Patrick’s tone was breezy, but he had to know he was being offensive.

“Is Olivia here?” Ricky asked again.

“In the back,” Patrick said. “Have a seat. So where’d you park your bike?”

Susie was close enough to being done that I was able to blurt a quick “That’s so great. Tell her I said congrats,” before racing out.

Ricky stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, responding to Patrick’s needling with clipped answers. If he was nicer, he’d look like a fool. If he got pissy, he’d seem to be overreacting. So he stayed neutral, but I could tell by the set of his jaw it was a struggle.

“Hey,” I called as I walked in. “When did you get here?”

Ricky relaxed. “Just arrived,” he said as he strolled over. “Ready to go?”

“I am.”

As I turned toward the door, I caught Ida’s disapproving frown. I stifled the urge to stiffen. Really? This was where they passed judgment?

I ignored her and the looks from the others, and let Ricky hold the door for me as we left.

“Not having coffee there, I take it?” he said.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “If I had any idea they’d do that—”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. They aren’t as much concerned about me as they’re concerned for you, and I can’t argue with that. Good to live in a place where people give a shit. I just hope I didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“Never,” I said emphatically.

He smiled. “Good. So where to?”

—

We walked and talked. I showed him the park and the gargoyles, because he seemed genuinely interested. Then I told him what had happened to me last night, because it was going to be in the papers. I skipped the part about the triskelion and the vision, of course. And the part about finding Ciara’s head in my bed earlier.

One thing we didn’t talk about? My breakup. What if I said, “I ended it with James,” and he said, “That’s nice,” and we continued on as we were?

When he suggested we grab dinner, I said I had to get home—work to do for Gabriel. He escorted me to my apartment. Grace was on the front stoop. She did a double take when I walked up with Ricky. Really, it wasn’t as if he looked like a biker. Sure, the leather-jacket-in-June could be a giveaway, but he’d slung it over his arm as soon as we’d set out.

Ricky said goodbye at the sidewalk. As I climbed the steps, Grace said, “Who’s that?”

“A friend,” I said, and walked inside.

As the door closed behind me, I stopped.

A friend . . . Did I want more than that? Hell, yes. Was I really questioning whether Ricky wanted more? No. He’d been clear about that from the start.

The truth, God help me, was that Rose was right. To a point, that is. She’d said my Ricky-versus-James conflict was lust versus duty. That oversimplified it, but there was an element of truth there. I felt a duty to James. Incredible guilt, too. More than that, I felt shame. I had loved him. I had wanted to spend my life with him. How does that evaporate in a month? What does that say about me? Nothing I want to say, that’s for sure. So I’d kept trying to find that spark again, certain it was there.

I used to say—though never aloud—that I’d started dating James when I discovered he wasn’t nearly as boring as I’d expected. But given where I came from, that bar was set pretty low. Society guys weren’t to my taste. Even the rebels were boringly predictable in their rebellion. I don’t think I really understood how constrained my world was until I left it. I met Rose and Patrick and Grace, and others who intrigued me because they were so far from my norm. And then there was Gabriel and, yes, Ricky, and compared with them—God, how I hate to say this—the light that had drawn me to James had faded into a barely noticeable glow. They were complex and fascinating and original and real. So vibrantly real. And there was the guilt, because James was a good man. A good, solid man I’d loved. Who now bored me to tears.

Then there was Ricky. Lust? My dreams called me a liar if I denied that. I wanted him. Wanted him bad. But not just as a lover. I wanted to be with him. To get to know him. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made me feel the way Ricky did. Like I was just as fascinating and complex and real as he was.

So why had I said no to dinner? Because I was an idiot. I was feeling skittish and unsettled and spooked by everything that was happening in my life. There was only one person who made me feel like my feet were firmly on the ground. And I’d let him walk away.

I hurried out the door.

—

Halfway to Main Street, I heard the roar of Ricky’s bike and broke into a jog. I reached the corner just as he was zooming past. He saw me and cut a U-turn, revving back to where I waited on the corner.

“I—” I began.

He motioned for me to wait while he pulled off his helmet. My heart tripped, willing him to hurry and get the damned thing off before I lost my nerve.

“Yes to dinner,” I said. “And a ride. Yes. I want to.”

He gave a slow, sexy grin that made my insides heat. Then he caught himself. “You sure? We can grab your car if you want. If you’re fine with the bike, like I said before, there are no strings—”

“I’m okay with strings.”

He still hesitated.

“I broke it off with James yesterday,” I said. “He wanted me to stop seeing you. I wouldn’t do that.”

He leaned over and put his hand to the back of my neck, and I knew what was coming, but when he kissed me, I still started in surprise. It was like spending the day baking at the side of a pool then finally jumping in, that initial burst of exhilarating shock, followed by a slow, exquisite chill sliding through my body, making me wonder why the hell I’d waited so long to take the plunge.

It was no quick kiss, either. It was long and deep and oh-so-delicious. It took a car passing for both of us to realize we were making out on Main Street.

After a moment’s pause to catch our breath, Ricky handed me his helmet. “Wear this. It’ll be loose, but it’s better than nothing.”

“What about you?”

“By law, I don’t have to wear one. It’s a personal choice. I’ll stick to back roads. Less traffic means a whole lot less chance I’ll need it.”

“You wear it, then. I’ll be—”