Or so I believed.
Bitter resentment tainted Emerson’s return to my life, but it isn’t the only emotion I’ve felt in the previous twenty-four hours. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone care for me beyond the superficial layers of success. Money will never fill the void in my heart. True happiness comes from meaningful connections and love.
For years, I’ve been blinded by ambition. I thought extreme wealth and success were the keys to getting over my heartache.
Now, I see the truth.
Money is fleeting, but love can be eternal.
I just need to get the fuck over myself to give it a genuine chance.
Emerson’s last line made it seem as if she was seconds from leaving my office, so you can picture my shock when she fiddles with a handful of knickknacks on a shelf before she spins to face me.
The thick woolen material of her sweater makes sense when she asks, “Are you still up for a ride?” Sentiment flares through her eyes. “I think it would be good… for both of us.”
Since I agree with her and appreciate her offer to suffocate the tension between us with an adrenaline-spiking activity, I jerk up my chin.
Emerson’s shuffle replicates a child busting to use the bathroom. “Now?”
I wait for the desperation in her eyes to reach a fever pitch before nodding again. My approval of her suggestion sees her boots lifting from the floor.
A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm when I place my hand on the small of her back to guide her out of my office. Each slight brush of my fingers sends a shiver down her spine and dots her nape with goose bumps, and I find myself making purposeful contact again and again.
The chemistry brewing between us as we walk through the bustling atmosphere is intense, as blistering as the smile of anticipation stretching across Emerson’s beautiful face.
I remember the list we made and how hardly any of them involved clothing. We would have been dead within a month of me getting my motorcycle license if we had followed it to the wire.
The threat of death wouldn’t have stopped us, though. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other when we were a couple, and the remembrance is intoxicating.
Under the watchful eyes of Kolya and a handful of his minions, I guide Emerson to the garage at the side of the principal residence of Zelenolsk Manor. The anticipation of taking her for a ride on my custom Irbis lifts my spirits.
I’ve never anticipated a passenger when I placed an order for the bike of my dreams, or offered for someone to ride with me. However, I’m glad I reserved that privilege for Emerson.
When we arrive at the garage, I hand Emerson a helmet and a jacket. She puts them on, her grin stretched from ear to ear.
After donning my own jacket, I mount my bike, kick up the stand, and then hold out my hand in offering to Emerson. She slips onto the pillion seat as if it were custom designed for her before wrapping her arms around my waist.
The sensation of her body pressed against mine brings up memories of our grind-up last night, and if the lusty gleam reflecting in the side mirror of my custom ride is anything to go by, I’m not the only one taking a trip down memory lane.
I take a moment to savor Emerson’s closeness before kicking over my bike. When the high-powered engine roars to life, Emerson releases a similar purr. The rumble of her excited catcall vibrates through my chest before it settles several inches lower.
“Ready?” I ask, my tone hinting at the thickening of the region below my belt.
Emerson nods, her eyes shining with excitement as they lock with mine in the side mirror. After a frisky wink, a subtle reminder of the wish list we created eleven years ago, I tuck her hands into my jacket pockets to keep them warm before I take off down a long and winding driveway.
The staff who exit the primary residence and the many others dotted around it watch our departure as if we are my grandfather in his bulletproof motorcade, their faces blurring as we race past.
Wind whistles through my hair, flattening it into a slicked-back design as I have no doubt Emerson’s helmet is doing to her glossy red locks when we reach public roads, but I don’t weaken my thrashing of the throttle. I keep the revs as high as Emerson’s elated screams.
As the open road stretches out before us, any worries left lingering fade. Our ride is everything I had hoped it would be when I considered ways to knock down the massive barriers between us. The imposed freedom, the bond of our adrenaline-junky hearts, and the thrill of our dangerous speed ease the tension quicker than I ever thought possible.
The pressure on my chest is so light that before I consider the consequences of my actions, I take a left at the T intersection instead of a right.
I thrash the living shit out of my pride and joy, losing the security detail Kolya is adamant I need to protect Emerson. He’s not a part of my inner circle, so he will never hear the story about the time I had to take on four guys at once when their drunken stupidness assured them that waiting for the sexy bartender in an unlit lot at the end of her shift was a good idea.
I won—obviously—and the victory sent whispers through the gallows that Emerson Morozov was untouchable.
Cold air bites my skin as we get closer to our implied destination, but anticipation builds like wildfire. For the first time in ten years, I’m following my heart’s pleas instead of my head’s. It could thrust me into the dark, fighting to find a way out. But in all honesty, when you’ve lived in the dark for ten-plus years, it isn’t as daunting as it once was.
