Yours Forever. Farrah Rochon
be interesting.
She walked the remaining couple of feet to the huge motorcycle. With a deep breath, she hitched her skirt up about an inch and tried to climb onto the bike. She was barely able to part her legs. She drew her skirt a bit higher, but it was still way too snug.
Matt peered over his shoulder. “You need some help?”
“No,” Tamryn quickly assured him. “I’ve got it.”
Pushing back a tidal wave of self-consciousness, she hiked her skirt up to the very tops of her thighs and, capturing the hand he held out to her, climbed onto the massive machine. She latched on to the sides of the seat, steadying herself.
Was the tremble quaking throughout her stomach due to this being her first time on a motorcycle or because of her proximity to the bike’s other occupant?
Matt unhooked the helmet from the handlebar and handed it to her. “It’s too big for you, but it’s better than nothing.”
“Thanks,” Tamryn said. She donned the helmet, cringing at how ridiculous she must look dressed in her best Professor Tamryn West, Ph.D., attire and wearing a motorcycle helmet. It was a good thing she wasn’t vain.
“You’ll need to hold on to me,” he said.
Her eyes fell shut. She’d just known that was coming.
Matt reached back with his left hand and captured her wrist, wrapping her arm around him. Tamryn brought her right arm in front and linked her hands together around his waist. She could feel the solid muscles of his abdomen underneath the soft cotton T-shirt, branding her palms.
Down, libido, she silently admonished. They were just abs, for goodness’ sake. Very nice, very ripped abs, but still just abs.
He started the bike and the engine reverberated, rolling like thunder underneath them and adding to the quake in her belly.
“Don’t go too fast,” Tamryn called over his shoulder.
She could feel his low rumble of laughter against her hands, but he heeded her request, setting out on a leisurely ride. Despite their sedate pace, bits of rock and dust still kicked up from the tires, pelting her bare skin. By the time Matt turned off the dirt road and onto smooth asphalt, her legs were burning. She knew she’d have a few nicks and scratches.
They rode for several miles, driving past quaint clapboard houses. Some had large wraparound porches, and just about all of them had huge front yards.
A few minutes later, they turned onto a driveway, which led up to the magnificent yellow Victorian home Tamryn had fallen in love with when she’d booked her stay online. It had white trim, a conical turret and a classic pitched roof.
Just as they pulled up to the front porch, the door opened and a woman who looked to be about Tamryn’s age walked out.
“Hey, there, Matt,” she called with a wave.
“How’s it going, Phil? I found one of your guests stranded on the road that leads to Ponderosa Pond.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?” the woman asked as she hurried down the steps.
At the moment, Tamryn’s main concern was getting off the bike without flashing her goodies to the world. She hiked her skirt up and quickly slipped off, pushing her skirt down as soon as her feet touched the ground.
“A busted radiator on my rental car,” she answered. She pulled off the helmet and handed it to Matt. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered. The sudden lower pitch to his voice was not helping in her quest to keep the tingles at bay.
“Sorry about the car trouble,” the other woman said. “Not a good way to start your vacation.” She held her hand out. “I’m Phylicia, by the way. We talked on the phone the other day.”
“Oh, yes. I’m Tamryn,” she said, shaking the woman’s outstretched hand.
“I figured. All of our other guests have already checked in. Let’s get you inside. I just made a pitcher of lemonade. Matt, you want any?”
They both looked back at Matt, who was still on the motorcycle. Tamryn was momentarily stunned by the power he exuded, his firm thighs braced apart as he steadied himself on the bike.
Instead of getting off, he put on the helmet Tamryn had just handed him and secured the chin strap. “I’ll go back and get her bags,” he said.
“That’s really not necessary,” she told him. “I can drive back to get them once the rental company brings me a replacement car.”
“Or I can send Jamal,” Phylicia suggested. “He’s at his office in New Orleans, but should be getting home soon.”
“I already know where the car is,” Matt said. He held his hand out to her. “Keys?”
“Are you sure?” Tamryn asked him.
“Very sure,” he answered. “Let me have your keys.”
His eyes were the only part of his face visible from behind the helmet and lower face shield, but she could tell by the way they crinkled at the corners that he was smiling.
She pulled the single key from the pocket of her slim skirt and dropped it into his palm.
“I won’t be gone too long.” His voice did that sexy, deepening thing again, and her body responded in kind.
This was not good. It wasn’t even in the neighborhood of good.
She’d come to Gauthier in hopes of getting to know this man better...in a professional way. There was nothing professional about the fireworks that went off in her belly whenever his voice dropped low.
Matt revved the bike’s engine and, with a brief nod and another of those inconceivably sexy grins, took off down the driveway. Tamryn continued to stare until he was nothing more than a small dot on the horizon.
“If you’d like, I can show you to your room, then you can come down to dinner,” Phylicia said, knocking her out of her daze.
Tamryn turned to her, embarrassed by the fact that she didn’t have a clue what the woman had just said. “I’m sorry, but what was that?”
Phylicia’s lips held a trace of a grin. “He has that effect on people,” she said. “Anyway, as I was saying, dinner is at seven. It’s communal and held in the large dining room, but if you’d like, I can bring your food to your room. Room service isn’t something we offer, but after the afternoon you’ve had, you’re probably not up for dining with a bunch of people you don’t know. You look as if you can use some rest.”
“Is it that bad?” Tamryn asked, running a self-conscious hand through her hair.
Phylicia’s lips twisted with chagrin. “Sorry, I’m still learning how to be a gracious hostess who doesn’t speak her mind all the time.”
“That’s okay.” Tamryn laughed. “I’d rather hear the truth.”
She’d checked in through Belle Maison’s online service before arriving, so Phylicia, who she learned was the fiancée of the bed-and-breakfast’s owner, showed her to her room. It was elegantly furnished, with a four-poster canopy bed, a tufted settee with delicate legs and a cheval mirror in the corner. She’d chosen this room specifically for the balcony that overlooked the gazebo on the east lawn. She rarely got the chance to enjoy working outside, and Tamryn planned to spend most of her summer on the reclining patio chair she spotted out there.
As much as she wanted to explore where she would be residing for the next month and a half, the first thing Tamryn did once Phylicia left was go straight to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. She had been dying to wash off the bits of dirt that had glommed on to her legs during her motorcycle ride into town.
After cleaning up, she returned to her room and fished the number for the car-rental company from her purse. Tamryn was standing outside