Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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Relief washed over Zoya when the county clerk didn't recognize the name Dove St. Clair, and the subsequent name change to Zoya. Roman had been right. The missing heiress was old news, and no one remembered.
At nine-thirty, Roman drove the Camry into the lot at the rental place and reclaimed his Harley. He stuffed the paperwork into the saddlebag and secured her duffle with a bungee cord. He handed her the only helmet, then straddled the seat, and her heart kicked up at the memory how those strong thighs had boxed her in hours earlier.
She eyed the bike from front to back. "What kind is this?" She didn't care about the answer. Only wanted time to work up the courage to actually get on the metal monster.
He grinned. "Street Glide Chopper. It's badass, right?"
Zoya swallowed hard. This might have been a bad decision on her part. The machine had appeared harmless enough parked at the farmhouse, but now that she was standing next to all that black metal and chrome, it looked dangerous. Like the rider. "Yeah. Badass."
He cut his dark eyes over at her and his mouth quirked up. "We're ready to roll. You ready to ride?"
She pulled the helmet on, took her place behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Hold on, baby." The engine came to life, and he shot out of the parking lot onto the highway.
She yelped, tightened her grip, and felt his laughter vibrate against her chest. He was testing her, or trying to scare her. She wasn't sure which. Zoya Hart wouldn't be fazed, but Zoya St. Clair's stomach spiraled. She was anything but a biker chick.
He took the ramp onto the interstate and weaved in and out of traffic with such ease, it was like a choreographed dance with him leading. The wind tore at his hair, whipping strands at the nape of his neck.
As soon as he got out of the city, he took the first exit onto a state highway. Apparently, he was taking the scenic route. Fine by her. Having her arms wrapped around him, feeling the muscles in his back flex against her, and the vibration between her legs, turned out to be a good combination.
As they rode, she let her mind drift to planning the wedding—and facing Marion. As soon as Zoya got home, she'd find a dress online and have it shipped overnight. Roman would need a suit. She closed her eyes and thought back to the banquet and how handsome he'd been dressed up. But he looked good in everything—and nothing. Especially nothing.
Her thoughts bounced around between style, fabric, flowers, and cake. Even with a simple ceremony, tradition was important. Lace. She wanted a dress with lace. She could wear her mothers, but it was in storage. Fiona had a key to the place, but she might not find it among all the other stuff. But she needed to contact her and ask her to give her away. Other than Stella, Fiona was the closest person she had to family.
She shook her head. This would be more complicated than she first thought. Whatever she decided, news of her pending nuptials had to be kept secret.
