For warmth, of course. Not because I’m under the hormonal influence of holy-shit-he’s-sexy.
“You make a damn good cup of coffee.” He takes another sip, smiling around the rim as his eyes follow the movement of my hand.
“Thank you.” I hook a leg over the bike, slide onto the wide spread of his thighs, and straddle his lap, chest-to-chest. Oh my, he’s big…everywhere.
He doesn’t balk at my boldness, and instead balances the mug in one hand so he can wrap the heavy jacket around my back. “Better?”
“Way better.” I sigh at the heat radiating from his shirt and grip his biceps, folding my legs around his waist and making myself at home.
We could fuck in this position, with our chests pressed together, groins aligned, and his steel-hard thighs flexing beneath me. He only needs to pull himself out and thrust his hips. My hunger for him pulses, hot and reckless, between my legs. Such an outlandish reaction to someone I just met, yet it feels so impossibly right.
He tucks me tight against him inside the jacket and runs his nose through my hair. “Is this how it’s going down?”
“Depends on how you do with that talk we need to have.”
“All right.” He chuckles, and the sound vibrates through me. “Get on with it then.”
I tilt my head back and peer at him through my lashes. “I hear you’re trafficking drugs through my neighborhood.”
With his face angled down and inches from mine, his gaze drifts up, ticking over the surrounding homes. “Is that the rumor in the knitting circles?”
No doubt my neighbors are leaning over their walkers and squinting out their windows. But none of them have the eyesight to see the intimate cocoon of man and leather I’m indulging in.
“Never underestimate a concerned citizen with a knitting needle.” I wink.
He tips the mug back, his throat working as he drinks. The deep swallow, bouncing Adam’s apple, and taut tanned flesh over corded muscle—it’s all so captivating. Why am I spellbound by a man’s neck? I want to sniff it. Lick it. Mark it with hickeys.
Passing the coffee back to me, he stretches the zippered flaps tighter around my shoulders. There’s not enough room for both of us in this jacket, but his gloved hands span over the bare skin of my lower back, minimizing heat loss.
“Tell your concerned citizens,” he says, “they’re welcome to search my person anytime they want.”
I’ll be the only one searching his…everything. “They won’t go near you. Something to do with your habit of running over old people.”
“Why did the old lady cross the road?”
I laugh, startled at the absurdity of the question. “To get to the other side?”
“One would think. But the old lady in question crossed the street to beat me with a rolled-up newspaper as I rode by. Lucky for her, I have ninja reflexes and avoided a collision.”
Eeesh. That sounds like Virginia. She’s a shit-stirrer, which is why I don’t take her complaints seriously. But if I ever want to sleep in again, he needs to find a new route to wherever he goes at six in the morning.
“Where do you live?” I reach for the lip of the half-helmet, dying to see his hair.
“Renting a house a few blocks away on Lemona.” He nods behind him and lifts his gaze to my hovering hand. “Go ahead. Take it off.”
I remove the helmet and widen my eyes at the skin-fade hairstyle. Clipped close on the sides, it could almost be a military cut, but the thick brown strands on top are long enough to suggest his hair would be wavy if he let it grow.
“Going for the Marine look?” Juggling the helmet and the mug between us, I run a hand over the softly sheared hair above his ear.
His eyelids grow heavy, and he leans into my touch. “Something like that.”
Does that mean he’s military?
I position the helmet back on his head, straightening the straps against his chiseled jawline. “Where do you go every morning?”
“Work.” He points his chin in the direction of the city behind me. “Downtown.”
There aren’t any large military bases in St. Louis, but I ask anyway. “Armed forces?”
“Non-intelligence agency. Boring government worker.”
I have a hard time imagining that. “Desk job?”
“Sometimes.”
“And you cut through this neighborhood because it’s quicker?”
“Yup.” His eyes stay on me, penetrating in their perusal.
“If you jump over to Mackenzie, it might add like…thirty seconds to your drive. It’s a main drag, so you won’t be stirring up quiet little neighborhoods, and more importantly, I’ll be able