Chapter 8

Dover, England

Lloyd and Harry from Dumb and Dumber…

That’s how Chelsea expected to look by the time she and Dagan exited the highway toward Dover. But with Dagan in front of her blocking the wind, and with his blast-furnace body heat radiating against the length of her, instead of being chilled to the bone, she was all warm and tingly. More than warm and tingly. She was on fire.

So, not Lloyd and Harry from Dumb and Dumber, more like Frodo and Sam on Mount Doom right before the Eagles saved them.

Then again, maybe all that heat had something to do with her having just spent the last sixty minutes plastered around Dagan like human Saran Wrap while he maneuvered the sleek Ducati in a marvel of easy agility and fluid strength. Or maybe it was the memory of that kiss that had kept her toasty warm.

Talk about hot. Lord have mercy!

Never before had Chelsea experienced such a toe-curling, head-spinning lip-lock. He had mad skills. Unbelievable oral gymnastic skills.

No doubt perfected over many years and with many women. Ugh.

Normally, she would insist she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. But when it came to Dagan? Yup. She was pretty sure she had two hundred and six of them.

It didn’t help that after he kissed her, he’d pulled away with a look of utter horror contorting his face. It had hurt. It still hurt. That look coming so close on the heels of the best moment of her life. And all she could think was…why?

Why did he kiss me? And then why was he immediately horrified by it?

She wasn’t a bad kisser. She’d been assured of that by her high school boyfriend who had once told her she had the mouth of an angel, all soft and sweet and eager to please. Then again, she’d been so shocked by the fact that Dagan had been kissing her that she hadn’t had the time to really bring her A game, so maybe—

“Almost there!” Dagan turned to her when they stopped at an intersection. He yelled to be heard over the purr of the Ducati’s engine. “You okay?”

No! Chelsea wanted to holler back. I’m not okay! I won’t be okay until you explain what the heck happened in Morrison’s office!

But she proved she was a chickenhearted cur when she simply dipped her chin, the weight of the motorcycle helmet pressing the earpieces of her glasses into the sides of her skull.

Dagan nodded and turned back to the road, throttling up and making his way down the winding lane that ran through the center of the seaside town. Dover was perched beside vast, chalky cliffs, and brick four-flat houses nestled next to their whitewashed counterparts zoomed by on either side of the bikers. Locals turned their heads, curiously watching the trio of high-end motorcycles making their way toward the docks.

Chelsea breathed deeply of salt-tinged air. Having been born and raised on the coast of South Carolina, she’d always been partial to the sea. To the changing tides, the beauty of a sunrise over open water, and the inherent spark of danger that lurked just below the surface.

Once, a long time ago, she had said something to that effect to her mother. Grace had smiled gently, shaken her head, and accused Chelsea of being a romantic. “Just like your father,” Grace had added, a wistful gleam in her eye.

Chelsea’s father had been a romantic. A man filled with a hunger for life and the belief that love really did conquer all. He had proved that belief by falling head over heels for Chelsea’s mother during a time when white Southern boys were not supposed to marry poor black girls. And then he’d reinforced that belief every day for twenty-three years, through thick and thin, whether dealing with prejudice or acceptance. And always with a smile on his face and a wide-open heart—until one day that heart gave out on him and he died peacefully in his sleep lying next to the woman he had loved since the moment he saw her at a drive-in movie.

Being compared to him had always been a compliment. But now, sitting behind Dagan, still dazed by the power of his kiss and wounded by his horrified expression afterward, Chelsea wondered if being a romantic, if living with her heart wide open, would cause her to suffer more hurt than she could handle.

She was pragmatic enough to know that her parents had been incredibly lucky, and not everyone ended up with happily ever after.

Whoa. Had she really just gone there? Imagined a future with Dagan?

She closed her eyes, unconsciously squeezed his waist tighter, and admitted that she had. Which was ridiculous because…number one, the look on his face after the kiss did not bode well for a lifetime of repeats. And number two, there could never be any sort of forever for them because she was harboring the Big Bad Secret.

Oh, good night, nurse! Get out of your own head, Chels! It was just one little kiss in the middle of a tense, adrenaline-filled situation. It meant nothing to him!

Right. Good advice. Trouble was, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, it had meant something to her.