“And you absolutely promise you’ll bring me back here by evening? No accidentally running out of gas or getting lost.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, lying through my teeth.
I’d already thought of several scenarios that ended with us having to share a hotel room.
“Okay,” she said, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was agreeing to. “But I’m serious about getting back: I’m waiting for my travel permits and I can’t afford to miss them.”
My conscience pricked at me, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Caro, I’ll get you back here tonight, I promise.”
I wasn’t hungry when the food arrived, but I’d gotten used to eating whatever was put in front of me whenever it was put in front of me. I’d lost too many meals to sudden RPG attacks in hostile environments. Bastards liked to hit at chow time.
“Tell me about Ches’s kids,” Caro said suddenly.
I couldn’t help smiling, just thinking about them.
“They’re great. They call me ‘Uncle Seb’ … well, Simone, the youngest one, she calls me ‘Zed’ because she still gets her words mixed up sometimes. She’s nearly three. Ben is four and he’s a little surf-rat already. I see them as often as I can, but every time they seem so much more grown up. Jeez, they grow fast.”
“What’s Amy like?”
“Yeah, she’s okay.”
Caro looked amused at my lukewarm response.
“Let me guess—she doesn’t approve of you?”
Well, no…
“What made you say that?”
Caro smiled.
“Firstly, because you’re single, and married women get nervous that their husband’s single friends will lead them astray; secondly, because, from the sound of it, you’ve had more women than most men have hot dinners, and that will make her nervous because she won’t want you reminding Ches of what he’s missing out on; and…”
She stopped mid sentence. I guessed that whatever she was leaving unsaid was even worse.
“And what?”
“Well, the drinking, Sebastian. She wouldn’t want that around her husband and kids.”
Her words hit a nerve.
“Yeah, I guess that about sums it up.”
“When did you start drinking?” she asked gently.
My temper fired quickly. “What do you mean? I don’t drink that much, not like that bitch mother of mine.”
Caro’s gaze didn’t waver. “Well, twice in as many days you’ve been so drunk you’ve either passed out or made inappropriate comments to me.”
Shit. She was right.
“I think my question stands,” she said.
I didn’t want to go there, but I guess she deserved the truth.
“When I was 21,” I said at last. “That’s when I started drinking.”
It was true: apart from the odd beer, the occasional shot, I hadn’t drunk that much—a lot less than most of the guys in my Unit, that was for sure. But when I realized Caro wasn’t coming back for me, my world had fallen apart. I anesthetized myself with women and booze. I’d done that for the last seven years. Maybe now it was time to feel everything again—even the pain.
Caro looked horrified.
“Sebastian, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I shrugged and looked away. “Old news, Caro, don’t worry about it.”
She looked like she was struggling to speak, but when she did, she’d reverted to small talk. I guess it was more comfortable for both of us.
“Do you like living in Geneva?”
“It’s okay, but I miss the ocean.”
“Ah, no famous Swiss surfing beaches.”
Her words made me smile.
“I haven’t found any yet.”
She smiled back, and it felt good to be at ease with her. But now I was eager to start our day trip—apart from anything else, the thought of having her body pressed against mine on the back of my bike made me impatient.
“Are you done eating?” I asked. “Should we go?”
“I just need to go back to my room and pick up a jacket and, I presume, my passport, but otherwise, yes, I’m good to go.”
I frowned. “You’re a journalist: you should always have your passport with you. Hell, it was in the fucking tedious lecture that Parsons gave the day before yesterday.”
“So you were listening,” she swatted back.
I shook my head and smiled.
“Yeah, yeah, just grab a sweater, too: it’s going to get cold.”
She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about me being bossy as she walked away.
Give me the chance and I’ll show you how ‘bossy’ I can be.
I went to pay the check, but the waitress said she’d put it on Caro’s room tab as instructed. I wasn’t very happy about that, and I was even less happy when she passed me her phone number. But I guess old habits die hard, because I slipped it in my pocket and winked at her as I left the room.
I took the elevator to the basement and brought the Honda to the hotel’s entrance.
Caro’s mouth dropped open when she saw me.
“Are you kidding me, Hunter? You expect me to get on that thing?”
Caro gestured at the bike, looking shocked. Guess I’d forgotten to tell her we’d be traveling on two wheels.
“Sure! It’ll be fun,” I said encouragingly.
“Do you know how to drive it?”
Her voice was laced with suspicion.
“Caro, I rode it from Paris—I think I can manage 88 kilometers to Chamonix,” I grinned at her.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “I’ve never been on the back of a motorcycle before.”
I was surprised. “Really? Because we used to talk about doing that and riding from…” I stopped abruptly.
Was it ever going to get easier to talk about the past? She met my eyes, the shadows of our shared lives never far away.
“Oh, what the hell,” she said, shaking her head and walking towards me.
“Such faith in my abilities, Ms. Venzi.”
“If I get killed on this thing, I’m going to come back and haunt you!”
“Promise?”
“Oh, you’d better believe it, Hunter!”
I loved seeing this side of Caro. With each sentence it was more like how it used to be … and I fucking loved that.
I pulled my spare leather jacket out of the saddlebag and helped her put it on. It was old and battered, but it would give her some protection from the cold, or an accident—which wasn’t going to happen on my watch.
She was so tiny compared to me that her hands disappeared inside the long sleeves, and I had to fold back the cuffs so she could free her hands. I pulled up the zipper, my fingers dangerously close to her lush tits.
“Suits you,” I said, raising an eyebrow and ignoring her frown.
I passed her a spare helmet, waited until she’d fastened it, then swung a leg over the bike and held out my hand to help her mount behind me.
The seat slanted her forward so her thighs automatically gripped mine. I liked that a lot.
“Hold on tight,” I said, pleasure coursing through me from the sheer fucking joy of this moment—a moment I thought would never happen.
She wrapped her arms around me; I never wanted her to stop.
The engine started with a gravelly roar that crescendoed as I revved the accelerator. I took it slow to start with, letting her get used to being on the bike. I waited until we were at the lakeside road heading north-east to Lausanne before I really opened the throttle.
This moment. This woman.
She gripped me tighter as the bike flew around the curves of Lake Geneva, the air cool as the miles rushed past. When we reached Montreux, I slowed the bike, giving her time to appreciate the chocolate-box old town with chalets and Disneyland castle. I preferred being surrounded by open space and empty roads, but I thought Caro might like it.
“Do you want to get a coffee?” I called over my shoulder.