Angel Nicholas - Dying for Love

“If you want to leave a mark, have an impact, why are you working behind the scenes? Why not go for something more? There has to be something you love, some other desire behind that statement.”

She flushed and dropped her gaze. So there was something.

“Not really.”

“That’s a yes. You just haven’t decided whether to pursue it. Life is short, Grace. Go for your dreams.”

“You make it sound so easy. So simple. It’s not.”

“Why? Because it’s something that scares you? Chasing your dreams can be terrifying. The thrill of catching them is worth it.”

She stared.

He shifted in his seat. “What?”

“You have the soul of a poet, Matt.”

A slow smile bloomed and sparkled in her eyes, tugging at his very non-poetic soul. He swallowed. Just because he admired her, cared for her and wanted her, didn’t mean forever. Hell, she hadn’t even seen him as anything but her boss until recently.

“However…”

“Ah.” Matt grinned. “There’s always a however .”

“I’ve never been exactly ‘normal.’” She made air quotes. “Not many foster kids are. Heck, I don’t even know who my parents are.”

“That’s rough.”

She shrugged. “I survived. After being shuffled from home to home for years, I landed on Laura’s doorstep. She was a great foster mom. Taught me how to open up to people and shaped me into who I am today.”

“Sounds like she was an amazing woman. I’m glad you found someone to nurture you, sweetheart.”

Grace glanced up, eyes widening, and he cursed his slip. He wasn’t a teenager. He knew better than to wear his heart on his sleeve.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like dessert?”

“No thank you. This was plenty. I’m stuffed. I can’t believe I ate that much.”

He grinned and lifted a finger for the check.

His hand on the small of her back, he escorted her out of the restaurant. He leaned a fraction closer, dropped his chin and inhaled. She smelled like heaven. A sweet musky scent that was pure woman. She turned and smiled, her hair brushing across the back of his hand like strands of silk.

“Thank you for dinner. And for the ride.” Her gaze went to his Harley. A woman after his own heart, lusting after power and a rumbling engine. He could get into that.

Down, boy.

Handing her the spare helmet, he threw a leg over and settled on the low seat. He pulled on his helmet and started the bike, then held out his hand to help her on. He turned to make sure she got on safely. Grace grinned like a kid in a candy store, her eyes glinting behind the visor.

She climbed on like an old pro, hands clutching his sides while she settled. Her legs came to rest alongside his, her arms wrapped around him, and he revved the motor. The bike vibrated between his legs, and he could have sworn Grace moaned. Her arms tightened around him.

She did things to him he wouldn’t have thought possible. He’d perfected self-control. Or so he’d thought, until she came into his life.

Matt eased away from the curb, Grace clinging to him like a second skin. About as close to heaven as a guy could get. He rumbled to a stop at a red light and glanced back.

Grace raised her head and met his eyes. Cheeks pink, lids half-closed and moist lips parted, she was the picture of a woman on the verge of an orgasm. He bit back a groan. What he wouldn’t give to tip her over the edge.

He lifted his visor and Grace followed suit.

“How about a ride before I drop you at your place?”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. He revved the engine again. She bit her lip and her eyelids slid down. Holy crap. A visual slammed into his brain of Grace’s sweet pussy pressed against the vibrating seat. Of course, she was naked.

Her hips shifted, her heat pressing against him. Her eyes opened, bright with arousal. Watching her was the biggest turn-on he’d ever experienced. Two more seconds of this and he’d be useless. He winked, slammed his visor shut and faced the intersection.

The light changed and he rumbled forward, slow and easy, muscles tight. Damn, he needed to get a grip. So what if the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was hot, bothered, and wrapped around him like a well-worn leather jacket. He was a grown man, not some horny teenager.

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