“He chose a suit,” I point out. “But no tie. He’s got a great job and he’s open to settling down with the girl of his dreams.”
“He likes outdoor sports.” Vik lazily hands the phone back to me. “And his idea of the best-ever date is canyoneering in Red Rock Canyon. Are you up for a two-hundred-foot rappel? Maybe you should practice, babe.”
I’m sure Vik means that I should practice my outdoor skills, but right now I have other things on my mind. Big, sexy, bad-boy biker kinds of things. I blame Vik. He’s the one who came by my place and suggested we go for a ride. He followed up his suggestion by prowling straight into my closet to rifle through my things in search of “riding gear.” I got a little of my own back by “helping out” with his plan to dress me like his own personal Barbie doll by stripping down to my panties. That led to a very nice detour on the bed, but now we’re riding. Or stopping for every red light in Vegas, which is also okay because I’m not in a hurry to get anywhere. I shove my phone back into my pocket as the light finally changes and we take off.
Vik on his bike gets my panties wet and the bike is just an added bonus. I love riding. It makes me feel like I’m hurtling down the world’s shortest, fastest runway and that any second now I’ll achieve liftoff and fly. My feet have yet to leave the ground when I’m with Vik, but I have high hopes. He takes me up the Strip today, and even in the sunlight, it’s a fun riot of color. It’s also extremely congested, which gives me plenty of time to check out the various attractions. The fountains explode as we ride past the Bellagio and I laugh. Seems like the kind of thing Vik would have planned. The man loves over-the-top gestures. Maybe he plans on ending our night by riding off into the sunset.
“Four o’clock,” he says when we idle yet again at the next red light. I look and spot a group of men in business attire. “Red tie, navy blue suit, closest to the curb.”
I let my gaze roam over Blue Suit as my arms tighten around Vik’s waist, my chin resting on his shoulder. Vik’s wearing his leather jacket, and beneath that, his club vest and a black T-shirt. His hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, exposing the ink that edges his throat. More ink peeks out from beneath his jacket and on his knuckles. This is one of those perfect moments that I’d like to bottle up or freeze so that I can take it out and remember it over and over again in a month, a year, a lifetime. Eventually, Vik and I will part ways, and then these memories will be all I have left of him.
He’s so beautiful.
I concentrate on breathing in and out as I tighten my hands over his stomach. He’s so solid, so very, very present. Maybe it’s because he’s built like his medieval namesake, but every inch of me is aware of where I’m pressed up against him.
“Why him?”
“That suit didn’t come cheap.” Vik shrugs. “And you see the way he pays attention to what his boys are saying? He’ll pay attention to you like that.”
Blue Suit crosses in front of us, ushering the older man in the group first. He’s good-looking but not self-absorbed. Vik’s not wrong about his attractiveness, but it’s not like I could act on the recommendation. What am I going to do, pass out a business card like those guys who line the Vegas sidewalks handing out cards for lap dances and private parties?
“Two o’clock,” Vik says.
“I only need one man,” I protest, even as I look.
“You didn’t want the first guy,” he growls.
No. No, I didn’t.
Fortunately, once we leave the Strip behind us, we pick up speed and Vik stops offering to hook me up. He’s decided to take me to Red Rock. And since he promises I’ll like it, I’m all in. After all, what’s not to like about the desert, some cliffs and tons of wildlife?
We abandon the bike in the parking lot, although Vik grabs his saddlebags, slinging them over his shoulder. Then he threads his fingers through mine and heads past the obvious campsites. It’s hot, the few tents and RVs almost visibly steaming in the afternoon sunlight. A few steps into our walk, he passes me a bottle of water. I’m not entirely certain if the benefits of hydrating outweigh the dubious charms of the campsite toilets. I much prefer doing my business in the Bellagio’s marble stalls to squatting behind a manzanita bush.
Trust and promises of pleasure only go so far with this girl, however. The longer we walk, the more I want specifics. “Tell me exactly where we’re going?”
The corners of his mouth quirk up. “You don’t like surprises?”
He knows I don’t. He teased me mercilessly when he spotted my paper planner. It’s the deluxe Happy Planner model, and even though we’re months from the end of the year, it weighs about ten pounds thanks to my liberal use of washi tape because I believe you can be both organized and pretty. Thank God he didn’t spot my dream board when he rifled through my closet earlier today. I’d never hear the end of that.
“One mile.” His fingers squeeze mine. That’s the thing about Vik—he teases, but he also makes sure I always get what I need. He seems okay with my quirks. I take a moment to pause and set my Fitbit. This is going to be the mother lode of steps.
Vik’s mile turns out to be more of an amble than a hike,
