Page 86 of The Gift
“Nothing more beautiful than watching you come.”
Then he relinquished some of his control. His pace grew faster, strokes rougher and deeper, as he chased his own pleasure. She clung to him, still trembling, so close she felt theshift in his rhythm, his fingers biting into her hip. When he came, he shuddered hard.
Braced above her, he went still for two slow counts before his eyes opened. They were warmer and not nearly as intense as he dipped his head and kissed her, slow and sweet. Then he dropped to her side, pulled her into his arms, and exhaled, a sound of pure contentment.
Erica settled against him, her cheek on his shoulder, feeling the same. She listened as his heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out. Her fingers drifted through the springy curls on his chest, and she marveled at how much her life had changed since the night she met him.
Circumstances had made her a loner. She had no family, no close friends, only acquaintances who orbited her life. Her free time was spent alone in her studio, wandering the trails around town in search of inspiration, or curled up at home with a book. Alone had become her default, not because she preferred it. She wasn’t actually an introvert; she’d learned to become one because it was safer.
Since meeting Vince, her world had widened in ways she hadn’t imagined. Dinner at a noisy bar, lunch in the park, a backyard barbecue with strangers who treated her like she belonged there. A handsome man napped on her couch; she’d stayed out well past her bedtime, which wasn’t a thing, ever, and explored two crime scenes she’d never imagined setting foot in. It was the life she’d once imagined she might have if her gift hadn’t forced her to keep everyone at arm’s length.
Well… maybe without the murder and illegal guns. No. Definitely without the murder and illegal guns.
She’d spent more than half her life on her own, making her own decisions, providing for herself, expecting nothing from anyone. She was proud of that. But beneath all the self-sufficiency, there had always been a void.
In a matter of weeks, Vince had filled that space. She loved her gallery, but now she had something else to love—whether it was seeing him walk through her door or hearing his voice on the phone at the end of the day. He was smart, driven, and respected. He was seat belts and alarm systems, too, and had a personal vendetta against her hair accessories, but he was also quick to smile, and when he called her darlin’, it meant something.
The idea of building a life with a man like him didn’t unsettle her. It balanced her and gave her the courage to look forward with something dangerously close to hope.
And that might have been the scariest vision of all.
***
Erica checked the mirror, fluffing her hair once more. She wore it loose around her shoulders because what was the point of putting it up around Vince? By the time they reached Austin, the humidity would win. So much for a polished first impression with his family.
Right now, she needed coffee more than dignity and went in search of some.
“You need to change.”
She froze in the arched doorway between the hall and the living room. She looked from him, reclined in a chair, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, down at her sundress. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”
“As always, you look great,” he said, maddeningly even. “But a dress isn’t practical on the back of a Harley.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Um… Did I forget we had that conversation?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “You’re gonna love it.”
He set his cup aside and rose, crossing the room with that easy, confident stride that made her forget how to breathe. After a quick kiss, his gaze swept over her hair with open appreciation.
“You ride a bike in jeans, darlin’.” He caught a loose wave and wound it around his forefinger. “And, as much as it pains me, a ponytail is highly recommended.”
With a gentle tug and a wink, he released her and headed for the garage, whistling. Naturally, with perfect pitch.
Erica stood there a stunned moment then spun toward his room, muttering, “A month ago, I had a quiet, orderly life. No searching for a mobster’s weapons cache in the middle of the night. No riding bitch on a Harley.” She shook her head. “Now, I apparently take wardrobe and hairstyle directives from a Ranger biker.”
When she walked into the garage, her small overnight bag in hand, Vince took one look at her white capris and frowned.
“I meant denim jeans, Erica. The darker the better.”
She planted her free hand on her hip. “I don’t do jeans. Why does it matter?”
“Two reasons. Bugs and gravel.”
At the mental image of bug carnage on her pristine white pants, she wrinkled her nose. “It’s all I have. We could always take your truck.”
“Nope. It’s a perfect day. We’re riding.” He shrugged, all broad shoulders and effortless confidence. “If they’re ruined, we’ll shop in Austin.”
She eyed the massive black-and-chrome Harley as he stowed her overnight case in one of the saddlebags. “You swear I won’t die?”
