Free A Risk Worth Taking by Heather Hildenbrand Page B

underneath my fingertips.
    “Ready?”
Casey called out.
    “Let’s
do it,” Ford yelled back.
    Frank
gave us a military-style salute and Casey twisted his throttle, kicking up a
cloud of dust in our faces. Using one hand, I returned Frank’s salute
begrudgingly. With the other, I held on as Ford gunned the engine, kicked it
into first gear, and took off. When the momentum caught, I was thrown forward,
my chest hitting firmly against Ford’s back. I wrapped both hands around his
firm middle and held on, catching myself before our helmets could crack
together. Dammit, I was riding like a complete newbie.
    And
where was I supposed to put my hands again? I looked for handles beside me but
there was nothing. These little bikes didn’t have the big bars like street
motorcycles did. And Casey liked these better. They were lighter, easier to
whip around and make airborne. I normally agreed. But no handles meant I had no
choice but to grip Ford around the ribs and pretend it didn’t send a tingle of
nerves from my fingertips all the way to the tip of my scalp.
    Ford
could ride. I’d give him that.
    Not
once during our dip-and-turn through the woods did I worry he would dump me or
lose it. He was competent and careful but not so cautious I didn’t get an
adrenaline rush when he down-shifted to take a left curve sharp and fast.
    “Wooo!”
I yelled when the bike righted itself underneath me and we sped up.
    I
felt rather than heard Ford’s laughter as his torso shook beneath my arms. I
smiled along with him. It’d been too long since I did this. The rush of a
motorcycle was the best. No time or space to think about your problems, much less
dwell on them. Nothing could eat at you out here. It was only you and the
machine and the trail in front of you. Get too distracted and you’d miss
something important like a mud hole or tree stump and go flying.
    Before
we even reached the creek, my anger had melted off. I’d known it would, but
instead of fading from the love of a bike ride, it was being slowly replaced
with the heat of straddling the small space of seat while pressed against Ford.
    I’d
given up on not reacting to the closeness. Now all I could do was pray my
reaction wasn’t showing on my face when we stopped. His abs and pecs were solid
underneath the pressure of my palms. I could feel the ripple of muscle, the
planes and angles where chest became abdomen. We hit a bump and my hands slid
quickly up and then down again. My breath caught. Holy hell, his nipples were
hard. Heat built between my thighs, sending a delicious burn straight into the
lower reaches of my stomach. It took everything I had not to lift my legs and
wrap them around him instead of the machine I straddled. I held very still,
holding my breath until I was sure I could exhale without moaning.
    Before
I’d fully recovered, we slowed and stopped. “What’s going on?” I asked, dazed.
    “Casey
just waved and turned off the trail,” Ford said.
    I
sat up straight, the haze of desire completely evaporated. “What?”
    “He’s
gone.”
    “Gone
where?” I looked around and realized for the first time, the sound of us idling
was the only motor I heard.
    “That
way.” Ford pointed, but all I saw was overgrown brush and a downed tree.
    “But
… what’s he doing? We can’t follow that way, not with both of us on this
thing.”
    “I
think that was his point,” Ford said wryly. And I knew. This had been Casey’s
plan all along. He knew I wouldn’t want to talk about Mom. To him or Frank or
anyone. In Casey’s mind, the only way to cheer me up was a complete and total
distraction. Hence, Ford.
    “Stupid
freaking liar,” I muttered, thinking of the bogus line he’d fed me about his
dirt bike not holding two people.
    “What?”
Ford said.
    “Ugh.
Nothing.”
    “You
want to take a break? Stretch your legs?”
    Without
waiting for an answer, Ford killed the engine. Around us, the woods were quiet
save for the cicadas. Far off, a single