Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
He lifts his shades, revealing eyes that are nothing less than alarmed. “And what did he say?”
I lean back, cautious, wondering if I should divulge more. Undoubtedly, I shouldn’t, it’ll only encourage John to remain on my case, but I need to share and John is my only outlet. “He told me to buy some leathers.”
“Listen to him. And to me. Tell her.” He turns on his big boots and strides out. Ava doesn’t look up. She’s in a world of her own, so I leave her, and use the time productively: beating myself up over and over until I physically hurt.
God damn me.
I lift my heavy body from the chair and creep up behind her, looking over her shoulder to what she’s reading. Superbikes. I’ve bought every monthly edition since Jake died and added them to the collection he kept hidden from our father under his bed. My heart constricts. “I’ve started something, haven’t I?” I ask, leaning down to kiss her.
“Why haven’t you upgraded to the 1198?”
Christ, what have I done? “I have, but I prefer the 1098.”
“Oh.” Her eyes become saucers. “How many do you have?”
“Twelve,” I reply, rather proudly. Every new model that’s released is in my garage sharpish. They’re more for Jake than me. I just wish he was here to ride them with me.
“Twelve?” she asks, alarmed. “Are they all superbikes?”
“Yes, Ava.” God, love her. “They’re all superbikes. Come on, I’m taking you home.” I seriously need to get myself back on an even playing field, and I can think of only one way to achieve that.
“You know,” she muses, getting up from the couch, “you should be wearing leathers.”
“I know I should.” Between Ava and Jake, I feel thoroughly nagged.
“So why don’t you?” she asks as I lead her out of my office by her hand.
It’s a good question, and one I’ve avoided answering myself for all the years I’ve indulged in the thrill of the ride. Because I’m reckless. It’s the same reason I drive like a dick. Driving made me so angry for so many years after I lost Carmichael and Rosie. Just getting behind the wheel brought on a fury like no other. So I drove recklessly.
Maybe because I wanted to be dead too.
I flinch. Stop getting angry behind the wheel. “I’ve ridden bikes since I—” Since I lost Jake. “For many years.”
“You’re going to have to reveal an age at some point.” She smiles, and my damn heart bleeds as I force one in return.
“Maybe.”
I move quickly through the summer room, despite the fact the crowds have thinned out, members making their way upstairs. I hear Sam before I see him. “My man,” he sings as I pull Ava into the bar. “Ava, I love your Little Miss knickers.” He grins as he thrusts a bag forward, and I glare at him.
“Don’t push your fucking luck, Sam,” I seethe. What was I thinking having him rummage through Ava’s drawers?
“There’s a line, Sam,” Drew pipes up.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he grumbles, though I hardly hear him, my attention on the bar and the members having a good gawp at Ava in my grasp.
I claim her bag. “I’m taking Ava home. Are you running tomorrow?”
“Nah, I might be tied up.”
“Where’s Kate?” Ava asks, her cheeks bright red.
“She had a few deliveries to do.” Sam takes a swig of his beer, raising his eyebrows at me over his bottle. “She got all excited about taking Margo Junior out on her maiden voyage. I’ve been dumped for a pink van. I’m heading over when I’m done here.”
“Done what?” Drew says, and Sam’s happy eyes narrow.
“Fuck you.”
It’s time to go. “Bye, lads,” I call, tugging Ava away before they drop me in the shit. “Tell Kate Ava’s with me.” I make a sharp exit, Ava pretty much jogging along behind me to keep up. I pull the door of my Aston open, and she pouts.
“I want to go on the bike.”
“Right now, I want you in lace, not leather. Get in the car.” I’ve been waiting all day for my medicine. I’m sure I’ll keel over if I don’t get it soon and, thankfully, Ava must appreciate that, because she’s quickly in the passenger seat. I dive in the car and pull off like a bat out of hell, racing down the driveway. It’s time to stop driving like a dickhead.
But I can feel the want coming off her skin like steam, and that is not helping my urgency.
“One hundred thousand pounds is a massive overpayment,” she says casually, and I laugh. I was wondering when that might come up. What does she want me to say? That I want unlimited access to her?
I shrug. “Is it?”
“You know it is.” She throws me a half-dirty look.
“You’re underselling yourself,” I say to the road. I would’ve paid ten million.