wasn’t right here. Luke straightened and quickly stepped up beside her.
“Donald, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“You hung up on me. We need to talk about selling the penthouse, Claire. And I want that book.”
Ah, yes. The ex. The guy was a little taller than she was, very well dressed and about as intense as they come.
“Not. Now.” Keeping her voice calm seemed to require some effort. “I have plans.” She glanced up at Luke as though seeking confirmation.
Since Luke didn’t like the look of this guy, he was more than happy to play along. He slung an arm across her shoulders and extended a hand to her ex-husband. “Luke Devlin. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Claire’s ex looked momentarily confused and then shot Luke a frosty glare. He grudgingly accepted the handshake, though. Luke didn’t like his grip any more than he liked him. He was trying way too hard to be firm. For one fleeting second, Luke considered making the guy say uncle.
Don’t be a dumb-ass, he chided himself.
“Donald Robinson,” the guy said. After he pulled his hand away, he zeroed in on Claire again. “You can’t keep putting this off.”
This guy wasn’t getting the memo.
Luke drew her closer. “Like Claire said, now’s really not a good time. We should get going, babe. We don’t want to be late.”
She looked up at him, lips ever so slightly parted, and gave him the kind of smile that suggested there was actually something going on between them. Since Donald wouldn’t know there wasn’t, Luke lowered his head and gave her a light, lingering kiss.
“You are so adorable,” he said, purposely making his voice go soft and quiet. “Isn’t she adorable?” he asked Donald.
Donald stammered something that sounded more like an excuse than an apology, and backed away. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Claire. “I’ve lined up an appraiser.” He looked uncertainly from her to Luke. “Will you...ah...will you be at home tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I guess you’ll find out when you call.”
For a few seconds Donald looked like he wasn’t going to let this drop, but then he threw up his hands and, without saying anything, swung around and walked away. “And I want that book back,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m serious.”
“Oh, my God,” Claire said after her ex disappeared around the corner. She ducked out from under Luke’s arm. “I am so sorry. And grateful. Thank you. Donald can be...”
An asshole? “Hey, no problem. I probably owed you anyway.”
They both laughed at their collective memories from college days, and she seemed to relax a little.
“Any idea where you’d like to eat?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“There’s a little Irish pub downtown, not far from the market. Best burgers and fries in town.”
“Sure. Sounds wonderful.”
He couldn’t tell if she meant it or not but jeez, look at her. The powder-blue sweater he’d admired earlier was now topped by a cobalt-colored suede jacket. Both emphasized her dazzling blue eyes. She’d always had a classic style and great taste in clothes, and her taste in food was probably more sophisticated than burgers and beer. His was not and he saw no point in faking it.
“Is this place close enough to walk?”
“Guess it depends how much you like walking,” he said. “I’ve got my bike and a spare helmet.” He hoped she’d go for it. If she rode with him, he would have an excuse to bring her back home, and that would give him an opportunity to get inside the building. He was curious about the condo Donald was so determined to unload, but more than that, he wanted to see where she lived in relation to the penthouse they were staking out.
“A bike?” she asked.
“Yeah. Well, a motorcycle.” He gestured to where it was parked next to the curb.
She looked decidedly undecided.
Come on, live a little, he was tempted to say. But that would get her back up and then she’d say no. Instead, he casually handed her a helmet as though he assumed she’d done this a hundred times.
* * *
EVERY SINGLE ONE OF CLAIRE’S instincts—including a few she didn’t know she had—screamed at her to say no. But somehow the helmet was in her hands and then she had it on. She must look like a bobblehead, since she definitely felt like one.
“I’ve never ridden on a Harley-Davidson.” She’d never even pedaled a ten-speed.
Luke grinned. “Then I’m happy to uphold that tradition. This isn’t a Harley.”
“Oh.” She gave the black beast a closer look, took in the silver lettering on the side. Ducati. It still looked like the kind of machine a biker would ride, and Luke, with his longish dark hair, well-worn leather jacket and black boots, looked exactly like the kind of guy who would ride it. His jacket wasn’t biker-black, though. More the color of espresso. Or dark chocolate. And while Harley-Davidson sounded dangerous and intimidating, Ducati sounded sexy. Like Luke.
He pulled on his helmet and climbed on the bike. “Jump on.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. You are such a wimp, she scolded. People rode on motorcycles all the time. Luke was a responsible adult. She hoped. She slid one leg over the seat behind him and settled onto the cushy leather, grateful she hadn’t changed into a skirt.
“Hang on,” he said.
To him? she wondered. Duh. It was him or nothing. She put her hands on his sides, glad for the cool leather between her palms and his rib cage. Every nerve in her body jolted to life when he started the bike, and her pulse roared in her ears. No, that was the rev of the engine. They rolled away from the curb and she flung her arms around him, so tightly she could have counted his ribs through the jacket if she’d wanted to.
The ride to the pub lasted somewhere between five minutes and a lifetime. After he found a parking space and cut the engine, she snatched her hands away from his body and stumbled off the bike. She was both terrified and—oh, God, how could this be happening?—turned on. Being scared, yes, she could understand, but a body all aquiver from clinging to a man on the back of a motorcycle? Who knew such a thing was even possible?
Chapter Two
Luke held Claire’s helmet and watched her smooth her tousled hair with shaky hands.
“Your first time?” he asked.
She responded with a silent question in her eyes and a little extra pink in her cheeks.
“On a motorcycle.”
“Oh, yes. It was.” He liked that the polished, professional grown-up Claire was still
