Something About You Page 40

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’ll get by.”

At least it would make him drive more carefully. Or so she hoped. She slid the helmet over her head as Jack fired up the engine with a loud roar. Without thinking, she grabbed his waist and slid closer to get a better grip.

Before they took off—since these could very possibly be her last words—she flipped up the helmet visor and leaned forward to speak over the bike’s engine. “Don’t do anything crazy. I’m the maid of honor in my friend Amy’s wedding, and she’ll kill me if I have to be wheeled down the aisle in a body cast. Plus I got these new four-inch heels just for the occasion and they will not go well with crutches.”

She flipped the visor down.

Jack spun around in his seat and flipped the visor back open. “Don’t worry—since it’s your first time, I’ll be extra gentle.” With a wink, he flipped the visor shut.

She flipped the visor back open. “Nice innuendo. Am I supposed to be charmed by—”

Jack reached around and cut her off by flipping the visor shut again. “Sorry, no more talking, it distracts the driver.”

From behind the helmet, Cameron clamped her mouth in frustration. If he killed them both on the stupid bike, it was really going to piss her off that she didn’t at least get the last word in.

But as they drove away from the building, her fear of motorcycles quickly surpassed her annoyance with Jack. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. They drove down Michigan Avenue for less than half a block before pulling to a stop at the light that would take them onto Lake Shore Drive. Through the helmet visor, she watched as the light for the cross street turned yellow, then red, and she closed her eyes as their signal turned green and they took off at a breathtaking speed.

When she opened her eyes, they were shooting through the Oak Street underpass, then suddenly they were up and out in the open air with nothing but the wide expanse of Lake Michigan on their right. The formidable waves of the lake crashed against the breakers and, unable to help herself, Cameron glanced over her shoulder at her favorite view of the city: the Hancock building and the other sky-scrapers rising majestically next to the lake along with the twinkling lights of the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. Every bitterly cold February when she asked herself why she lived in Chicago, this view was the answer.

She turned around and pulled closer to Jack as they raced along the drive past Lincoln Park Zoo and the harbor. The air was brisk, but she had her jacket and he blocked most of the wind. And as much as she hated to admit it, the ride was . . . exhilarating. Her adrenaline was flowing, and several minutes later when they slowed to exit off Lake Shore at Belmont Harbor, she flipped open the visor of the helmet.

“Take the long way,” she said breathlessly in Jack’s ear.

It was hard to tell over the motorcycle engine, but she was almost certain she heard him chuckle. When they slowed down, she relaxed and loosened her grip around his waist. Without thinking, her right hand just sort of happened to graze along his stomach, and she felt his abdominal muscles tighten in response, firm and hard as a rock.

And that was pretty much the moment she started thinking about sex.

In her defense, to start things out, he was the hottest man she’d ever laid eyes on—and now her hands, too—and it certainly didn’t help that she was straddling him between her legs. As they drove, nice and slow along the side streets, Cameron tried to pull her mind out of the gutter. But then they stopped at an intersection and she noticed how Jack’s hands worked the handlebar/clutch thingy as he revved the engine—almost like a caress—and she began imagining other things his hands could caress, strong hands that could lift her up, hold her down, flip her over, pin her against a wall . . . and she realized then that her mind was already so far down in the gutter she’d need an extension ladder to get it out so she might as well just give in to the whole darn fantasy.

They were just getting to the good part in her head—in her mind she had revised the scene from the other day when Jack and Wilkins came by to tell her about the surveillance, only this time it was only her and Jack (no clue how he actually got inside her house, useless details) and this time she had just stepped out of the shower (with perfect makeup and hair, of course) and he was waiting in her bedroom (an act that would be stalker-ish in real life but was necessary to advance the storyline) and he said some sly bit about was she going to be a cooperative witness and she said something equally sly back (she hadn’t come up with the exact line yet but at this point the dialogue became superfluous) and then she dropped her towel to the floor and walked over and without saying anything else they tumbled onto the bed and—

Pulled in front of her house.

The motorcycle came to a stop, and Cameron blinked as she came back to reality. She sat there, needing a moment to regroup, trying to focus on the fact that the man she was with was Jack Pallas, who had only meant trouble for her in their brief, but bad, history together.

Noticing that she hadn’t moved, he turned around and flipped open the visor of her helmet.

“You okay in there?”

Cameron snapped out of it. “Sure—I’m fine.” She pulled off the helmet, handed it over to him, and even managed a nonchalant look. Or so she thought.

Jack looked at her closely. “Are you blushing?”

Cameron shrugged. “I don’t think so. Maybe there’s a little color on my cheeks from the wind.”

“You were wearing a helmet.”

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