9 parking lot. Jamie’s motorcycle was parked nearby: a sleek black and silver bike with the brand name “Triumph” molded onto its side.
“Nice ride,” I remarked, running my hand along the body. I actually knew next to nothing about bikes—it could be a total piece of junk—but it had a cool paint job….
“Thanks. It’s a British bike,” Jamie said, grabbing two helmets from a back compartment. “And thus, highly superior to garish, overpriced American Harleys.”
“Oh, please. You’re a total Anglophile, Jamie,” I teased. “Between bikes and Brit Pop. You know, there’s nothing wrong with buying American once in a while.”
He laughed. “Nothing except we Yanks could never make such a lean, mean, biking machine as my baby here.” He stroked the handles almost lovingly, prompting me to erupt in giggles.
He handed me a black helmet and I pulled it over my head, feeling a little like Darth Vader. Jamie reached over and flipped up the visor.
“Ever been on a motorcycle before?” he asked.
I shook my head and held my hands in front of me, palms up. “Motorcycle virgin here.”
“Are you nervous?”
Nervous? Me? Okay, so I had butterflies racing through my stomach like they were qualifying for the Indy 500, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
“Nah,” I said with a shrug.
“Good. It’s simple anyway. Just wrap your arms around me and hold on tight.”
“Roger that.” Oh yeah, that was a definite ten-four.
Jamie flipped his visor down and straddled the bike. I climbed on behind him, annoyed at the way my body instantly tightened as it came into contact with his. It was so embarrassing the way he could turn me on without even trying. Attempting to think of unpleasant things to calm my senses, I wrapped my arms around his chest. My breasts pressed against his back and I wondered if the proximity was doing anything remotely similar to him as it was doing to me.
He looked so sexy in his black leather jacket and helmet. I never realized I had a thing for bikers before. He turned his head back to look at me.
“Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
And we were off.
The wind whipped through my thin clothing as we flew down the street. I had no idea how fast we were actually going, but it felt like a million miles an hour. For a brief moment I pondered the fact that should the bike tip over, I certainly would be dead, but then put it out of my mind and simply enjoyed the ride.
As he slowed down and stopped at a traffic light, Jamie turned his head toward me and flipped up his visor. “How do you like it so far?” he asked.
I grinned. “Dreamy.”
He turned back to the road and revved the engine. The light went green and we took off again. I hugged him tighter as our speed increased, enjoying being this close to him. Even through my helmet I could smell the sexy scent of leather from his jacket. This was heaven. The world could fly by us at top speed, but when all was said and done, we were completely alone together.
I definitely needed a biker boyfriend. But a cool one, obviously, not a fat, tobacco-chewing Hell’s Angels type. Someone handsome, nice, and cool. Someone exactly like Jamie. I wondered if he had a twin….
Stop it, I berated myself. You can’t have Jamie. He’s taken. He’ll be married soon. You need to stop thinking about it.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I realized. And I’d been trying for days with no luck. I still wanted him so badly it hurt. And being put in this kind of position, where I was forced to physically touch him for hours on end was driving me absolutely nuts.
To distract myself, I turned my thoughts to our mission. Truth be told, I was a bit scared going out into the desert by ourselves to find the tunnel site. What if there were guys with guns? What if they killed us and buried our bones? Would we be dug up by coyotes and eaten?
Okay, maybe I’d go back to thinking about Jamie. Hmm. Was it too late to stop the wedding?
After swinging by my house so I could grab more-appropriate desert hiking attire, we headed out to the desert. After about an hour, we exited the well-paved freeway and turned down a winding, bumpy back road—much to my butt’s dismay.
Even though I was a born-and-bred San Diego chick, I hadn’t spent much time out in the desert. Once in high school