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* * *
Dylan automatically hit the button on the remote that controlled the garage door. As he slowed, he saw Molly’s dark blue compact parked off to the side. That gave him pause. He wasn’t used to coming home to find someone in his house. In the two years he’d lived there, he’d had overnight company maybe three times. When he was involved with a woman, he generally stayed at her place. He preferred being able to leave when he liked and not having to ask her to go when he wanted to be alone.
He stared at the sensible American car. It was basic transportation, nothing fun, nothing flashy. But then, flashy wasn’t Molly’s style, or it hadn’t been back when she was a teenager. He eased into his parking space and turned off the engine. After collecting his briefcase, he closed the garage door and entered the house.
“I’m home,” he called, then frowned to wonder if he’d ever done that before. It was old television sitcom cliché. “Honey, I’m home.”
“Hi,” Molly answered. From the direction of her voice, he would guess she was in the library.
Dylan left his briefcase on the kitchen counter, collected a couple of beers from the refrigerator and went in search of his guest. He found her curled up in one of the leather recliners, reading. A floor lamp cast a warm circle of light over her and the book. Her feet were tucked under her and her shoes were neatly off to the side of the chair on the floor.
She hadn’t noticed him and seemed engrossed in her book. For a moment Dylan simply watched her. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling of knowing she’d been in the house while he was still at work. At the office he’d managed to focus on what he was doing and relegate their lunch to the back of his mind. But from time to time he’d found himself remembering something she’d said or picturing a quick movement of her hands. While he hadn’t been excited about coming home to find her here, he hadn’t dreaded it, either. The few occasions he’d let one of his women spend the night at his place he had felt trapped and awkward. Maybe the difference was he’d known Molly for a long time. More likely it was because they weren’t involved, nor were they likely to be.
He moved toward her. “I probably should have asked if you like beer,” he said, holding out one of the bottles. “Except for water and coffee, it’s about all I have. I don’t do much entertaining.”
She took the offered refreshment and smiled. “Thanks, it’s fine. I confess I did take a peek in the refrigerator earlier. I had an apple. I could tell you don’t spend a whole lot of time cooking.”
“Never learned how.” He took the seat across from hers and settled on the comfortable leather cushion. After a long swallow of beer, he loosened his tie, then pulled it free of his shirt.
“At the risk of sounding like a suburban wife, how was your day?” Her voice was teasing.
He liked that she was comfortable enough to kid him. Earlier, at the restaurant, he’d seen a lot of tension in her body. She’d downed her margarita as if it were a lifeline...or maybe the Dutch courage she’d needed to ask him about going away. Whatever it was, he was pleased that she’d finally relaxed a little.
“I’ve been busy. There’s a lot to get through before I can leave.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding the bottle of beer in both hands. “I’m not going to be much of a host tonight,” he said. “I have a briefcase full of work to finish up before morning. I fig—” He caught her smile. “What’s so funny?”
She flicked her fingers toward him. “Nothing, it’s just—” She shrugged. “Let’s say you’re not exactly what I expected. The Dylan I remember wore jeans and a black leather jacket. You’re in a suit, with a tie. You’re so respectable.”
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled. “I never thought it would come to this. I used to work in jeans all the time. Half my day was spent assembling bikes or fiddling with designs. Now I push around papers. I’ve become everything I hated when I was a kid. I wear a tie—something I swore I’d never do. I drive a Mercedes. I get my clothes dry-cleaned.”
“You have a very impressive Christmas tree.”
“I can’t take credit for that,” he said. “My decorator does them as a fundraiser for the local food bank. I tried to just give her the money, but she insists I get the tree and all the trimmings.”
“You’re a responsible citizen.”
“Worse. I’m old. Just last week I was in the grocery store and there were these three teenage boys making a lot of noise. Without thinking, I told them to quiet down. They walked off, but not before calling me ‘an old man.’ I realized they’re right. I am old.”
Molly burst out laughing. “You’re not even thirty-five. That’s not old.”
“It is to a fifteen-year-old.”
“Do you really care what those boys think?”
“No, it’s just—” He couldn’t explain it. Somehow everything had changed. He didn’t know when or how that had happened, but it was one of the reasons he wanted to go away. He needed to clear his head and figure out what was important.
“I sold out,” he said glumly, and wondered if he was about to do it again. Would he do what his lawyer and several other people had suggested and sell his company, or would he maintain his independence?
“You’ve become successful,” Molly said. “There’s a difference. You should be proud of yourself.”
Several strands of curly hair had escaped from her braid. They fluttered by her face and touched the top of her shoulder. Sometime in the afternoon she’d rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, exposing wrists and forearms. She had curves. Evie’s assessment had been that she was average. Dylan wasn’t sure what he thought of Molly. She wasn’t what he was used to in a woman. Okay, so no one would ever call her beautiful, but in this light, gesturing as she talked and smiling, she was sort of pretty. She had a sincerity he liked. Molly was a genuine person—he didn’t know many people he could say that about these days.
“Are you concerned the price is too high?” she asked. “Are you thinking that you’ve been forced to give up too much to get what you wanted?”
She saw way more than he was comfortable with.
“Too much serious conversation,” he said lightly, and rose to his feet. “If you looked in the refrigerator, you know I don’t have food around. How do you feel about pizza for dinner?”
“Sounds fine.”
“I know a great place that delivers. What would you like on it?”
“Anything.” She stood up, as well. “Do you want me to call?”
“No, I have the number memorized. Single guy who lives alone—no surprise there, right? I’m going to put on jeans and call the pizza place. Then I need to get started on my work.”
Molly held up her book. “Don’t worry about entertaining me. I’ll be fine.”
“I appreciate that. I don’t want this stuff hanging over me while we’re away.” He started for the door, then remembered something. “I’d like to leave about noon tomorrow. I thought we’d go to your place on our way out of town so you can drop off your car. Otherwise you’ll have to come by here when we get back and that’ll be nearly an hour out of your way.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “So we’re not heading east?”
If they were, leaving her car here would make more sense.
“Nope, but that’s all I’m going to say.”
“I think I like the idea of a pleasant surprise,” she told him.
They chatted for a couple more minutes, then he left the library and made his way to his bedroom. The guest room was at the other end of the hall. He’d forgotten to ask Molly if she’d found everything she needed. So much for being a good host. But when he returned to the library, she was gone. He ordered their pizza, collected his briefcase and started to work.
About a half hour later, there was a faint knock on the door. He called an absentminded, “Come in” but didn’t look up from the computer.
“Dinner’s here,” Molly told him. She placed a large plate with several slices of steaming pizza in front of him, along with a fresh beer. Before he could do more than thank her, she was gone.
Dylan stared at the closed door, torn between work and curiosity. Then he figured he’d better get back to his spreadsheet and turned his attention back to his papers.
* * *
It was nearly 1:30 p.m. the next afternoon when Molly closed the front door of her condo behind her. She could see through the courtyard to the street, where Dylan waited for her. She’d parked her car, taken in her big suitcase and checked for messages. Now she was ready to begin.
Her stomach tightened with excitement and a little bit of nerves. For a second she thought about calling the whole thing off. After all, she barely knew the man. What on earth had she been thinking when she’d asked him to take her on an adventure?
“I’m not going to back out now,” she said softly. “If I do, I’ll be stuck on my own. I refuse to spend the next two weeks waiting for the phone to ring.”
That resolved, she squared her shoulders and walked to the front of the building.
When Dylan saw her, he straightened and grabbed the extra helmet strapped on the seat behind him. He’d already loaded her small bag of clothes and toiletries. Molly eyed the helmet, then the motorcycle, and had another bout of second thoughts.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Dylan said, coming up to her and handing her the helmet. “My bike is perfectly safe. I’ve been driving it for years, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oddly enough, my physical safety doesn’t concern me,” she said lightly. “I was questioning my mental stability. This is completely insane. Or haven’t you figured that out?”
He pulled the helmet over her head and fastened the strap under her chin. “Then we’re both crazy, because I agreed to this, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Hey, that’s supposed to make you feel better.”
Barefoot, Dylan was a good eight or nine inches taller than her. In his boots, he towered over her. As she met his dark gaze, something shifted inside. A feeling, more a shot of heat than sizzle, but it certainly got her attention. Awareness, she thought. Of the man he was. At twenty Dylan had been a charmer. All grown up in his thirties, he was irresistible.
Talk about being silly, Molly thought. Finding Dylan attractive was about as useful as using a teaspoon to shovel your way out of an avalanche. Still, he would be a distraction. As long as she didn’t get carried away, she would be fine.
“You have everything?” he asked. “I didn’t really expect you to fit all your stuff in that one bag, so left a little room in mine.”
“I can follow directions,” she told him. “Don’t worry about me. I have everything I need.”
For reasons that still didn’t make sense, she’d even repacked the ring. She wanted it close. Maybe as a talisman against all that had happened.
“Then let’s get going,” he said, and handed her a leather jacket. “This will be a little big, but you’ll need it to stay warm. The breeze gets pretty stiff on the bike.”
He helped her into the jacket, then fastened it. His ministrations made her feel like a child. It was probably how he thought of her, but she wasn’t going to complain. For once, it was nice having someone take care of her.
When he was done, he touched her face. “There’s still time to change your mind,” he told her.
“I could say the same thing to you.”
“Nope. I’m going.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“Great.” Dylan flashed her a quick smile that shocked her clear down to her thighs, then climbed onto the bike. He flipped down the clear plastic visor and motioned for her to get on behind him.
Molly swallowed hard. Ah, so she hadn’t thought everything through. She hadn’t really considered that being on a motorcycle with Dylan meant she would be riding behind him, touching him. Touching him in an incredibly intimate way.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
In the end she gave a strangled gargling sound, flipped down her visor and moved next to the bike. She had to maneuver her right leg over the 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.
Chapter Four (#ulink_1d797072-034a-5c48-ae41-a66048ffb9dc)
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.
