Sometimes it was easier to let people assume something than it was to sit them down and explain the truth. And there was no harm in letting them think there was more going on between her and Kowalskin than there really was. It gave them something to talk about.

If there was a tiny part of her that thrilled at the idea of people thinking she and Peter were an item, she tried very hard to ignore it. It was wrong anyway. Wasn’t it?

“All right, you got me out here,” she said after the crowd had dispersed. “Now what are you going to do with me?”

The man had his hat back on and looked like a whole mess of trouble, an arresting cross between intense athlete and soulful artist. The unexpected blend did funny things to her. And when he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes with an expression that promised her the most erotic time of her life if she were so inclined, her panties went instantly damp.

But when it came right down to it they were completely and utterly incompatible. For whatever reason, when the moment of truth came she just didn’t do it for him. The proof of it had been humiliating and deflating.

She gave Peter a tough time because the fact of it was that she still felt the sting of his rejection every single stinking time she was around him. One moment he’d been all hot and heavy on her and then, boom! Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

Wet, limp noodle.

And now the man wanted a date and a do-over. Why? What did it matter to him?

More importantly, what did it matter to her?

She adjusted the strap of the duffle bag slung over her shoulder as he said, “Leave your bag and I’ll drop you back here when we’re done. I’m taking you places.”

Leslie spotted his bright blue Ducati parked next to her Mini Cooper and swallowed a grin. She’d been dying to get the chance to ride on his snazzy crotch rocket. Not that she’d ever let him know that. He’d just get an even bigger head and lord it over her at every opportunity. Like he needed more to be egotistical about anyway.

Although she really wanted to leap on the back of his motorcycle and holler, “Freedom, baby!” with her hands in the air, she rolled her eyes and pretended reluctance. “Really, Peter? I don’t have a helmet and you’re wearing a hat.” She pinned him with a suspicious stare. “Why are you wearing a hat, by the way? Did you not wear a helmet?”

The guy was reckless but he wasn’t normally stupid.

“I was a good boy. I just shoved it in the front of my jacket after I zipped it up.” He took his hat off and held it out to her. “But that wasn’t the most ingenious idea so why don’t you toss this in your pitiful excuse of a car and we’ll get going?”

She took offense and snatched the fedora out of his hands. “My car is not a pitiful excuse. Mini Driver is fabulous and you know it.” Yes, she’d named her car after the actress. Come on. How could she not?

He smirked. The gall of the man, making fun of her beloved automobile. Now she was back to feeling annoyed.

“Call it whatever you want, but it isn’t a real car unless you can put the seats back and screw in it. Can you?” The look he shot her clearly said he doubted it.

And honestly . . . “I don’t know.” It hadn’t been tested.

Peter raised an eyebrow, giving her a Look with a capital L, pitching her stomach off-center. It wasn’t fair.

“We’re wasting valuable time, girl. Toss it in and let’s ride.”

Caving because she was curious, Leslie dumped her stuff and grabbed a jacket that had fallen onto the floor. It was a black, fitted jacket that Mark had bought for her to celebrate her first winter snowstorm. The material was lightweight, but high-tech and super warm. Tossing it on, she zipped it up to her chin and shoved a pair of gloves in her pockets just in case. Leslie turned around and found Peter already on the Ducati unstrapping a helmet for her from the bike’s seat.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked as she took the glossy black helmet from him and put it on.

He grinned and flipped the visor down on his own helmet. “You’ll find out soon enough. Hop on.”

She did just that, and when she was on the back of his shiny sports bike, he fired it up. The way the motorcycle was designed she had to raise her legs up high to reach the foot pedals. Her knees cradled his hard body, and when he grabbed one of her hands and pulled her forward, putting it around his waist, Leslie found herself effectively wrapped all around him.

Peter revved the engine and the sleek machine vibrated beneath her with barely leashed power, making her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Nice.

Leslie smiled. Whatever he had up his sleeves was going to be all kinds of fun.

“Punch it, Kowalskin,” she demanded, suddenly very eager to get on with the spontaneous adventure.

The pitcher revved the engine again and yelled over the noise, “Hold on tight!”

With that he kicked the Ducati in gear and leapt into the road. Her ass greeted air and she scrambled forward, wrapping her arms tight around Peter like he was her lifeline. His laughter trailed behind him and he shifted gears again, making the motorcycle leap like a stallion, no doubt just to make her squeal.

It totally worked.

She screamed like a frightened schoolgirl and her thighs gripped his hips tightly, her fingers digging into his supple leather jacket at his belly. The man was solid as a rock everywhere. Absolutely everywhere.

She wasn’t sure that anything could feel better. Except maybe kittens. But the feel of Kowalskin’s sculpted muscles flexed and ready had her thinking that maybe it was a toss-up. In fact, if she had to choose between a soft, fluffy kitten to pet or Peter, she was pretty sure at this moment she’d choose him.

Hot men on hotter motorcycles were a total turn-on.

She’d never been able to resist the combination. It had landed her in some very hot water when she was a rebellious seventeen-year-old. Back then she’d taken one look at Billy Wayne Tucker with his crooked grin and beat-up dirt bike and fallen head over heels for the cocky Southern boy.

For an entire summer she’d ridden around on the back of that old bike in a daze of hormones, convinced that it was true love. And it had been—her first, tender foray into the complex emotion. Everything about the kid had called to her, his wild-child ways an irresistible beacon to her carefree soul.

That summer he took her heart and her virginity and filled her up with romance and sweet promises under the stars. And when she found out she was pregnant her first time out of the gate, he solemnly promised to love her forever with big, sincere eyes and then went straight down to the local recruiting office and signed his life away to the U.S. Navy, bailing town the very next day.

Soon after that she’d miscarried, whether from the broken heart she’d suffered or her physiology she’d never know. But it had been for the best, and no one—not even Mark—knew the whole sordid truth about why he’d left and how hurt she’d been. Or how terrified she’d been to find herself pregnant, and how devastated she’d been to go through the miscarriage alone. But most especially, how she still thought sometimes about the kid that had almost been and felt a little sad.

Regardless, she’d learned a hard lesson about the very real dangers of losing her heart to a man. For more than a decade she avoided those kinds of men, choosing instead dependable types that never quite reached her heart. It kept her safe and in control. Even her ex John had never meant more to her than a reliable warm body. And yeah, she knew how that made her sound. So sue her.

It had worked too.

Right up until her reliable and nonthreatening tax accountant boyfriend defrauded the American government in her name and ruined her life.

Peter shifted in his seat and began leaning to the right as he hit the on-ramp to the interstate headed west toward Golden and the mountains, grabbing her attention. Gripping harder, Leslie leaned with him, her body pressed up against him like she was stuck on Velcro. And it felt good. Really, really good.

They cruised along the Peak to Peak Highway, looking at the autumn leaves and enjoying the mighty Rocky Mountains in their golden glory. The aspens were absolutely stunning this fall, and Leslie ogled the richly colored leaves, taking it all in. So different it all was from where she’d grown up in rural northern Florida. As much as she loved palm trees and giant elephant ears, it was Colorado with its unpredictable climate and gorgeous rugged scenery that had her heart.

Kind of like Kowalskin.

Leslie sighed and relaxed against him as they neared the turn off to Peaceful Valley. Thinking that he was going to take her on a short hike, she was surprised when he ignored the sign and kept on driving. Then they turned off the main road and wandered a maze of dirt roads until they came to a small lane blocked by a NO TRESPASSING sign hung on barbed wire fencing. The lane was really nothing more than two ruts that headed back into a small forest of aspens and stately pines.

They slowed almost to a stop at the entrance and she shouted, “Are we going in there?”

Far off in the distance to her right she thought she could see the horns of a large bull elk. It didn’t look like the kind of place for a casual stroll.

Peter shouted back, “Sure we are. It’s where the surprise is at,” and started down the road, which slowly enveloped them in golden leaves and dappling light.

It was breathtaking.

The slender lane meandered back along the floor of a small valley. About a half mile in they rounded a bend in the road and the view opened up before them. A flat meadow sprawled out, dotted with aspen groves and a slow, wandering creek. Leslie’s eyes widened as the stream lead to the valley wall on the far side and she saw a rushing waterfall framed by huge pines. It pooled into a small sub-alpine lake with water the same color as Peter’s eyes.