“You ride a crotch rocket?”
Mateo scowls down at me. “No. I ride a fucking sport bike.”
“Tomato, tomahto.” I shrug my shoulders and almost laugh when he looks completely offended.
Teasing this man isfun.
“I’m wearing shorts, you know.”
“Yes, I can see your fucking amazing legs. Can’t wait to have them draped over my shoulders while you scream my name.”
Fuck.
“But you’re getting on my bike. We don’t have to go far, so you won’t get burned if you keep your feet on the pegs. I won’t let you get hurt.”
He holds a leather jacket up for me to slide on, and I lift an eyebrow.
“Put this on. You’ll wear my helmet too.”
“I thought we didn’t have far to go.”
“We don’t. Put it on.”
Finally, I do as he asks, and he sits on the bike and motions for me to get on behind him.
“Keep your feet on the pegs,” he reminds me.
I give him a thumbs-up, and he takes off through the parking garage, his hair moving in the breeze. I wrap my arms around him and press myself to his back, and damn if it doesn’t feelgood. I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before, and it feels ... freeing.
With one hand, Mateo reaches back and grasps onto my thigh, tugging me closer. He brushes his fingers lightly over the skin—hello, goose bumps—then gives me a squeeze before he lets go to steer us onto a side road and then into another underground garage, and all too soon, he parks once more.
“I told you it was close.”
“Almost too close.” I pass him the helmet, and he grins at me.
“You liked that, did you?”
“It ... yeah. I liked it.”
He nibbles my lips, as if he can’t help himself, then leads me to an elevator and presses his hand to a palm reader before pushing the Pbutton, for what I’m assuming is the penthouse.
When the doors open, he guides me into his home, and I come to a complete stop.
Becauseoh my God.
I thought the office was fancy, but it hasnothingon this. The windows that show off the lights of the Strip are incredible. It’s furnished similarly to the office, in modern lines, glass, and chrome. Brown leather furnishings.
It’s beautiful.
And the next thing I know, he’s scooped me up and is carrying me up the stairs off the living room.
“I can’t give you a tour,” he tells me. “Because I need you in my fucking bed. But first, you’re going to tell me your name.”
I’m already breathing hard. My core is aching. I shouldnotbe lusting after this guy, but the chemistry is off the charts, and for once, I’m going to do something for myself.
“Violet.”
Three