Page 108 of Ridin’ Dirty

“Here,” said Viv, pulling me from my thoughts as she nudged me with my purse. “Get gone before business picks up again and I change my mind.”

Unable to deny my curiosity, I took my purse, shoved my apron inside, and headed for the door. Pistol was already astride his Road King upon my approach. Like I’d grown accustomed, I stowed my things in one of his saddle bags and then climbed on behind him.

Reaper barked in excitement, Pistol revved his engine, I circled my arms around his middle, and then we were gone. We hit I-90 going south, and with every mile, I found myself melting around my husband a little more and a little bit more. For hours we rode—the ride a conversation in and of itself. Much as I didn’t want to give in, I couldn’t help it. The journey we were on was one we shared. The wind in our hair, the rumble of his hog between our legs, the road over which we sped, it all amounted to the bits and pieces of a language he and I both understood.

Without a word spoken between us, I was reminded how we found our way into our marriage at the same breakneck speed. Neither of us planned this. Hell, less than a month ago, we didn’t even know the other existed. Whatever we were, whatever we were going to be, it was never going to be anything other than messy.

More than that, stupid as it was for me to fall for him, I accepted the fact that it was inevitable. He was everything I dreamed I wanted since I was twenty-one years old. Men like him—rebels down to their bones—were always heartbreakers. Now, I had to decide if I was going to let him break mine.

I didn’t know if giving me time to think was part of his plan, but we rode for nearly three hours before we stopped for fuel. Even then, Pistol didn’t open the door for much conversation. He squeezed my thigh before I could move to dismount and stretch, his touch as affectionate as it was possessive.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” I answered honestly.

I didn’t tell him I’d be content to ride at his back forever.

“How much longer?”

“Thirty minutes. Forty, tops. If you’ll take Reaper to do her thing, I’ll top off and we’ll get gone.”

“Sure.”

Ten minutes later, we were back out on the road, cruising deep into Big Sky, through the Madison Range—the peak of Lone Mountain getting closer and closer. It felt like we were a million miles away from home, lost in one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been.

And then we were there.

Pistol pulled his Road King into the driveway of a two-story house easily twice the size of his. The street was lined with similar homes, each facing a big empty field, offering a sense of seclusion in spite of their neighbors. From where we were parked, I could see the foothills covered in trees was practically in the backyard.

“Climb off, angel. This is our stop,” he said from over his shoulder, pulling me from my daze.

I did as I was told, still taking in the details of our surroundings. It was after he lowered the kickstand and dismounted himself, after he unclipped Reaper and took off her goggles, that I had the wherewithal to ask, “What’s going on? What are we doing here?”

He didn’t bother looking at me as he unbuckled one of his saddle bags and extracted a small duffle. “Thought that much was obvious, babe. Stayin’ a couple days.”

“A couple days?” I felt my eyebrows disappear underneath my windswept bangs as I gaped at him. “But I didn’t even pack anything.”

He lifted the duffle as he made his way toward me and replied, “Got us covered.”

I coughed out a pathetic laugh. “That thing is hardly big enough for you, let alone both of us.”

“We won’t need much,” he said with confidence. “Plan on bein’ naked most of the trip, anyway.”

The nonchalance of his comment triggered something inside of me. I knit my eyebrows together and took a step away from him, remembering we slept in separate beds last night—and for good reason.

He may have been my husband, he may have been the man of my dreams, it was entirely possible I was going to let him break my heart, but I wasn’t going to let him walk all over me at the same time.

“You know, I really wish you would make up your mind about whose legs you’re spreading. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again⁠—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish saying anything before he closed the distance between us and took hold of my face—his thumb pressing into one cheek, while the rest of his fingers dug into the other. He leaned into me, making it impossible to look anywhere other than straight into those dark green eyes.

“Lyla, I think I’ve made it pretty damn clear who it is that I want. You want to get it twisted in that head of yours and make up shit that’s not true, wear yourself out, babe—just know that’s not on me.

“And in case you haven’t figured it out by now—didn’t bring you down here to fight all weekend. Never been married before you, but I’m certain a honeymoon is for fuckin’. House behind you has three bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a hot tub. Plan on makin’ a mess in every one of those places.” He paused and leaned in even closer, until his lips were practically touching mine. “And that’s just for starters.”

He said a whole lot, but my brain latched onto only one word, sending me into a tailspin.

Honeymoon.