Chapter 3

He was too old for me.

That was my first thought when I saw Jesse Turner that summer. He was twenty-eight and I was eighteen. He looked young for his age, but that wasn't the case now. Back then, he'd been much smaller framed, although he always had muscles on him, thanks to working outdoors with his hands most of his life.

He wasn't too old now. Twenty-five and thirty-five weren't nearly as far apart in age as eighteen and twenty-eight. That was good news if it meant he wouldn't treat me like a delicate young virgin like he did back then. Our kisses had been mind-blowing, but he'd been holding back, keeping his hands off all the parts of my body I wanted him to touch. And when my hands started to drift, he'd stopped things.

Yes, he'd been the perfect gentleman. I wanted him to be anything but.

Jesse was sitting directly in front of the pool when I arrived with a cup of pineapple juice mixed with lemon-lime soda in my right hand. He held a similar cup, but I was betting his had alcohol in it. I still had to make the five-mile trek home, so alcohol wasn't an option.

"Hi," I said as I approached.

He looked over with wide eyes. The sound from the fountain had no doubt drowned out my approaching footsteps. But then he smiled, his eyelids growing a little droopier. He was more relaxed than he'd been earlier, which probably meant the alcohol was kicking in.

"Second one." He lifted the cup. "I guess I needed it after that eight-hour drive."

My heart sank at the same time my butt sank into the chair. An eight-hour drive? That meant he lived even farther away than before.

"You did all that in one day?" I asked, staring straight ahead. "That's a long drive on a motorcycle."

I probably should find an excuse to get out of here, even if it was the opposite of what I wanted to do. The more time I spent with him, the more likely I'd fall back in love with him. I couldn't let that happen. Not if he was leaving after Biker Blast.

But I didn't budge. Instead, I took a sip from my drink and waited for his response.

"Wouldn't travel any other way," he said.

I looked over at him. His features had settled into a relaxed, almost blissful state. Upon closer inspection, I noticed it was from exhaustion, not alcohol—though maybe that was in the mix too.

"How long have you been into biking?" I asked.

The question carried an ulterior motive. I still couldn't tell if he recognized me or not, but he hadn't asked for my name. Maybe that was a sign he knew exactly who I was. And maybe my question would get him to admit it.

"Just a few years," he said. "Started as something I did on weekends, but then I'd go on these group trips with local guys. A group of us joined a regional motorcycle club and soon I was way more into biking than I ever thought I'd be."

Yeah, he still didn't recognize me, and I couldn't decide if I should tell him who I was. The longer I went without mentioning it, the harder it would be when I finally did.

But I couldn't bring myself to say the words. Maybe it was because I didn't want him to see me as that chubby, baby-faced eighteen-year-old. I wanted him to see me as a woman. A voluptuous twenty-five-year-old he wanted to…boink.

"I've never ridden a bike before," I admitted. "Well, unless you include the bicycle I had when I was eight."

"Did you grow up around here?" he asked.

It was official. He definitely had no idea who I was. Did I even look familiar? Could a person change that much in seven years? My features had become more angular, and my hair was now blonde instead of my natural brunette. That changed my look considerably.

I'd recognized him immediately, though. He had to at least think I resembled the girl he'd met in this very town when he was in his twenties.

"Nashville," I said. "Well, the suburbs of Nashville. A town called Donelson."

There. Maybe that would jar his memory. Had he ever known the exact town I lived in? I might have mentioned it, but ‘Nashville' was likely the only thing that stuck. Plus, it was only three hours from where we sat right now, so it wouldn't be that unusual for someone in Rosewood Ridge to meet two people from there in the space of a decade.

"You'll have to hop on my bike and go for a ride with me before I leave town," he said.

Our eyes met, and it felt like not a second had passed since the last time I'd sat by his side, wishing more than anything that he would kiss me. Imagining what it would feel like to have his arms around me. It was every bit as nice as I dreamed when it finally did happen.

"I'd like that," I said.

"I'm going to grab another drink," he said. "Then I'd love for you to show me around the retreat center. You know, so I'll be familiar with everything when the other bikers arrive."

He was standing, staring down at me, and all I could do was nod. I couldn't turn down the opportunity to spend more time with him, even if it meant putting my heart at risk.