Page 21 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

She smiled and shook her head.

Through the back window, my workbench was visible in the detached garage. Tools hung on pegboard. A half-finished project — a chair I'd been restoring — sat clamped on the surface.

Hannah walked closer to the window, looking out.

"You fix furniture?"

"Sometimes."

She glanced back at me. "I didn't know that."

"There's a lot you don't know about me yet."

Her expression softened. "I want to know it all.”

I crossed the room and cupped her face in my hands. “Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes.” She held my gaze. “I want this. Now. Knowing everything."

That was all I needed.

I kissed her slowly this time. My hands slid down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips.

She made a soft sound and pressed closer.

I walked her backward toward the hallway. She went willingly, her hands fisted in my shirt.

We made it to the bedroom before her dress hit the floor. I paused, taking in the sight of her. Curves I'd spent years pretending not to notice. Skin I'd imagined touching more times than I'd ever admit.

"Grim—"

I kissed her again before she could finish the sentence.

My shirt came off next. Then my belt. Then everything else.

When I finally laid her back on the bed, I forced myself to slow down. This wasn't something to rush. Not after waiting this long.

I traced the line of her collarbone with my mouth. Kissed the hollow of her throat. Felt her pulse jump under my lips.

Her hands slid into my hair, tugging gently. "You're taking your time," she said, breathless.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I want to remember this."

Her breath hitched.

My mouth trailed lower. Over her ribs. Across her waist. I stopped at the spot just beneath her navel where her breath caught.

She said my name. "Evan."

My hands stilled on her hips. "Say it again."

"Evan."

I put my mouth against her hipbone and stayed there until she moved under me. Then I let her.