Chapter Thirty-Nine

Hutchinson River Parkway, Connecticut

October 22

C lara gripped Miles around the waist as the bike flew down the expressway in the darkness toward Manhattan. When the motorcycle was well away from Lucien Kite and prying eyes, Miles pulled to the side of the road. He removed her helmet and tossed it into the grass, then did the same with his. Before she could formulate a thought, Miles hauled Clara from the seat and dragged her into the woods. At the first secluded tree, he backed her up against the bark.

“When did you get a motorcycle?” she asked.

Miles didn’t answer. He was breathing hard, and she had never seen the look in his eyes before. Miles was always so coolheaded, so distant. At this moment, bathed in moonlight, he looked like he might kill someone.

“Miles?”

He responded with a kiss.

It was the kiss Clara had waited for all her life. The kiss she had dreamed of long before she knew the man who would deliver it. The magnetic eruption exceeded her wildest dreams. Clara’s head banged against the tree at the force of it. Miles was devouring her. One of his big arms circled her lower back. His other hand gripped her nape. He was in complete control, and she loved it. The feeling of being so possessed, it was intoxicating.

“You kissed me.”

Miles rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. “I don’t know how I managed to hold out as long as I did.”

Clara wound her arms around his neck and ran her tongue along the seam of his lips. He responded with a growl and another ferocious kiss.

Breaking away, he bit out, “I need to be inside you.”

With no further words, Miles hauled her up and guided her legs around his body. With a rough tug, he ripped her drenched thong from her body and drove inside of her. Miles fucked her like a man possessed, like a man possessing .

Clara arched her back as she adjusted to his size, then matched his passion stroke for stroke. She felt like a ticking time bomb.

“I need you with me, Clara,” Miles rasped. She cried out as the orgasm mounted. Miles’s control unraveled, and they exploded together.

Miles buried his face in the valley of her neck. “I don’t like this feeling, Clara.”

She cupped his face in her palms and urged Miles to look at her. “What feeling?”

“Caring.”

“You care about things.”

“Not like this.” He took a step back and scanned her from head to toe. His fingers traced Clara’s jawline. “You’re okay?”

“I’m perfect.” She stepped forward to return to his orbit. Mirroring his earlier gesture, she tucked her face in the hollow of his throat. Miles responded by wrapping Clara in his arms. She could feel his breath in her hair.

“I think I might be starting to hate you, Bluebird.” He tightened his hold.

She laughed into his neck. “I hate you too, Miles Buchanan.”

“Good.”

When she stepped back, Miles was more composed. She didn’t think there was anything hotter than Miles in a suit, but this badass biker look was buckling her knees. She switched gears before she tackled him into the leaves.

“Lucien Kite has my father’s painting. He brought me there to show me.”

Miles narrowed his gaze. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Reynard asked me to get it back. Papa is sick; he may be dying, and for some reason, that painting is important to him.”

Miles gripped the back of his neck. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Before Clara could ask or even ponder what he meant, Miles looked past her shoulder. Headlights pierced the night as a dark SUV with tinted windows pulled to a stop behind the Ducati.