gave her a hard, calculating kind of stare, as if debating the wisdom of letting her hop on his bike.
An idea struck. “Are you afraid I might be a killer?”
She should have thought of that before. Quickly, she raised her arms, familiar with police procedures after the fairy council’s crash course on human behavior and customs. They’d spent an entire day on what to do should one become embroiled in the legal system or a person suspected of a crime. “You can pat me down if you want to check for weapons.”
Chulah snorted or laughed; April wasn’t exactly sure which. The sound was rusty, as if infrequently employed, and his lips twitched.
She walked closer, arms still raised, until their bodies were in arm’s length of each other. “Really. It’s okay to search. I’m completely unarmed.”
Not entirely true. She had an inner, secret weapon of casting fairy enchantments, but she’d resolved to employ it only in emergencies. April winced, recalling her disastrous attempt at enchanting Chulah all those years ago. Quickly, she thrust aside thoughts of the past. It was a new day, and she had to focus on the matter at hand.
Enchantments. Chulah had no way of detecting such magic from a pat-down. She frowned, remembering the fairy’s cross crystal in the purse. Would he count a stone as a primitive weapon?
He gave an exaggerated sigh and strode back to his bike.
April’s mouth dropped open. She’d been so sure he’d give her a ride. “Are you leaving me?”
He unbuckled a side bag from the bike and pulled out a spare helmet. “For crying out loud, just wear this and hop on. I don’t know how you’re going to manage in that skirt, though.”
Not the most gracious invitation, but it would have to do. April eyed the helmet with distaste. How could anyone stand to have their head wrapped in such a tight bubble? “Do I have to wear it?”
“Nobody rides this bike without a helmet. It’s the law. Besides, only an idiot would ride without one.”
There went her fantasy of the wind blowing his long black hair in her face, covering her like a blanketing caress. And actually, she’d seen him riding around his yard without a helmet, but it might not be prudent to mention that fact. A female member of the Council had taken her aside and explained about the male ego thing. Which was much the same in the fairy realm, so point taken.
She didn’t want Chulah to think she was an idiot, so she stuffed the torture device on her head.
It was stifling. Her hot breath steamed the windshield thingy. Chulah lifted the helmet’s flap and she sucked air.
“I’m ready,” she announced bravely. She was used to flying, the wind fanning her face and hair, free and wild. Had dreamed of a motorcycle ride as a new kind of flying, human style.
His hands were suddenly at her throat and she gasped, taking an involuntary step back.
“Relax. I’m just tightening the straps.”
“Oh.” She glanced down, mesmerized by the sight of his olive-skinned fingers so close to her pale neck. Fantasies that had nothing to do with motorcycle riding filled her mind, and she shut her eyes. His hands were warm and competent, and a little shiver of pleasure rippled through her as they accidentally brushed against the vulnerable hollow of her throat.
“There. You’re good.”
Did she imagine his voice had a huskier edge, an undertone of desire? Her eyes flew to his face, but his back already faced her as he straddled the bike, putting on his own helmet. Chulah motioned with his hands. “Let’s go.”
Now she would get to wrap her arms around his waist. April almost licked her lips. She walked to the bike, assessing it, before lifting her skirt and swinging a leg over the side. The skirt rode up to her butt, but she should be fine. She’d often observed human women exposing much more skin at the beach.
The motorcycle lurched forward, and she wrapped her arms around his trim waist. Damned helmet prevented laying her face between Chulah’s broad shoulders. She itched to explore the muscles that she’d seen many a time as he worked outside in his yard. Soon, April promised herself. Very soon.
The roaring of the engine pounded in her ears, and she acclimated to the jerk and shudder of tires hitting small potholes. April liked the ride very much. What it lacked in fairy finesse, it made up for in raw power. No wonder Chulah rode so much when he was troubled. On his Harley, he harnessed that power and focused his attention on the open road.
Pine trees and dirt roads gave way to buildings and pavement. Unease prickled down her spine. She much preferred the woods, but had made periodic, invisible trips to downtown Bayou La Siryna in preparation for this mission.
A mermaid statue came into view and she breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar landmark. “Turn left at the next light,” she yelled to Chulah.
He nodded in acknowledgment, and as they turned onto Main Street, she counted the buildings to her left. One, two three, four... “Stop here,” she directed.
Chulah expertly swerved into a parking space and shut off the engine. April sat, waiting for him to get off first.
He lifted his helmet, and the hair that had been secured inside it fell loose. A veil of soap-scented warmth enveloped April’s neck and shoulders. She again cursed the helmet as it blocked her face from experiencing the same intimate contact. Fumbling with the straps, she took off her own helmet and shook her hair free.
Chulah glanced over his shoulder. “Get off,” he commanded.
April hastily complied, throwing one bare leg over the side to dismount. A loud whistle erupted across the street where three young men stared and pointed. Usually a sign of approval, if she remembered correctly.
She looked around, but no one else was close by. Were they whistling at her or Chulah? And for what reason?
Chulah scowled at them and they walked on by, laughing.
“Why were those guys whistling at you?” she asked. “Were they admiring your parking skills, perhaps?”
He arched a brow and studied her curiously. “They were whistling at you. Not me.”
“Why me?”
“I suspect it was the show of leg,” he remarked drily.
But she’d shown less skin than women in bathing suits. Did they constantly whistle while at the beach? Very confusing. The Council had advised covering confusion with diversion. April ran a hand through her hair. “So,” she said brightly. “Would you like to come inside for a drink?”
This was a human convention she was sure was appropriate. And her apartment was supposed to be well stocked in all manner of human food and drink.
“No.” He turned his back on her and headed for his bike.
“Wait,” she called out hurriedly. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? It might be more comfortable to talk about your problem with me than riding your motorcycle all evening.”
He slowly turned and confronted
