Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) Read Free Page B

cheek flat against the smooth cool leather of his jacket as they spiraled downward, then onto a dirt road that plunged them deeper into the canyon.
    The sharp breeze whipped against her face and tore at her hair, loosening it from the clasp. As she filled her lungs with the heady pine-scented air, a quixotic exhilaration coursed through her…a sudden sense of freedom.
    And for a few surrealistic seconds, time suspended, her mind experiencing nothing but an acute awareness of the moment—and Rhys Gannon. The man she hated. The man whose touch had, just for a fraction of a second, made her blood rush. The man whose muscles tightened and released with each curve taken. Had they been two other people, she might have enjoyed the sensation, might have delighted in the feel of his muscular power against her body.
    But they weren’t two other people. And it was dangerous to even think like that.
    The road leveled out. As they slowed and pulled onto a flat precipice, the roar of the motor receded to a deep-throated growl. Gannon eased the bike to the edge of an escarpment overlooking a turbulent rain-swollen river that crashed against piles of rocks and boulders. The thundering crescendo echoed upward between the granite walls.
    Inhaling the musky scent of dried leaves and the chill moisture in the air, Whitney glanced around. They were surrounded by dense trees—and completely isolated.
    Her throat constricted. She looked to the angry river below. An instant helpless feeling coursed through her. Dammit. She hated feeling fearful. She hated feeling helpless even more.
    She’d learned early on that fear only generated more fear. Once she’d faced that fact and strengthened herself against it, she no longer felt helpless. For most of her life that philosophy had worked well.
    Except right now, things were out of her control. And the need to find SaraJane was so great she’d do almost anything.
    She steeled herself, forced back the emotions, and waited, body rigid, poised for escape while Gannon sat in silence, his long legs stretched out to steady the bike.
    What was he contemplating?
    Just as she spotted a narrow dirt road, Gannon gestured toward it with a wide sweep of his arm. The road ran across a small wooden bridge that spanned the river and curled up the mountain on the other side.
    She squinted. There was a house. A huge house that resembled some of the old homes in the Hamptons. She blinked…a house. A bed and breakfast?
    Gannon shifted to face her. “That’s it. The only place around here to stay.”
    “I…” God, she really did have an overactive imagination. “Will I need a reservation? It’s getting kind of late.”
    He laughed, his tone warm, almost cordial, but she couldn’t quite tell over the bike’s idling engine. And for the first time since she’d climbed onto the seat, she was conscious of Rhys Gannon’s thighs pressing hot against the insides of her own and vibrating with the steady rhythm of the engine.
    “Not in Estrade this late in the fall.” He settled himself more snugly against her, then guided the bike toward the road.
    “Think you can remember how to find the place again?” he asked over his shoulder.
    “Sure—if my brains aren’t too scrambled from the rough ride,” she said, raising her voice to be heard.
    “Ms. Sheffield,” he said, turning back. “I doubt you have any idea what a rough ride is.”
    The subtext in his words was obvious. She was about to respond, but he gunned the engine until the noise exploded and ricocheted through the canyon like fireworks.
    A sharp thrust forward jerked her backward. She clamped both arms around his waist, holding on for her life, as they roared out even faster than before.
    He opened the throttle and blasted up the mountain at breakneck speed. Her breath lodged in her throat. They skidded recklessly around the switchbacks, flirted with sheer drop-offs edging the narrow unfenced road, then whizzed within an eyelash of the jagged granite