lyrics, babe,” Declan laughed, squeezed her to his side and kissed the top of her head. Pulling away, he pushed at the door again and this time a silhouette approached.
It was Kade. His friend tossed him what looked like keys which Declan caught with his right hand. “All yours. Garrison gives his congratulations.”
“He’s here?” Gabby asked.
“He was never here.” Her husband and Kade declared in unison.
She rolled her eyes. “Tell him to quit being so mysterious. I’m on to him. He’s a big softie.”
Both men laughed.
“Angel, you could be right,” Declan said, and then to Kade. “Thanks again, man.”
His friend said his goodbyes to her, exchanged a man hug with Declan, and wished them well before disappearing back inside.
“What are you up to, Roarke?” she whispered as he tugged her toward the motor court behind the mansion that led to the service gate.
“Whisking you away. Who knows? I might sing you that love song.” Even if she couldn’t see his face, she could feel the exhilaration emanating from him because she was bursting with the same feeling.
“I’ll hold you to that and—” Her words cut off as they stopped in front of a black sporty motorcycle.
“Damn. Garrison came through,” Declan said as he handed Gabby a helmet.
“Are you serious?” Gabby exclaimed, taking a step back and refusing the head gear. “Do you know how long the hairstylist spent on my hair?”
Declan, at least, had the grace to look contrite.
“Fuck, I didn’t think about that,” he muttered, lowering the helmet to his side. “Sorry, Angel. I thought this was a great way to bypass the press and paparazzi what with the face shield and all, and not expecting us to leave from the service entrance.”
Gabby couldn’t help laughing and, after her initial horror at having her beautiful waves turned into helmet hair, she grabbed the controversial object from her husband and put it on. “It’s a brilliant idea cooked up by a CIA guy. I don’t know if you’ve recruited more people than Kade into this plan, who I believe is special ops, but none of you thought about what this would do to a woman’s hair? Tsk. Tsk.”
The man stood dumbstruck, just staring at her.
She shouldn’t torture him. Obviously, he wanted this day to be perfect for her. Cupping his jaw between her palms she stood on tiptoes and brushed his mouth with hers. “I love you, you adorable man.”
He held her close and prolonged the kiss, and before they started a full make-out session out in the open, Declan pulled away. “Come on, hop on before I forget about the lurking paparazzi and take you right here.”
His tone turned gruff and it made her squeeze her thighs together.
He swung a muscled leg over the bike, and she climbed behind him. He gunned the engine, but it had the lowest hum Gabby had ever heard from a vehicle of its kind.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.” And in LA, she saw every kind of motorbike.
“You wouldn’t.” Declan strapped on his own helmet. “The agency has a special contract with Ducati. High performance stealth motorcycles.”
“And he simply gifted one to you?”
He grabbed her hands and positioned them over his torso. “Let’s say”—he disengaged the kickstand and the bike started to roll forward—“It’s a sign-on bonus.”
And off they went, motoring through the gates, inconspicuous as they left the Beverly Hills mansion that was a part of their past. They were riding toward their future. They made the turn on Sunset Boulevard and sped between swaying palm trees so incongruent with the billboards and concrete jungle, but this was LA, a city full of contradictions.
She expected Declan to take her to Griffith Park, but he surprised her by taking the left on Blue Heights drive which was a steep road that went up and up. The Ducati didn’t even sputter. So smooth was their ride that Gabby was tempted to remove her helmet and feel the wind in her hair. She felt free. Free to love without fear, her heart open to forever with this man.
Finally, as they reached a crest on the hill, they encountered a cul-de-sac and Declan pulled beside a gate that was divided into three panels. He flipped the lid up on a control box, exposing a keypad and entered a code. The smaller of the three panels swung open and he guided the motorcycle through.
She tapped his shoulder. “Who owns this?”
“Hush, don’t spoil it.”
“Declan, is it yours?”
His answer was to turn off the engine