He turned, surprise on his face. ‘You’ve done this before?’
‘A year spent in Asia and the sub-continent, and bikes are pretty much your only transport choice.’
That’s not how you flirt. The goddess rolled her eyes and took over. ‘And I’ve always been a sucker for a motorbike.’
‘And the men who ride them?’
The question combined casual enquiry with overt sexuality and Jack’s eyes deepened to the vivid violet of a desert sunset.
Oh, God. She’d fought her own desire from the moment she’d met him. She’d told herself she imagined his attraction to her but, despite how surreal this all felt, she knew without a shadow of a doubt he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
She swallowed hard, her resistance taking a severe battering. ‘That’s been known to happen too.’
He smiled, inclined his head ever so slightly and then faced forward, switching on the ignition.
The bike revved up and moved out of the parking lot. She’d handled a 125CC bike herself, but nothing prepared her for the throbbing, low, rumble of the powerful 1200CC engine that vibrated through her, building on the simmering rafts of desire that had been part of her from the moment she’d met Jack. Like a match igniting a fuse, fire raced through her, driving pure pleasure around her body and awakening it with a jolt like a shot of caffeine.
The bike sped up as it shot onto the open road. Red, black, grey, brown, green, blue and purple—the bold and tough colours of the outback flashed past in a melange. Everything was different. Colours beamed more vividly, sounds had more range and the warm desert air caressed her skin like a trail of seductive kisses. Her blood pounded faster, her thighs throbbed and her nipples pebbled as the wind pinned her flimsy top against her like a second skin. She became one with the bike, giving in to the movement, allowing the slip and tilt of the leather seat to move her forward until her inner thighs contoured snugly against Jack’s legs.
It felt amazingly right.
The ever-present fear of death and destruction that had ruled her life in a war zone spiralled out of her. The goddess broke loose from her chains. You’ve survived and this is your life, so live it. You know life can end in a heartbeat. He wants you and you want him. Live for the moment, because you know for certain you can’t depend on tomorrow.
Jack pulled off the asphalt at the bright-yellow forty-four-gallon drum that acted as a letterbox, remembering how he and his dad had created it as a father-son project when he was eight. As the bike bounced along the olive-tree-lined, five-hundred-metre gravel track, otherwise known as ‘the drive’, he grinned as he felt Sophie’s arms tighten around his waist and her breasts press even more firmly against his back.
Her wild spirit had circled him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but when she’d leaned up hard against him when the bike hit top speed it had streaked into him, humming through his veins. It had been a long time since a woman had wrapped her arms around him, clung to him, and he realised with a gut-churning rush how much he’d missed it.
Life in a small town didn’t throw up many opportunities to meet new people nor did it lend itself to casual affairs. ‘Casual’ meant not being the butt of town gossip or running into the person you’d slept with one night every day at the bakery for the next thirty years. Since Mary, ‘casual’ was what he specialised in, and big cities were casual’s domain. Each year he took a few short trips, including the four-day hedonistic party that was the Melbourne Cup Carnival, and he caught up with female friends who welcomed him with open arms, all care, no strings and certainly no spooning. The rest of the year, being Barragong’s only doctor kept him firmly and responsibly in town.
This holiday was as much about being himself as it was about escaping from work.
The bike negotiated the final, bone-shuddering corrugations created by the heavy spring rain which was now a distant memory, and Sophie’s arms tightened even more. All too soon they crossed the cattle grid and the rambling homestead came into sight. He entered the circular driveway and as he killed the engine Sophie dropped her arms. With a swift and practised kick, he shot out the bike stand and turned the front wheel to the left, stabilising the bike. He removed his helmet, pushed himself up and off the bike and immediately unzipped his jacket, no longer needing it.
He went to extend his hand to help Sophie off the bike and his arm stalled, followed by the rest of his body. He felt like he was watching a slow-motion advertisement for shampoo as Sophie pulled off her helmet and shook her head, sending her thick and lustrous hair out in an arc of tight curls. Her cheeks glowed pink like an English rose, her pupils gazed at him—wide, round black discs against a back drop of sparkling Kahluabrown irises—and her full lips parted in a broad smile. She glowed, radiating arousal like a beacon.
