Can't Let Go

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S
adie Howard had been home exactly seven minutes. She glanced at the clock for the eighteenth time, smoothed her palms down her denim mini, and paced her living room in her new boots, her nerves jangling like a pair of spurs.

Sadie didn’t
do
second dates. She barely did first dates. And now the guy she met Saturday night, and whose company she’d shared until four a.m. the next morning, was coming to pick her up for a
date.

She twisted her fingers as she did another pass, wearing the generic, apartment-standard carpet to a fray beneath her heels. There were at least thirty-six hours separating her from when she saw him last, but she could swear her lips still tingled from the soft good-bye kiss he dropped onto her mouth.

A kiss she’d been caught daydreaming about at work. One kiss, and she was already coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. Such a bad sign.

Inhaling and exhaling like she’d learned in yoga, Sadie reminded herself to calm down. “It’s just dinner,” she said aloud. “Not matrimony.” No sense in jumping off a cliff. Yet.

The low growl of a motorcycle, a sparking orange Harley-Davidson Super Glide with a Twin Cam 1450 engine—Sadie knew her hogs—sounded outside the window. Just the
sound
of the growling bike had her stomach rolling down a hill like Westley and Buttercup in
The Princess Bride
.

Aiden.

Heedless of appearing overly anxious, she pulled open the door to find Aiden Downey perched on his Harley, head down as he studied his phone. He looked up and brought it to his ear, a drool-inducing grin sliding across his face. Seconds later her cell played a tinny version of “The Electric Slide,” the cheesy song he’d asked her to dance to at the club the night she met him.

He slid the sunglasses from his nose, keeping the phone pressed to his ear above the low, dark blond ponytail at his nape, and watched her expectantly.

Oh. He wanted her to answer it. Sadie dug the phone out of her denim mini skirt. “Hello?”

“Let me see you.”

His low, sultry voice commanded her to obey. She stepped into the sunlight on her stoop, grasping the rail for support while Aiden’s intense gaze all but buckled her knees.

“Hello, beautiful,” he muttered into the phone, his words slightly out of sync with his lips.

His lips.
A memory of the last kiss—the only kiss—he’d given her heated the blood in her veins. The back of her neck started to sweat. She should have worn her hair up. She swept a hand through her blond waves and resisted the very tangible urge to march down to him and have his mouth for an appetizer.

Control, Sadie.

“It’s almost a crime to ask you to change,” he said.

She frowned down at her tank top and skirt, then looked back to his jeans and dark T-shirt. “You want me to change?”

“You can’t ride wearing that,” he said as her stomach dropped into her toes.
Ride? Gulp.
“I brought you a present.” He reached into one of the saddlebags and extracted a pink helmet. “Matches your shirt.”

Sadie nearly ran back into the sanctuary of her apartment to take shelter from the very real offer Aiden was making.

Her? On the back of a death machine?

She planted her feet firmly on the stoop. No way was she going to put that brain-bucket on her head. It didn’t matter that Aiden had bought it especially for her—which would be actually kind of thoughtful if she were the type of girl who appreciated her life flashing before her eyes—or that she was being rude, or that he was hotter than dark fudge on a melting ice cream sundae.

Still. No way.

No. Freaking. Way.

Passing off her fear for ambivalence, Sadie propped a hand on her hip. “I don’t think so.”

Aiden rested the helmet on the seat behind him and patted the leather. “Aw, come on. You’ll hurt Sheila’s feelings.”

She let out a nervous snort-laugh. She’d rather leap off her apartment building and take her chances at a safe landing than climb on top of “Sheila.” Sheila would have to just get over it.

The phone was making her ear sweat. Her palms too. “I’m going to get my purse,” she said, ending the call without saying good-bye, and dashing inside. She returned seconds later, car keys in hand, and clomped down the six concrete steps separating them. Aiden hadn’t moved, still settled on the seat of his bike, his bare biceps beautiful in the bright summer sun.

“Are you ready?” she murmured, wrenching her eyes from his body to his face so she could think clearly. Didn’t help. His face was even more distracting, especially when the breeze caught a piece of long hair and blew it against one carved cheekbone. And then there was the other one stuck to his lip, which she wanted to move away and replace with her mouth. She licked her lips, anticipation a wiggling monster writhing low in her stomach.

He crooked a finger and motioned for her to come to him.

And dammit if she didn’t zoom right over to him like a radio-controlled car. Aiden swung his leg over the bike and Sadie set her jaw, straightened her spine, and swore to herself that there was no way he was talking her into getting on the back of that thing.

Despite the spark in his sea green eyes as he came to stand in front of her. Despite the fact he’d just put his hands on her hips and tugged her against him, his dark jeans rasping her bare legs.

No way
, a small, meek inner voice repeated.

Aiden lowered his head. “I think we skipped a step,” he murmured, then lit her up with a brief, gentle kiss. She practically melted into him, her hands scrunching the sides of his black T-shirt for support. “Mmm. Been waiting for
days
to do that again.”

More like a day and a half, but who was counting?

A dimple notched his left cheek and the temptation to stick her tongue in it was so strong, Sadie bit her lip to keep from doing it. They had a dinner to get to. She couldn’t stand out in the parking lot and tongue his dimple like they had nowhere to be. Her eyes went to the hair that had wrestled itself out of his ponytail and she gave in and slid the strand away from his lips.

Wow. She wanted to kiss him again. Forget appetizers, she could make a three-course meal out Aiden’s mouth.

“You should put on jeans,” he said, unaware of her cannibalistic visions. “And boots if you got ’em.” He grabbed the helmet. “See if it fits.”

Nothing brought lust to a squealing stop faster than that. She stepped away from him.

“Come on, Sadie.” He squinted up at the clear, blue sky, the summer day absolute perfection. “It’s a great day for a joyride.”

Joyride?
More like a Trip of Terror. The Highway to Hell. The Road to—

“Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Ruin.

But her protesting a ride on Sheila, the Danger-mobile, wasn’t
about
Sadie’s trust in Aiden. Getting on a motorcycle meant trusting the elements, other drivers, the bike itself. That was a lot of trust for a gal who limited her trust to
me, myself, and I
.

Sadie’s father had been going a safe and sound twenty-five miles an hour when he’d wrecked his bike. A handful of gravel sprayed along the shoulder, and he’d turned it over, slid into a grassy field, and made contact with a very hard, very unyielding aboveground water pipe. He may have survived if he’d worn a helmet, but maybe not.

Aiden stroked her arm and she tensed, his hand chasing the shiver now working its way down her spine. “Don’t be afraid.”

She jerked away from him. “I’m not afraid. I’m smart. Let’s just…let’s take my car. I already have my keys.” Realizing her voice was going higher with every sentence she spoke, Sadie forced a shaky smile. She didn’t want everything ruined because Aiden was trying to share a motorcycle ride, but really, how much bonding could occur over impending road rash? “I don’t want to mess up my hair.” She batted her lashes and canted her hip. “And you don’t really want me to change.”

Aiden’s eyes deepened to dark emerald as he perused her body slowly, intentionally, before landing on her face. “You are sexy as hell.”

Sadie smiled. Guys were so easily distracted.

He gripped her hip and lowered his head, but instead of getting another kiss, Sadie only felt his warm breath on her cheek as he murmured a stern, “Now go change.”

Sadie glared up at him. Enough was enough. “I’m not getting on the bike, Aiden.”

His nostrils flared like he might argue.

Well,
bring it
. He may be sexy, and broad, and have long, beautiful hair, but Sadie wasn’t giving him an inch. Not on this. Not ever.

Aiden stowed the helmet and his riding jacket in the saddlebags on his bike before turning to her, hand outstretched. “Keys.”

She clutched them to her chest.

“Sadie.” He tipped his head, giving her a severe—and damned if it wasn’t sexy—warning look. “If we’re taking your car, I’m driving. This is a date and I’m not letting you chauffeur me around.”

Caveman.
Sadie kept the thought to herself and surrendered the keys to his palm. “Fine,” she said. “But put the seat back when you’re done.”

She heard him blow a breath out of his nose as he turned away from her. Sadie was naturally obstinate. Call it a gift. And hearing his derisive sniff probably meant he was already calculating when their date should end. She had a knack for frustrating men, and not in a sexy way. Aiden opened her door for her and when he turned, she was surprised to see a smile on his face. Like maybe she hadn’t frustrated him. Like maybe he didn’t mind her smart mouth.
Curious,
Sadie thought as she sat. He startled her by resting his forearm on the car door and leaning over her.

“You’re beautiful when you’re stubborn,” he said, then backed away and shut her inside.

Aiden took a sip of his beer, leaned back in the booth, and watched the blonde across from him squeeze a lime into a margarita glass roughly the size of her head.

Sadie wasn’t easily persuaded, but not in a spoiled way; not like she did it to get what she wanted. No, Sadie wasn’t swayed because she
knew
what she wanted. She was a pill. And, where she was concerned, Aiden was beginning to think he was a junkie.

Unable to resist riling her and watching all that gorgeous dander go up, he circled around to the topic that had raised her hackles earlier. “Do you find it the irony of your life that you sell motorcycle parts for a living and refuse to get on one?”

Sadie spared him a glance, and set the lime aside, wiping her fingertips on the paper napkin under her glass. She pursed her glossed lips and Aiden found himself anticipating the barbed comment she’d lob at him. He was beginning to think he could spar with her all day and not get sick of it. Damn, she looked gorgeous even when she leered at him, her dark eyes narrowed to slits.

She tilted her head, sending her blond waves over one shoulder, and folded her arms on the tabletop. “I like being
around
motorcycles. I just don’t like being
on
one.”

“Because of your dad,” he supplied.

She didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

The night he met her and followed Sadie home from the club, Aiden hadn’t known what to expect. Heavy petting if he was lucky, sex if he was really,
really
lucky. What he hadn’t expected was to see the saucy, feisty woman transform into a shy, delicate lady the moment they stepped into her apartment. And Aiden, who was pretty sure he’d been looking for nothing deeper than a rebound from his sloppy divorce, had laid himself open just to set her at ease.

The moment he’d confessed his demons, he felt closer to her. Maybe the wounds they opened, right there on her living room floor, their backs resting against her sofa and chair, strengthened the connection he’d gotten a glimpse of at the club. One of her tragedies starred her father, who died when Sadie was very young. The bike wreck took his life. After she told Aiden about it, she warned him never to go without a helmet and he’d taken an oath then and there. He’d, foolishly now that he thought about it, assumed the helmet was the issue. Which is why he’d bought her one on his way over to her house tonight. Apparently her phobia of motorcycles extended beyond head gear.

“They say it’s not
if
you lay a bike down, but when,” he said.

Her eyes went wide and her concern for his safety squeezed his heart a little. “And have you? Laid a bike down?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Last year when I found out Harmony slept with my best friend.” That’d been a fun day. To keep from pummeling his business partner–slash–buddy into a bloody pulp, Aiden had put his fist through his office wall and wrapped Sheila around a tree. Screwed up his bike, screwed up his back, and at the time he couldn’t have cared less. “Three weeks in a hospital bed gave me a lot of time to reflect.”

“Were you drunk?”

“No. I was pissed.” And stupid.

“This is the friend you owned the real estate development business with?”

Good memory on her, too. “Yeah.”

“No wonder you quit.”

“Yeah.” He chuffed to himself, swallowing another mouthful of beer. Quit and brought his income to a screeching halt. He’d made a lot of money over the five years he and Daniel built their partnership, so he’d reacted instead of thought, and dropped the business in Daniel’s lap. It was a clean break, they’d had a clause drawn up early on. A clause Aiden had never counted on exercising. Another thing he hadn’t counted on was Harmony’s hiring of a pitbull lawyer and Aiden’s subsequent surrendering of a considerable chunk of change. Who knew cheating ex-spouses could come out on top in the divorce?

“I’m glad you’re okay.” The sincerity in Sadie’s eyes brought him out of his haze. He focused the woman he’d been fortunate enough to meet because he
didn’t
die on that stretch of road that rainy afternoon. He’d been lucky. On both counts. Suddenly, he was too far away from her, the big, lacquered table a barrier keeping him from her warmth, her scent. He lifted out of his seat and came to her side.

“What are you doing?”

“Scoot.” He nudged her.

“We’re going to sit on the same side of the booth like a couple of high-schoolers?” she asked, scooting as commanded. He liked when she did what he told her to. Because Sadie never did anything unless she wanted to. Which meant she wanted him to sit next to her. He made it his mission to get her to comply more often.