No.
Scared.
She loved her parents—God, she loved them. But Terrel and Gladys Moore shared a special connection that had always made Cherrie feel like a third wheel on a date. Her father was one of those lucky people who’d found love twice in this lifetime. He’d worshipped Cherrie’s mother, and when she died just before Cherrie turned ten, he’d been a ghost, a shade of the laughing, robust man he’d been. Until Gladys came along. She’d breathed life into him again.
Growing up and witnessing that kind of love had ignited a hunger for something that essential. But it’d also instilled in her a bone-deep fear of it. The thought of loving someone to that degree terrified her, because what happened when they left?
And in Cherrie’s experience, they always left.
Her gaze roamed Maddox’s face, dropping to the sensual lure of his mouth. But this time, she was doing the leaving. In two weeks. That’s how long she had here in Rose Bend before she returned to Chicago. Why shouldn’t she take, indulge? This vacation was about freedom for her. Freedom to ride. Freedom to be herself without condemnation.
Freedom to lose herself in the temporary pleasure of this man’s eyes, mouth and body.
“Cherrie?”
She watched his lips form her name. Absorbed the impact of it as it trembled through her.
Lifting her gaze to his, she whispered, “We’re going to have sex, aren’t we?”
“No.”
Shock and humiliation jolted through her, and she stiffened, heat pouring into her face. This was what she got when she took a chance. And this was exactly why she didn’t.
“Sorry, I misread the signs,” she said, stepping back and away from him.
Or she tried to. His hands slid to her waist, tightening, holding her in place. And that only sparked the anger kindling inside her.
“Cherrie, look at me.” He didn’t wait for her to comply, but pinched her chin and tilted her head back. She should’ve been irritated at that, too, but then his thumb brushed her bottom lip, pressing into her flesh. As if testing its buoyancy. The words charging onto her tongue skidded to a halt, and she stared at him. Just as he’d requested. Or ordered. “You didn’t misread anything. And you’re too beautiful a woman to not be able to tell when a man wants you. Yes, we’re going to have sex. From the moment you walked through the door of my bar, all I’ve been able to think about is touching you, discovering what secrets this lovely body hides. But...” He nudged her chin higher, and the pressure on her lip eased into a light caress. If she didn’t know they were talking about a vacation fling, she might’ve even called the touch...reverent. “But I want to know you, Cherrie. Not just what makes you shake in pleasure, but you. So yes, we’re going to have sex, but not tonight.”
Need, panic and confusion swirled in her head. No-strings sex for a two-week Berkshires fling. That’s what she wanted; that’s what she could handle. Getting to know him meant strings as deceptively delicate and titanium-strong as a spider’s web. She’d just untangled herself from an unhealthy relationship that she’d let linger too long. And Maddox Holt, he was temptation wrapped in golden, inked skin, honeyed words and secret desires.
No, she didn’t want to get to know him.
Because she suspected that would make leaving him all the more difficult.
“Let me go,” she softly ordered him. Immediately, his hands dropped away from her. “I don’t want that. I’m sorry.”
Regret pulsed hot and bright in her veins, but she took one step back. Then another. And another until she’d crossed the room, made her excuses to Daryl and Belinda, then exited the bar.
She’d come to Rose Bend to sell jewelry and enjoy the motorcycle rally as she did every year. Not for an ill-conceived fling. It was a good thing that any thought of being with Maddox Holt had come to a screaming halt. Nothing but trouble would’ve probably come of that.
Yes, she’d dodged a giant, redheaded bullet.
And if a kernel of emptiness lodged just under her rib cage at the thought, well, so be it. Rather an empty heart now than a broken one later.
CHAPTER TWO
HARLEYS. DUCATIS. BUSAS. YAMAHAS.
Maddox rolled to a stop behind the fifty or so motorcycles of all makes and models filling Main Street, creating quite a spectacle for the first ride of the rally. The number of riders would swell to double this size by tomorrow, and even more in the coming week. The whole town of Rose Bend opened its proverbial doors for bikers from all over the country for the rally. The beautification committee decked out the buildings in banners, motorcycle-themed bows and white lights. On the Glen, a huge field at the end of Main, several volunteers hosted barbecues and picnics, while more volunteers set up sponsored events and games for the annual visitors and their families. All the proceeds from the rally benefited the This Is Home Foundation, an organization that ran the youth home for foster children in town.
This Saturday morning, even at a little before eight o’clock, a good crowd of Rose Bend’s citizens gathered on the sidewalks. Chatter and children’s excited squeals filled the air that still held the coolness of a Berkshires night. In another two hours, the temperature would rise to about eighty-five degrees. Perfect for the ride around gorgeous Mount Everett.
Pride expanded inside Maddox until it threatened to burst through his chest. He might be a transplant here, but this small, quaint town in the shadows of Monument Mountain and Mount Everett was home. For a person who hadn’t been able to label any place that—a home—for twenty-three of his thirty-one years, it was a minor miracle. It’d been fate and a random road trip that had brought him here eight years ago, and a case of love at first sight that had kept him here. As a child of a musician mother who’d called a tour bus home for most of her decades-long career, Maddox had seen a ton of this country, and a good amount of countries abroad. But none of those places had resounded in his soul, crying out to the part of him that longed for stability, for a place where he could stay long enough to receive junk mail. A home.
Rose Bend was more than a place where he’d bought a house and a dive bar.
It was a haven for a boy-turned-adult who’d been afraid to make friends because he knew that he would only be leaving them behind. But now... He glanced around, soaking in Main Street with its charming brick buildings, colorful awnings, leafy trees and inviting benches. Now he not only had friends. He had friends he considered family.
Speaking of...
His gaze narrowed on Daryl and Belinda Barnes. The couple had been one of the first he’d met when he’d arrived in town, and they been good friends since. The woman with them, sitting astride a burgundy-and-black Suzuki Hayabusa 1300, though—nothing about her inspired “friendly.”