Midnight Sommelier - Anne Malcom Page 0,47

I was a thirty-eight-year-old woman. I was not some young, hopeful, romantic girl in a biker bar looking to change a bad boy. Such things didn’t work on me.

Okay, it totally worked, but I was at least more practiced at hiding this fact.

“I’m not only allowed to live, I’m required to,” I replied. “I have two sons and I’m not about to orphan them by getting on that.” I nodded to the bike.

Something hard moved in his eyes. “You cross the street, you take your chances, baby. The world is full of danger. Most of it is in the mundane. We like to think it’s motorcycles and criminals because it’s easier to live with that than to know you’re more likely to slip in the fuckin’ shower. You’ve got death closer than most. But you’re safe with me.”

No. No I was not. Not after that look. Not after that speech. The smart thing to do would be to turn around and leave that hand extended.

But I didn’t do that. I took the helmet and got on the back of the fucking bike.

He took off immediately, no thought for the neighbors, for who might see, what they might think. All those worries I had were left at the curb.

Zeke’s back was hard and hot against mine, my arms tight around his waist. And you could totally grate fucking cheese on those abs. Every ounce of him was muscle. I ached to snake my hands underneath his shirt and feel his skin. But I held back.

Just.

Instead, I laid my head on his back and closed my eyes. He was taking me around Black Mountain, showing me some of the most beautiful sights this town and our country had to offer, yet I didn’t want to see them.

I didn’t want to be reminded of where I was, didn’t need to see the mountains caging me in. No, I needed the rumble of the bike between my thighs. Zeke’s strong capable body controlling the speed, controlling everything.

I needed that, needed a moment where I couldn’t control a thing. Where I was forced to sit back and enjoy the ride. Where I wasn’t a mother, a widow, a failure. I was just me.

It was only when the bike stopped moving that I realized we were back in front of the house. The house where I had to be the widow, the mother. I gave Zeke’s abs one last squeeze before getting off the bike, handing him the helmet.

Our fingers brushed, our eyes met, but we didn’t say a word.

I turned and walked back into the house, knowing he’d come for me at midnight.

.

11

I didn’t know what I was doing.

I had finished my glass of wine. Had stared into the fire pit for a long time. My knuckles throbbed, but I didn’t much feel it over the violent thundering of my heart.

At some point, I’d stood up. Walked through the yard, to the gate, then out, around, and to another gate. One I had no business opening, but I did so anyway.

I wasn’t wearing any shoes, and the grass was damp against my feet, the air crisp against the thin fabric of my shirt.

There were many chances for me to turn back, to make a sensible decision that led me back into my house and back into my cold, empty bed.

But today was not the day for sensible decisions.

So I didn’t turn back.

He was sitting outside, two glasses, and a bottle of wine in front of him. He had been waiting for me.

“Am I that predictable?” I asked, voice husky as I stood in front of him.

He glanced up, eyes glowing in the dim light the lanterns around the patio gave off.

“Not at all,” he replied, voice smooth. “Figured there was more of a chance that I’d be sitting here waiting all night.”

“Would you?” I asked. “Wait all night?”

He stood now. I should’ve retreated when I saw the heat in his eyes. The hunger. But I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was and let him advance on me.

“Yeah,” he said, so close his lips brushed against mine. “I’d wait all tonight. Then the next.” He leaned forward, pressed his lips against mine, his tongue licking the seam between them.

Just as I was about to grant him entry, he moved ever so slightly, denying me of what I wanted. What I needed more than my next breath.

“And the next,” he said on a whisper.

The moment hung like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every cell in my