seat, then sort of shift-slide into place. It wasn’t graceful. She felt awkward and clumsy and incredibly large as she settled onto the seat. The machine bounced with her movements.
Dylan started the bike. “You’re gonna have to hang on,” he called over the rumble of the engine. “You can stick your hands in my jacket pockets or wrap your arms around me. Whichever is more comfortable.”
“Sure,” she said, as if it were no big deal. Right. She, like millions of American women, spent most of her day on a bike behind a guy, touching him, pressing up against him, feeling—
The bike moved forward. Molly yelped and grabbed for Dylan. He accelerated down the street, then headed into a turn. The three of them—him, her and the bike—tilted toward the ground. She shrieked again and held on with all her strength, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing.
“You’ve never been on a motorcycle before, have you?” Dylan called.
She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see the movement. “No,” she said, speaking directly into his ear.
“Just relax. Don’t fight me or the bike. You’re going to be fine. I’ll keep you safe.”
Uh-huh. Sure. She believed that.
After a couple of minutes, she realized she was clenching her jaw. It was unlikely that keeping those muscles tight would do anything to prevent her immediate death, so she tried to relax that part of her body. They headed toward the Pacific Coast Highway. Molly felt herself start to hyperventilate.
They were going on PCH? The one with all the cliffs? Sure, the scenery was breathtaking from Mischief Bay and many miles north, but it wouldn’t look so beautiful when viewed from a motorcycle plummeting to the water below.
Molly ducked her head behind Dylan’s back and inwardly screamed as she felt them accelerate. She closed her eyes tight, prayed really hard and waited.
Minutes ticked by. There was no fiery crash, no screech of brakes, no impending sense of death. Gradually she raised her head. The clear visor kept most of the rushing air off her face and out of her eyes. If she kept her mouth closed, the issue of bugs seemed manageable.
They were moving north. She didn’t know how fast they were going, but it felt like flying. The air was cool. Dylan and jacket both kept her warm. She’d traveled this highway a thousand times before, yet everything looked different. It was as if she were seeing the world for the first time.
To their left, the Pacific went on forever, the blue sky uninterrupted by clouds. The sun, almost directly overhead, glinted off the white-capped waves. Dylan pointed toward the road ahead of them, and she laughed out loud when she spotted a man dressed as Santa Claus speeding toward them in a red convertible, beard flying. He honked as he passed.
She straightened a little, easing her death grip on Dylan’s midsection. The bike was more stable than she would have thought. She wouldn’t want to drive it or anything, but it wasn’t so bad being back here. The band of fear around her chest loosened just a little. For the first time in weeks, she was able to draw in a deep breath without feeling pain. The whole purpose of the journey was to live for the moment, she reminded herself. She couldn’t change what was going to happen. She could only deal with the now.
After a while, Molly started reading road signs. She put her mouth close to his ear.
“San Francisco?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You’re gonna have to wait.”
“I hate that. Tell me now.”
“No way.”
She laughed. She settled her hands in his pockets and tried not to become so aware of his body pressing against hers. Or was she pressing against him? Not that it mattered. The reality was they were touching in a lot of places.
He’s just a guy, she reminded herself. She was familiar with all the working parts and Dylan’s couldn’t be that different from everyone else’s. While it was perfectly all right to enjoy his fabulous body in these close quarters, she had better remember this was about transportation, not attraction.
Her wayward hormones didn’t seem to be listening. She found it more and more difficult not to notice how her thighs pressed right up against his rather amazing butt.
Molly bit back a giggle. Oh, well, she would just have to endure the torture. There were many worse things in life. And if she ended up with another crush on him, so be it. She would deal with that just as she’d dealt with everything else recently. This time was for her, and if that meant she had fun being close to Dylan’s hunky body, then she should just shut up and enjoy.
Dylan hovered about five miles over the limit, partly out of respect for Molly, and partly so they could enjoy the scenery a bit longer. He didn’t care what happened later, but he wanted to spend a couple of days by the ocean. He could only be a desert rat for so long before he needed to smell salt air.
The motorcycle engine hummed. Even though he hadn’t had a chance to go for a ride in weeks, he always kept his bikes in perfect condition. It was a trait left over from his racing days. One he hadn’t bothered changing. Every adventure should start with a ride along an open road—well, clear except for the usual mid-afternoon traffic.
He bent into the curve of the road and they headed inland. Molly had grown used to the bike and now moved with him instead of fighting him on every turn. She was a fast learner, he thought, trying to ignore the feel of her hands lightly holding on to his waist. To distract himself, he glanced at the cars around them and at the road signs. They should make good time. Maybe another hour or so to their first destination. They could pick up groceries, maybe cook on the beach and watch the sunset. He hadn’t been gone a whole day yet, but already he felt lighter. As if he’d been able to leave his worries behind. He’d been working too hard, he realized. He was long overdue for a vacation. But between the pressures of work, designing new bikes and trying to turn his company into a force in the industry, there hadn’t been a whole lot of free time.
He also needed to get laid.
Dylan frowned, wishing he could shift position or something. This wasn’t a problem he’d planned on. He swore under his breath and tried to figure out what was wrong. So he was on a motorcycle with a woman. He’d taken women on rides countless times and it wasn’t a big deal. In this case, the woman was just little Molly, his former girlfriend’s younger sister. Okay, so she’d grown up. That didn’t mean anything. Why on earth couldn’t he ignore the feel of her body pressed up against his? Apparently it had been way too long between women.
This wasn’t about Molly, he told himself. She wasn’t his type and he sure wasn’t interested in her. He liked lean women with minimal curves. Evie had said she was overweight and he thought that was a little harsh, but naked Molly would be—
Lush.
The word came from nowhere and he wished it back there. But once it had formed in his brain, it sort of got lodged, as if it were not going to budge any time soon. He thought about how soft she would be. No angles or sharp hip bones, just smooth skin. Her breasts would spill over his hands. Without wanting to, he imagined cupping the generous curves, tracing the pale skin until she was writhing beneath him.
He could feel the heat of her right
