A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance) by Amber Leigh Williams

neared the inn. He lifted his hand to squeeze the brake and swerve into the parking lot, coming to a stop under the magnolia tree. She eased back slowly and neither of them said a word as he turned off the bike and dropped the kickstand into the gravel.
    He took off his helmet as she rubbed warmth back into her thighs. For form’s sake, he checked the gauges before switching the lights off and pulling the key out of the ignition. Shifting to pocket it, he glanced back at her. “You all right?”
    “A little warmer,” she said in a voice coated in sleep.
    He felt the tug again down low and cleared his throat. “Need some help down?”
    “I’ve got it.” Still, her hand gripped his shoulder as she dismounted.
    Sliding off, he shifted from foot to foot, trying to get the blood moving. Preferably away from his pelvis.
    Cole followed her up the steps to the inn as she unlocked the door, holding it open for him to enter then shutting it at his back. She flipped the latch behind them and switched on the entryway light. “I guess I should thank you, Cole.”
    With a short smile, he led her down the hall to the kitchen. “Only if you enjoyed yourself.”
    “I did,” she said, a little surprised. “I’m sorry to say I didn’t expect to.”
    As the stove light fell over them and he turned to face her, he let out a laugh.
    “What?” she asked, alarmed.
    He gestured up. “You’re, ah...still wearing the helmet.”
    Lifting a hand to it, she gasped. “Oh, shoot. I forgot all about it.”
    When she struggled with the strap, he stepped forward to rescue her. “Let me get it.”
    She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe I forgot. It felt so awkward when I first put it on.”
    “You were relaxed,” he told her, making quick work of the strap.
    “I admit, when I warmed up, I got kind of numb.” She pried off the helmet, running a hand over her loosening ponytail.
    He began to step back then couldn’t. His blood sang at the sight of her flushed cheeks and heavy lids. As she pulled the band from her hair, raking it with her fingers and teasing the strands into place over her shoulders, the scent enveloped him.
    Everything he’d felt that night swamped him again, leaving little room for rational inhibition. He moved in, no warning. Her breath had barely caught before his lips captured hers.
    A small sound of surprise escaped her throat as his hands closed over her hips, maneuvering her back against the counter. She gripped his shoulders but didn’t push him away. After a shocked second, her fingers curled into his shirt.
    Her lips were soft, plusher than he’d imagined. Sinking in, he didn’t progress further. He could’ve gulped, taken, plundered, demanded. But he held back because her breath cascaded over his face. He opened his eyes and saw the pinched bar between hers. As if, like him, she fought a costly, silent inner battle.
    He lifted his lips but didn’t step back, waiting for her to look at him.
    It took her a minute. With a great deal of effort, her lids pried back from her stirring, honey irises...and heat kindled in them, throwing a lit match on the dry brush inside him.
    She pressed her lips together and searched his eyes. They parted once then twice before she whispered, “What was that?”
    His heart thumped heavily between them, and he didn’t think he could stop it. “I...I’m not sure.”
    Her teeth latched on to her lower lip in a move that tormented the hell out of him, and her gaze lowered to his mouth. “Maybe you could...do it again?”
    No mistaking the request. The plea. Glutton for punishment, he gazed at her lips. Wanting. Needing.
    Facing once again something he could not have.
    “I’m sorry,” he groaned. He let it register, watched her eyes ping back to his in surprise then distress before he backed away and cast his face downward.
    Careful not to look again, he lifted his helmet from the table and retreated into the sitting room. All the way up the stairs, he ignored the hand