Disengaged: A Dangerously Forbidden Love Affair Read Free

to and wondered how fast I could get there if I took off and sprinted. But then I realized that these people would know where to find me, and suddenly the rumbling bike and the harsh gray eyes of its rider gained an entirely new degree of appeal. Survival.
    Before I was settled on the back of his bike, the first I’d ever been on in my life, he took off. I swear I would’ve flown off the back if he had not reached back and pulled my arm around him, gripped my wrist to his chest.
    At times like this, when you’re in mortal danger, you should not be hyper-aware of every God given sense you have. Well, at least if you are aware of them, they should be about getting your ass out of trouble, not walking into it.
    I should not have felt a frenzied rush explode through me as I leaned forward and conformed my body to his—we fit too perfectly, like the kind of perfectly that gave me all kinds of ideas I didn’t need right then. I shouldn’t have noticed how ridged his chest was, much less breathe in a scent that I was sure was all Slayton—a deep, rich musk wrapped in sin. But I did.
    At maddening speeds, we raced well into the dawn. His fierceness had me glancing over my shoulder wondering exactly who or what we were outrunning. Each time I dared to look back or pull away, he’d grip me tighter to him and grunt.
    The sun was breaching the horizon when we stopped just along the train yard next to aisles of rundown storage units. Ironically, we were all of five blocks from where we started, on the outskirts of the rundown, now abandoned, industrial part of town. My father once told me it wasn’t safe to even look in this direction much less think about walking toward it. Which is exactly why anxiety was slaughtering my fandom for the bad boy I was gripping.
    I didn’t move those first few seconds. He had silently scorned me every time I’d tried to sit back, so I decided it was a bad idea to try again. But then again, leaning forward literally wrapping my body around a stranger on a speeding bike didn’t make much sense either, true.
    It was the manly grunt from him that had me retreating. I didn’t realize my hands were shaking, that my entire body was, until I shed the helmet he’d given me. From his seat on the bike, his devastatingly beautiful looks and an ever-growing critical eye struck me. I swear I felt every place his gaze roved over me. Hyper aware came up far too short when it came to how I was breathing all of him in. I could tell you how many breaths he was taking, what muscle tensed and when. Every expression he’d made was ingrained in my memory.
    Without a word he dismounted then walked casually as ever to a unit door in front of his bike. Dumbfounded, and slowly becoming rightfully appalled, I followed him. By the time I had reached him, he had the door to the storage unit lifted then pushed it down to where it was just a few feet from the ground. I stared as a light flicked on inside, and heard music as it kicked on. Under the thick sound of guitars, I heard something heavy move across the cement floor.
    The wise thing to do would have been to run, bolt and run to the job I was already late for, but I had never been a wise one. Well, at least my stubbornness and quiet temper had kept me from appearing to be so. I knelt down to get a peek inside. Right as I did, he pulled the gate door up a bit, ducked under it, glared at me then moved double time toward his bike.
    I went to follow him, but I was too busy checking out what was inside the unit. Is he living here? To the left, there was a double mattress sitting on wooden pallets. It was somewhat made. Next to it was a mini-fridge, microwave, and a lamp. On the back wall, there was a row of tool chests, high dollar red and chrome ones. To the right of the room hung a massive punching bag, and just to the side of it were weights. I imagined the empty space next to the far wall was where the bike he left outside went.
    Realizing I was gawking I turned to