style="font-size:15px;"> “No. I talked to Ron—he’s going to send someone out to pick it up. They did have cops looking for it but he’s reported it not stolen. He’s not going to press charges.”
She blinked at him. “Is that because of you?”
The short answer was yes. Ron had been furious that Kate had driven off with his limo—apparently it was his most expensive ride. He’d already fired the driver for dereliction of duties.
Ron’s temper burned hot, but it always fizzled out quickly. Ron had been buddies with Billy Bolton for years and Seth had seen him in action plenty of times. He had to blow his top, and then he could be reasoned with.
Seth had waited until Ron finished blustering and then had convinced the man not to fire his driver—who had reasonably thought he’d had another hour before anyone would care about the whereabouts of the limo—and to inform the police that no theft had been committed.
But that’s not what he told her. Instead, Seth said, “Ron’s a great guy. He understood.” Kate notched an eyebrow at him—clearly she wasn’t buying that line.
But that was his story and he was sticking to it. Kate had already had a terrible day. The prospect of being arrested and booked for grand theft auto would only make everything a thousand times worse and he didn’t want that, especially now that she’d calmed down.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he’d keep her safe. This pull he felt to protect her—from the consequences of taking a limo, from Roger, from her thoughtless parents, from the harsh realities of life as a single mother—it wasn’t something that made sense on a rational level. He didn’t know her. He had no claim to her.
But by God, he wasn’t going to cast her to the winds of fate and call it a day.
“Okay,” she finally said, exhaling heavily. Which did some very interesting things to her chest. “Then what do we do next?”
“We ride.” The color drained out of her cheeks. “Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”
She shook her head, her tilting hair bobbing dangerously near her left ear. He reached up and tucked it back in place as best he could. He managed to do so without letting his fingers linger, so there was that.
“I’ve been riding for years,” he assured her. “All you have to do is hold on. Can you do that?”
“I...” She looked down at her dress. “Um...”
She had a point. He eyed the confection suspiciously. The skirt was a full ball-gown style, layered with ruffles and lace. It spread out from Kate’s waist in a circle that was easily five feet in diameter.
Ron had made it clear—Seth wasn’t driving the limo. But Kate in that dress on the back of the chopper was a recipe for disaster. He could just imagine the wind getting underneath her skirts and blowing that dress up like a balloon.
“Is there any way to reduce the volume?” He tried to think back to what his aunt Stella had taught him about women’s fashion. “An underskirt of some kind that we can remove?
Her face got redder. “I have on a structured petticoat. It’s separate from the dress.”
“Can you get it off?”
Kate’s hands went to her waist. “I’m... I’m wearing a corset. I can’t bend at the waist very well. And the skirt is tied on behind.” She sounded unsure about the whole thing.
Seth mentally snorted to himself. Because if there was one thing a groom enjoyed on his wedding night, it was fighting through complicated layers of women’s clothing. Petticoats and corsets—what was this, the 1800s? “How did you get into it?”
“I had help. My bridesmaids...”
Seth realized that if he wanted to get her on the bike anytime soon, he was going to have to play lady’s maid. Which was not, he mentally reminded himself, the same as undressing her. At no point was he getting her naked.
No. Definitely not undressing a beautiful woman he wanted to pull into his arms and hold tight. Just...removing a few unnecessary layers of clothing. So that she could safely sit on his bike. That was all.
Trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, he eyed the bodice of her dress. “Do you need to take the corset off?” he asked reluctantly, because that seemed less like removing layers and more like just stripping her completely bare.
She shook her head quickly. “I was able to drive in it, apparently. If we can get the petticoat off, it should be fine.”
Of all the things Seth thought he’d be doing today, falling to his knees in front of a runaway bride and lifting the hem of her skirt over the voluminous petticoat was not something that had made the top ten. Or even the top one hundred. But that’s what he was doing. He lifted the satin of her dress, rising as he moved the fabric up.
There should have been nothing sensual about this, lifting her skirts. She was still completely dressed. The petticoat stood between him and her body. God only knew how many layers were built into it, because she was still shaped like an inverted top. So this should have been nothing.
But there was something erotic about it.
Focus, Bolton, he scolded himself. This was just an action born of necessity. He had to get her someplace safe, where people she knew could step up and take over. Taking care of a pregnant runaway bride was not in his skill set, and besides, it wasn’t like he was attracted to her anyway.
Sure, she was beautiful—more so now that she’d calmed down. And yes, he was curious about what she looked like without the overdone hair, makeup and dress. And fine, he did feel a protective pull toward her. But that didn’t add up to attraction any more than helping her adjust her outfit to ride on the bike was undressing her.
And that was final.
After a few snags—the petticoat was huge—he succeeded in getting the skirt up to her waist. He handed the bunched-up fabric to her and eyed the next layer. He could just see the bottom edge of her corset—white satin trimmed in baby blue. It appeared the waistband of the petticoat was underneath the corset.
This just kept getting better, because if he had to undo the corset, he’d have to remove the dress completely. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If he were going to properly undress this woman, it sure as hell wouldn’t be at a roadside pull-off.
He could see her chest rising and falling quickly. Did she feel the tension, too? Or was there something else?
He managed to pull his gaze away from her chest and found himself lost in her eyes. Her pupils were wide and dark and damn if she didn’t look like a woman who was being undressed by a lover.
He put his hands on her waist, just below the bunched fabric of her skirt. Her waist felt right under his hands, warm and soft—and a little hard, thanks to the corset.
Who was he to talk about instincts? Yeah, she shouldn’t get married when her instincts told her to run. But his were telling him to pull her against his chest and tuck her into his arms and not let go. And fighting that instinct only got harder when she lifted her gaze to his because she took his breath away.
“Turn
