MAYA'S POV:
The sound of Rafe’s motorcycle was the only thing loud enough to drown out the screaming questions in my head. I was plastered against his back, my fingers locked together over his stomach, holding on for dear life as he rode through the late-night traffic.
I was wearing his leather jacket, and it was huge on me. It smelled exactly like him—a little bit of cedar and that expensive tobacco. The wind whipped around us, but I was burning up. With every turn and gear shift, my chest pressed firmly against his muscular back. I felt a lot of things I shouldn’t feel, and it brought a lot of thoughts to my head. Thoughts no one should hear or could hear about.
Can he feel them? I asked myself as my breasts kept pressing into him. I squeezed my eyes shut, thanking the goddess that we
