Bait and switch. That’s what it was, I grumbled mentally. I replayed in my mind how we’d ended up parked in an isolated canyon.
After Ryder stated that he had a place where we could talk, we’d hit the Pacific Coast Highway. It was a short twenty-minute jaunt off of Sunset Boulevard, past all the fancy homes with the vast estates and silly-looking topiaries. I, of course, was shuddering with relief that I would not be found dumped at the base of the Hollywood sign or have something equally horrifying happen to me. I was slightly uncomfortable that I had to bunch my dress up to my hips in order to swing on behind Ryder, but what the hell? I figured it for a goner anyway. It had ripped seams and ground-in dirt after I’d been thrown to the ground by my attackers.
In any case, I figured further damage to the dress was worth it, if the beautiful ocean, vast and blue, would continue meeting my gaze to the west as we made our way along the PCH.
I’d felt so helpless during my attack. It left me with a new, permanent recognition of my own vulnerability, making me fearful for my safety clear down to my bones. My lesson for the day was a horrifying revelation: if someone truly wants to hurt you, no amount of preparation is going to save you. My bubble of naïveté, where I was safe as long as I followed all the rules (be in public places with other people around, don’t go out alone after dark) was gone, which made me feel weepy, weak and wimpy.
I hated that! I needed to be strong. I couldn’t risk falling apart. There wouldn’t be anyone there to help pick up the pieces, and then where would I be?
But that was too much to think about. Instead, I concentrated on the soothing colors and rolling, repetitive motion of the waves, which allowed tranquility to descend. My overwrought emotions were calmed, allowing the horror of the afternoon to temporarily slide away on the cool breeze.
I rested the side of my helmeted head on Ryder’s back, my arms clinging to his ribs with my hands resting on the warmth of his hard abs. In a purely primitive way, a deep sense of satisfaction bloomed with the knowledge that Ryder was savagely protective of me. It was somehow giving me a sense of connection to him. Belonging.
I frowned as my internal compass flashed a yellow warning light. How could I be so cavalier? This wasn’t real. It was the situation, the life-and-death dramatics of it all, creating the feelings. Logically, that made sense. I mean, how much did we really know each other? But I really like him...
Disappointment threatened to cloud my fragile peace. Thinking about all this deep, introspective stuff was taking too much energy when I just wanted to relax, so I let those thoughts float off on the breeze and focused on the present. Closing my eyes briefly, I felt pure pleasure in just experiencing the ride—the bare skin of my inner thighs rubbing against his denim, my breasts pressed against his back and a motor vibrating beneath me. Very stimulating. It was the first time I’d ever been on a motorcycle, and I found it was definitely something I could get used to.
There were a number of canyon roads along the way, and it was on one of these that Ryder turned off, cutting right and heading away from the inviting sandy beach. A pang of disappointment echoed softly at the loss, but only for a moment. It was a quiet road. No other cars pulled off with us. He followed lazily along the twisting, winding route, where hills of dry grasses, green shrubs and large oak trees grew happily.
I was enjoying the serenity of nature and appreciating the beautiful scenery when, with no warning other than a terse “Hold on tight,” he veered off the paved street and onto the rolling hills! What was this? Motocross? I didn’t sign on for this!
Don’t worry. The bike’s modified. It can handle this.
In spite of his reassurance, my heart jumped into my throat and pounded with the force of a sledgehammer. The grinding, protesting motor was revved hard, so the bike’s tires dug into the wild ground covering and roughly launched us through the rocky terrain, kicking up bits of sand and gravel as they sought purchase. Hanging on tightly, I was white-knuckling each dip and turn, so that whole tranquility piece I’d been feeling got shot to hell.
There were several minutes of the bone-jarring ride, and I could feel Ryder’s powerful muscles flexing, adjusting, controlling the powerful, vibrating motor that sent us surging over the land. It seemed like a fight just to stay upright. The rocky part of the ride felt like it took hours, but in all likelihood, it was probably about ten minutes total before we came to a stop and shut down the engine.
It took a moment to realize that we were there, wherever “there” was.
Ryder pulled his helmet off, his thick, dark hair ruffled and damp with sweat.
“You okay?” He spoke quietly over his shoulder.
“Peachy,” I muttered, a little put off that he hadn’t warned me about what I was getting into before we started.
Unclenching my fingers from the death grip I had on him, I looked around to find that we were parked in the middle of nowhere near a canyon wall with rocky, boulder-like outcroppings and a shallow little cave. It was no wonder the ride had been so uncomfortable. There wasn’t even a trail where we were parked. There was no even ground, just rock, scrub brush and trees.
What the hell are we doing here?
With the engine off, it was eerily silent except for the quiet whisper of the breeze brushing through the leaves and bushes. We were quite isolated, and though I had to admit the setting was lovely, I had my first misgivings about being so far removed from any other people. Something about coming here was getting my Spidey senses tingling.
“This is where you wanted to go?” I asked hesitantly, pulling off the helmet and looking around as he took it from me.
Ryder turned in his seat and held my gaze. Sounding dictatorial, he demanded, “Trust me.”
He held out his hand, which was kind of symbolic. To take it was to agree to this. I stared at it a moment, noting it was large and bronzed, containing calluses and a few faint scars. With my mental shield already down from calling to him when I was being kidnapped, I tried to see if I could sense any thoughts or feelings coming from him. He was a natural at shielding himself, so I got nothing and released a deep sigh. In that moment, I decided that I’d already jumped down the rabbit hole. I needed to find the bottom in order to reach normal again. Besides, where else was I going to go?
“Here goes...” I murmured, more to reassure myself than anything because, hello, we were deliberately parking in the canyon without another soul in shouting distance.
“You’ll be safe,” he said firmly, reading me expertly. With burning eyes, he vowed, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I believed him.
So here I was. Waiting. Watching. Wondering. What was going to happen next? At this point, my ability to think things through logically was lost to me. This whole situation hadn’t followed a predictable process, but neither had it made sense that Frank might wish death on me.
With an ease that spoke of regular precaution, Ryder gave a sharp look around, scoping the view to make sure no one was lurking about, obviously not wanting to expose what we were doing. He strode determinedly toward one of the larger rocks next to the canyon wall. This meant maneuvering around and over different-sized rocks and boulders, which required balance and full muscle control. Expecting someone his size to be clumsier, I was surprised to discover he moved with grace and agility. He bypassed the small cave.