She heard him before she saw him. A first. The machine clutched between his legs roared around the corner of the block, drawing the gazes of disconnected and jaded New Yorkers. They looked on as though it were a lion set loose on the city street. Around here, people used bicycles or cocaine if they wanted to toy with their mortality. Calder Beckett didn’t toy with his mortality, though; he wielded it like a weapon. The bike dodged agilely through traffic and sped to the front of the herd.

It stopped in front of her. The wind it created made the fur on the edges of her lace-up boots and down-filled coat lay on its side. Her tightly pulled ponytail didn’t budge. The engine’s rumble vibrated her chest. A blacked-out full-face mask hid him from view, but there was no denying that frame and the command he held over everything, especially her.

He lifted a helmet from a small strip of mesh on an even tinier excuse for a second seat and extended it. Larkin gulped.

Never in her life had she ridden a motorcycle. Never had she dreamed of it until that moment. A sense of pure buoyancy lifted the world of worries from her shoulders and dared her to live more dangerously than she had ever imagined on any rooftop in all her years.

She snatched the helmet from his hand and nearly dropped it on the ground. It weighed more than she expected. With two hands, she opened the strap and wedged her head inside. Suddenly, she wasn’t Miss Larkin Ashford, heir to anything, owner of a business, or the woman who had to make hundreds of tough decisions daily. She was a badass embarking on an adventure that those people looking on only dreamed they could grab.

Larkin stepped to the throttled machine, tossed her leg over the back, and sat.

Beckett leaned over, grabbed her left ankle, lifted her foot from the pavement, and placed it on a rung sticking out of the side of the machine. Without having to be told, she moved her right foot onto the peg on the opposite side and waited for takeoff. His big hands reached behind him. She looked for something he might want or need, but there was so little room for anything. It wasn’t a car. He filled his hands with her ass and yanked her forward until her thighs fit snug against his backside. His palms hung there, full with her bottom, longer than necessary. He grabbed her wrists and wrapped her arms around his torso. She snuggled into the hold until they took off. Then she held on for dear life.

He maneuvered the bike as though he’d done it a thousand times yet hadn’t grown bored of the task. His head swiveled, and his muscles responded as though he still drank in every turn, every shift, every impetus of the gas. An unfamiliar mix of adrenaline and excitement rushed through Larkin’s vibrating veins. So much in her life was routine and expected. This was neither. Beckett was neither.

The bike drowned out the noise of passing cars and their yelling drivers. Tall buildings lined their path. Before many blocks had passed, her fingers turned to ice cubes. Wind battered them, but the rest of her, well, he blocked the majority of the onslaught. Luckily, the winter weather had abated overnight, and it was just cold as opposed to freezing and wet.

A few blocks later, the buildings fell away, revealing the tops of trees clinging to their festive fall leaves. Central Park. He pulled into what was certainly an illegal space and killed the engine. The shaking in her chest ceased, but it continued in her ears. He tapped her leg.

Larkin stood and adjusted her skinny jeans, coat, then popped the helmet off her head and breathed deeply. Two teams in boats churned the lake with oars. People jogged. Dog walkers maneuvered their packs. A homeless man shuffled down the sidewalk with a small plastic bag of cans. She looked at Beckett and smiled. He’d removed his helmet and secured his to the handlebar.

“What?” He stood, scratching his stubble.

“This is the best idea I never had.”

“Fucking hell.” His hands plowed into his thick hair and pulled. The words were gruff, but his tone hedged toward irritated.

“What’s wrong?” She looked at his bike. Everything looked beefy and untarnished. Her gaze tracked wide, looking for a meter maid lying in wait to give him a ticket. None appeared.

“You couldn’t have complained a little?” He pulled the key from the ignition and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Complain? Why would I?” She shook her head at him.

“It’s cold. It’s dangerous. Your hair will get messed up. You want to know where we’re going and how long we’ll be gone. Is there Wi-Fi?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but this is …” Lord save her from sounding cheesy, but this was perfect. “This is awesome.”

Beckett took off into the park, leaving her laughing at his backside. His very nice backside. She hurried forward and fell into the easy rhythm of his steps. A cyclist weaved around them, calling out, “On the left.” Birds flew overhead. Farther down the bank, the water rippled in the tiny wake of a remote control sailboat. Gravel ground under her boots.

“So you date a lot of bitchy women. Sucks for you.” She laughed.

“No. I learned from my brother’s mistakes.”

She stopped walking, and he turned. The WTF expression on his face perfectly mirrored her slacked jaw, bug-eyed mug. His hands shot wide and one shoulder bobbed.

“You mean there are more of you in the world?” Her finger pointed accusatorially.

Beckett batted the air. “Only one of me, sweetheart.” He turned and continued walking.

Larkin caught up with him and held her tongue. There was everything to learn about this man if she had the patience to listen. Hints peeked from cover in his ever-scanning gaze and continually shifting orientation, depending on who was around them. He was hyper aware of his surroundings. She was hyper aware of him.

She jerked her head away and stared at a group of moms and toddlers picnicking on a blanket as if it was spring. One made for the tree line. He bobbed and weaved in a single-mindedness to explore that reminded Larkin of an enthusiasm she’d once harbored for her career. A small blanket dragged the ground and hindered his quick getaway, though. Just like meetings and opinions made her second-guess her instincts and lose focus. Maybe that was why Calder Beckett affected her more than usual.

“Luca and Sam.”

The names came out of nowhere with no context in her narrative. It took her a minute to reconstruct the conversation, but then a smile tugged at her cheeks. “Two brothers?”

He nodded.

“Wow! Poor Sam.”

“Poor Sam? Why poor Sam?”

“You got Calder. Hot. Luca got Luca. Intriguing. He got Sam. Boring Sam.”

“That’s why he constantly froze my underwear and locked me out of the house?”

“Probably so. Probably that and it’s what older brothers are supposed to do. From what I hear.”

“Lock you out more than twice a week?” His voice pitched high, playfully and unusually so.

“Naked?” She choked on a laugh.

“Once. Mom tore into him for that one. After that, he always made sure I was clothed. The bad news was Batman pajamas and no shoes counted as clothes, and twelve-year-old girls are brutal.”

She loved the way he spoke with his hands. Gesturing with fists when he talked about his mother getting on to his brother and covering his face with both hands. He hadn’t used his hands to speak before.

“Never let you live it down, did they?”

“Nope.”

“Bitches,” Larkin sneered.

“Come on. You made fun of your share of unfortunate boys. Don’t lie.” He nudged her shoulder.

“I didn’t have that luxury.” She picked up the pace.

“You have all kinds of luxuries.” He matched it easily.

“Now, yes.”

“You didn’t grow up in squalor. Your dad was heir to a fortune.”

Larkin stopped and turned on him, looking with speculative eyes for the first time since that night on the roof. “How do you know that?”

“Who doesn’t know that?” He shrugged. “You’re a prominent figure in the New York landscape.”

“You’re not from here,” she shot back.

“No. But I’m not an idiot either. The littlest bit of research will tell anyone willing to look about you and your family.”

Why had she been so quick to mark him off the list of potential stalkers? Because he was good looking? Because he was easy to talk to? Because he got her in a way most didn’t? Because he took care to keep her safe?

“Anyone willing to stalk, maybe.” She tossed down the gauntlet and held her breath.

“If you call a quick Google search stalking, then everyone in the country is guilty of it.” His finger circled and then landed on her. “Even you.”

How had she gotten here in an argument she didn’t want with a man she did want more than she should? He wasn’t the enemy. She didn’t have an enemy. She had a nutso, trying to scare her.

“I’ve been inside you, Larkin. I won’t have you scared of me. You want me to take you back or walk you to hail a cab?”

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. He had planned a lovely date with none of the usual pressures of dating, and she was ruining it. She stepped so close her jacket brushed his. “I want you to kiss me.”

His gaze narrowed on her mouth. “Is this a trick? Thanks to Luca, I can tell you I don’t like to be kneed in the balls.”

“You’re the baby.”

“I’m not a baby anymore.”

Her head shook. She wrapped her fingertips around his neck and pulled him down until they were mouth to mouth.

“Sweetheart, you’re full of surprises.” He kissed tenderly. Sweetly. The pads of his thumbs grazed her cheekbones and ran the length of her jaw, continuing even after he broke contact with her lips.

“My father inherited money and a name. He also nursed an unhealthy obsession with secret lovers and buying them extravagant homes. The money went fast. The name, the goddamn name, kept us from squalor because I started working. Two jobs. Two jobs plus school while you were trying to find a way to keep your underwear at room temperature.”

“I’m sorry.” His commanding voice morphed into a whisper.

“I’m sorry about the stalker thing.” She buried her head against his chest, took a deep breath, straightened, and motioned between them. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m so used to someone wanting something from me and having ulterior motives.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. His animated hands fell to his sides. A part of him that opened to her for the barest of moments closed. She felt the pain as surely as he’d slammed a door on her heart.

“I didn’t want this, Larkin. You have to know I did everything in my power to stay away from you.”

Why?

“I don’t want you to stay away from me. I might have a funny way of showing it, but this has been the best afternoon I’ve had in as long as I can remember, and I don’t want it to be over.” Larkin grabbed his hand and tugged him toward a row of food trucks in the distance near a park entrance. “Mexican. Greek. Salads. Pick your poison.”

“Anything but a salad.” That groan he emitted made her laugh.

“No salad.” She pulled him to the back of a small line at the truck, promising the taste of the isles themselves.

“Okay.” She nodded and turned to him. “That leaves roasted lamb’s head or octopus fried ink sack. Which way are you leaning? I could get the fried sacks and you could get the lamb’s head. It’s bigger. And I could let you try mine.” A smile threatened to crack her serious façade, but she held it together.

His gaze shifted to the menu and back to hers several times. The edges of his lips pursed ever so slightly. A man took his bag of food and exited the line.

“So what’ll it be?” Larkin dragged him closer to the order window.

“Don’t they have a kabob or gyro or something … normal?”

“Oh, you can’t enter a Greek home around Easter without meeting a lamb’s head. It’s totally normal.” She pulled him forward again.

“We’re not in Greece,” he whispered, but there was an edge to it.

“Too bad. It’s amazing. So laid back. Stunningly gorgeous. And the octopus sack would be fresh out of the ocean. They have urchin salad so delicious it would make you weep.”

“Don’t worry. I might cry now.”

“Oh please. A strong man like you?” She swatted his butt—his very fine, muscular bottom—and tried to maintain focus. “You’ll love the brain. The eyeballs are questionable sometimes. It depends on how long they roast the head. Seasoning helps too.”

“You’re not serious.” The bulge of his eyes said he seriously hoped she wasn’t, but that she was selling it pretty well.

“What can I get you two?”

Larkin turned to see a young Greek man leaning both his forearms on the high metal counter. Sweat clung to his forehead. Thick brows hiked in question. Beckett squeezed her hand. Not painfully so. The touch was light enough the begging translated.

“We’ll take one lamb … gyro, one kabob—”

He smacked her butt.

She yelped and smiled too big at the man taking their order. “One pita motz and two waters.”

When the man turned away to help another guy in the back of the truck prepare their food, Beckett grabbed her arm and whirled her around. He stepped close, backing her up until her shoulders met the truck’s metal side. His face crowded hers, and she zeroed in on his mouth.

“I’m going to employ some torture tactics to teach you a lesson.”

“But I’m innocent.” She giggled.

“Not even close, sweetheart.” His hand cupped the back of her neck and tilted her face up. Their mouths met in a sultry, smiling kiss. It was fun and playful. A completely new side she enjoyed more than his passionate and slightly domineering one, which she hadn’t thought possible until this afternoon.

“That’ll be … Oh. Um,” the Greek man stuttered.

Beckett pulled back only long enough to give the man a small stack of cash from his front pocket, and then his mouth was back. He didn’t kiss her but let his lips hover just above hers. “You had me going for a minute.”

Larkin leaned closer. The stingy man kept his mouth just out of reach. “I don’t have you going still? A pity.” She licked her lips, tasting him. “Mmm.”

“Sir? Your change and food …”

Beckett’s gaze remained locked on hers. “Sweetheart, you have me traveling a very dangerous path.”

His disregard for their food and location while his sole focus was on her shot a thrill straight to her heart. It beat triple time as though she sprinted through the park in a race with every runner that crossed her path. After years of swearing off the race, here she was, winning without trying. If she trusted him, if she gave this relationship a little effort, what would happen? Hope sprouted in her chest.

“Buckle up, Beckett.” Larkin yanked his head to hers and stole a chaste kiss. She bobbed from under his arm, grabbed the change from the food truck’s counter, and slipped it in his back pocket. Her hand lingered longer than it should have with an audience. Decorum, nor fear stopped her.

He nipped her earlobe and grinned like a lion about to consume its prey.

To keep from becoming lunch—or the tabloid headline “Couple Jailed for Sex in the Park”—she grabbed theirs. He followed suit, grabbing the drinks and walking with her back to the lake. They chose a bench near the path, overlooking the water. His imposing torso brushed hers. A clear shot of his scent imbued her brain with memories of their bodies tangled together. He sat her drink next to her on the bench and retreated too soon.

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, and he studied her in return. Her body heated ten degrees, though no kiss was exchanged. Something deeper, more terrifying and meaningful passed between them. Or maybe he just wanted his lunch.

Larkin offered him his choice of paper wrapped food. As expected, he chose the massive gyro. He tore into it. She averted her gaze to her kabob. Embarrassment co-mingled with lust. After years of practice, she knew how to do casual, but meaningful was another beast altogether.

“This place is crazy. An oasis from the madness. The city is mad, you know?” He spoke around a large bite. It endeared him to her more. Every man she knew ate with Emily Post perfection. She had no doubt he could, but she liked that he didn’t.

“Where are you from?”

“What makes you think I’m not from here?” He didn’t look at her. Instead, his gaze roamed from the water to runners to the squirrels mustering up the courage to approach.

“If you were, you wouldn’t question any of it. The park is the park. The city is mad. Has been for centuries. Will be for more to come.”

“I’m from all over.” He shrugged and took a drink.

Larkin stared at the chunks of onion, bell peppers, and meat. “I’m sorry. I forgot how you are about questions.”

Beckett leaned close, pulled a piece of pepper and meat off the skewer, and held it to her lips. She took the offering and licked his index finger clean. “Damn.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t being coy. We lived in nineteen different cities by the time I was fifteen.”

“Oh.” Larkin chewed and took a bite of her own. “That’s … just wow. I can’t imagine. I lived in the same house until I moved out. For sixteen years.”

“You moved out at sixteen?”

She nodded. “It was the tiniest, most amazing apartment I’ve ever rented.”

“It was your freedom.”

“It was.” He got it more than she had a right to expect. “Why’d you move so often?” She was afraid of the answer. If it was horrible, she’d want to protect him. Him, a massively capable man who needed protection from no one.

“Navy parents.”

The relief was instantaneous. Though moving couldn’t have been easy. “Tell me about them?”

“My parents?” His upper lip hiked, along with his brow.

“Yes, your parents. For a while, in my mind, at least, you seemed an island. As though you were so far removed from any other person. I didn’t imagine you having a family.” Her gaze hit her boots for a second. “I’m sorry.” She shrugged.

“I thought of you as the center of a gentry. Insulated by being one in a crush of money and well-to-do friends. Connected.”

“Look how wrong we were.” A sour smile stretched her mouth.

He wiped it away with his thumb. “My parents retired from the Navy and live in DC, advisors to the Security Council.”

“Wow.” Her wide eyes matched the word she rarely used. “Are you military?” The question popped out of her mouth before she could catch it and drag it back, kicking and screaming.

Beckett leaned over, grabbed a large chunk from her kabob, and held it out for her. He repeated the process again and again until she’d eaten most of the food. His hand poised in front of her mouth once more.

“If I promise not to ask any more questions, will you eat the rest of it? I’m so full.”

He popped the chunks into his mouth and chewed.

“Tell me about your brothers.”

His mouth pursed to one side. He grabbed the skewer from her hand and pointed it at her.

“It’s not a question.” She rolled her eyes.

“Ugh!” He lowered the pointy end and buried his head in the crook of her neck. “You are too much, sweetheart. Too wonderfully much.” His lips nibbled a path up to her earlobe.

Their laughs mingled with the bird chirps and carried off in the wind.

“I’m the smart brother, remember? The handsome one too.” He backed up only enough for her to see him waggle his brows.

Her heart melted. This playfulness was an extra treat to an amazing break from the world as she knew it. His mouth was back, tormenting her between fits of laughter.

“Don’t forget the humble one.” She laughed so hard, her lungs and nasal passages backfired.

“Did you just snort?” He laughed so hard his body shook hers.

Her sides hurt too much to speak. Not that she could for the laughter. Tears blurred her vision. The happiest tears she’d ever known.

“Larkin?”

Her name came loud and questioning from behind them. It didn’t belong here in her happy place with her happy man and her happy tears.

They stopped laughing at the same time, but she was drunk on euphoria and couldn’t turn. Beckett suffered none of the effects. He whipped around so quickly she felt the need to grab their lunch to keep it from falling to the ground. No need. His hands cradled his trash and her mostly eaten kabob.

Larkin dabbed at the corners of her eyes, drew a deep breath, and turned. Bronson stood on the path. He clutched his phone in his hand and stared at her.

“Hi.” She cleared her throat and stood but stayed at Beckett’s side. “Bronson.”

“Larkin.” He stepped off the path and walked toward her.

Beckett set the remnant of their lunch aside and stood.

Bronson stopped abruptly. His gaze rose to meet Beckett’s face, and then it jumped to hers.

Why of all times and places did he have to be here in her tiny sliver of time and space in the park? She was nothing, if not well versed in manners. “Bronson Beauregard, meet—”

“Call me Calder.” Beckett thrust out his hand.

Bronson took it, shook it, and then retreated a step.

“Lar, I didn’t think you knew where the park was.” Her friend eased his gaze from Beckett and centered on hers.

“Hilarious. I’ve always known where it was. I’d just never had occasion to come until Calder brought me. It’s beyond lovely, but then you know. You’re here.”

“Just grabbing lunch.” He used his phone to point toward the row of food trucks in the distance.

“The Greek is delicious,” Beckett offered, a hint of condescension in his tone.

“I know. I’ve had it before.” Bronson’s expression hinted at a double meaning.

Men. They really were shits.

“You come here often?” Larkin asked, ensuring Beckett knew Bronson had never had her.

“Every once in a while. I like to get away from the crowds.” Bronson nodded.

She grabbed Beckett’s arm. A stance for all parties involved in the awkward exchange. “Bronson and I were childhood friends. We’ve recently been reacquainted after his return to the States.”

Bronson smoothed the double breast of his suit jacket. “I’m also known as bachelor number one. You must be bachelor number two.” At that moment, she hated him and his slicked back blond hair, his too green eyes, and sun-kissed skin.

“Excuse me?” Larkin snapped.

“So, Mr. Beauregard, what was so important it kept you from American soil and this stunning woman’s side?” Beckett countered.

“University. And business ventures.” Bronson stuffed a hand into his pants pocket.

Beckett shifted ever so slightly to the balls of his feet. Had she not been touching him, she would have never noticed.

“What do you do, Calder?” Bronson said.

Larkin held her breath, awaiting his response. What would he say? Would it be the truth? How would she know?

“You do have a job, don’t you?” Bronson snipped, like the spoiled rich brat he was and, apparently, remained.

“That’s about enough.” Larkin stepped in front of Beckett.

“Enough?” Bronson spat. “It’s all over the papers. You’re eligible. On the market. Looking for a mister to your missus.” His hands plowed through his hair. Red flamed on his cheeks. “Larkin, if you want a ring, come see me. I’ll give you one.”

He walked away, leaving her in complete shock. It was as though a downpour had caught her without shelter. Here in the park with Calder Beckett, a man she hardly knew and felt too deeply for, she’d forgotten about the mess that was quickly becoming her life.

“You’re not looking for a husband.” Beckett made the statement in a flat tone that revealed no hint of tumult. The calm ran contrary to her emotions. It helped center her on the here and now. He hadn’t asked a question because he knew her better in a few short days than Bronson had in a lifetime.

“No.” She swallowed back bile.

“Why does the world think you are?”

He hadn’t forced her to face him, but his logical line of inquiry allowed her to turn and find his gaze. “My board wants me to and is apparently a sinking ship with a massive leak.” She held her hand over her neck for several heartbeats and then swallowed. “Today was the best day, Beckett. Thank you.”

“Reality can wait a little longer.” He grabbed her hand and headed for the motorcycle.