Olivia would be fine—he had the best security. But as he touched the deadbolt, she groaned in her sleep, and he turned to see her, pushing aside the blanket, restless, as if she sensed his plans.
The blanket slid half to the floor. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt, as she usually did. It had ridden up around her hips and—
And that was enough of that. He pulled his gaze away, but the image lingered. He shoved a hand through his hair. None of that. None of that at all. He valued Olivia and her friendship too much to let his thoughts wander down that path, which they seemed to do with increasing frequency, proving that he was exhausted, less in control than he liked to be, than he needed to be. Be happy with what they had and do nothing, absolutely nothing, to endanger it.
He thought of James Morgan, and that cooled him off better than any stern self-talk. When he glanced at Olivia again, he only noticed that the blanket had fallen almost completely, and she was shivering in the air-conditioned chill. He walked over, tugged it up over her, and returned to bed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ricky picked me up at seven, and we rode to a diner he’d scoped out. I presume the food was decent, though I was too caught up in conversation to taste it. Even the possibility that our evening plans would be scuttled again didn’t dampen our mood. His father had called him in to deal with an escalating situation. If it couldn’t be resolved peacefully today, Ricky would have to help handle it tonight.
“Dad’s promised me tomorrow night off. If you’re free . . .”
“The cabin?”
He smiled. “That’s what I was hoping. Makes me feel like a cheap bastard, though. Promise you a romantic getaway and take you to my family’s cabin in Wisconsin. But you did seem okay with it the last time . . .”
“Um, more than ‘okay with it,’ as I recall. The answer is yes. Absolutely yes.”
“Great. It’s a date, then. Tomorrow night at the cabin, no matter what other shit comes up. I have his word on that.”
As we walked to the bike afterward, Ricky slowed and glanced along the busy road.
“Not really the place for a proper goodbye kiss.” His gaze swung behind the diner.
“Yes,” I said. “And please.”
The back was clear, with only a few half-dead bushes to navigate. I tugged him between the bushes and pulled him into a kiss that took about 0.5 seconds to go from “Good morning” to “God, I’ve missed you.” My hands in his hair, the kiss deep and devouring, me up against the wall, as he pressed between my legs and—
He cut himself short with a groan, and then shifted back to readjust my skirt.
“Sorry,” he said. “Wrong time and place. Just . . . skirt.”
“It tempts you in spite of yourself?”
“It does. Kind of like a half-open gate.”
When I sputtered a laugh, he said, “That didn’t sound right, did it?”
“Put it this way. I don’t need to wear a skirt for work. If the gate is half open, that’s because I left it half open.” I ran his hand up my bare thigh to my panties. “See? Only half open. Meaning I am amenable to the possibility, but there are no expectations.”
“I’m fine with expectations. Pretty damn good with them, actually.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“Mmm, not really.”
I hooked my hands around his neck again. He played with the edge of my panties and then . . . not the edge of my panties. I arched against the wall as his fingers slid into me.
“Very, very sweet,” I said.
I gasped, knees threatening to give way. His free hand slid under my rear, bracing me.
“I did debate the skirt,” I said. “Because of the motorcycle.”
“I thought you said they went together very well.”
“Too well. Short skirt. Big bike. Serious vibrations. I have a weakness, as you might have noticed.”
“Sure as hell not complaining.”
“But as much fun as that is outside the city, it could be a bit . . . frustrating inside. I decided, though, that since it would be a short ride, and a slow one, there wouldn’t be any grave danger of you pulling into the parking lot and me swinging around on top of you.”
His hand stopped moving. “Sorry, got stuck on the mental image there,” he murmured, and resumed teasing as he pushed against me, nuzzling my neck. “Damn . . . Can you repeat that?”
I unzipped his jeans and slid my hand inside.
“The part about the short ride?” I said. “Or the long one?”
“Either sounds good,” he said, breath picking up speed. “But that last part? Just . . . refresh that image?”
I kissed his chin as I stroked him. “With added detail?”
“Hell, yeah.”
I slid my lips over to his ear and told him, in detail, what I’d have liked to do to him in the parking lot. I didn’t get very far before my panties were on the ground and I was against the wall and he was inside me, and I don’t really remember much after that, just that those few days apart suddenly seemed like months, and I swear I’d forgotten just how good it was with Ricky, like a tidal wave that washed every other thought from my head.
It didn’t last long. This was sex against the back wall of a diner. It was release—glorious, fast, hard release, and when it ended, we both stayed there, my legs still wrapped around him, braced against the wall as we panted and kissed and caught our breath between the two.