“I don’t know—” Before Hoyt could finish responding, the roar of two full throttles drowned out his voice. Two bikes came racing towards us, both men wearing helmets, but I could tell without a doubt that Reid was on the right.
He had the same posture, the same style. The same hard determination that he’d always had when riding—gripping the handles and twisting the throttle like it was exactly what he’d been put on this earth to do. I’d been watching him ride since I was fourteen. Ever since I skipped jumping into the pool with Hoyt, took my first ride on the back of Reid’s bike and got the scar on the inside of my left calf. I’d been wearing shorts, a mistake I never made again, when I bumped it on the motor.
I’d been trying to fade it away for years—coco butter, vitamin E, whatever suggestion I could find on the Internet for removing scars. But, just like remembering how Reid rode his bike, the scar had stuck with me.
I caught myself nervously tucking my hair behind my ear. I wasn’t there to see Reid. I was here to do a job. I straightened my stance and held my shoulders back. I wasn’t some easily distracted kid anymore. I refused to let him affect all the hard work I’d put into forgetting about him.
“I just need a corporate signature.” I held up the papers in my hand and tried to pretend like I didn’t see his face when he pulled his helmet off. I also pretended to ignore that I didn’t see the tight stretch of his jeans across his thighs as he sat there on his bike trying to figure out if it was actually me standing on his property. The afternoon sunlight shone behind him—the light breaking around his broad shoulders and head full of thick, dark hair. There was a hitch in my breathing that I covered by clearing my throat.
“I can sign it,” Hoyt said, reaching out to grab the papers from my hand.
“Actually, it’s my name on the deed, little brother,” the timbre of Reid’s voice sent a delicious chill down my spine that I tried to ignore. Between the halo of sunlight, the cadence of his voice, and the way he stepped down off his bike, I found myself unable to keep from looking directly at him. I glanced his way, just in time to watch as he pulled up the bottom of his threadbare T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.
Sweet Jesus. I had to pray that he didn’t notice my eyes widen and me damn near drooling.
Just like his brother, Reid Travers had grown up. He had always been attractive, but time and professional racing had done something to his features and body that he should have thanked the good Lord every day for. His jawline and nose seemed more chiseled. His eyes wiser and brighter. Well-worn jeans hung around his hips, the waistband sitting just below a set of abs that had me thinking all kinds of things—none of which had anything to do with a real estate transaction. While my stomach was a knot of nervousness, below that something inside of me was coiling so tightly that the possibility of shooting straight into the sky seemed feasible. Especially if he kept looking at me the way he was. His brown eyes were locked on mine and I was helpless to look away.
“Nora Bennett,” he said as he closed the distance between us. He ran his hand down his jawline, the days’ worth of stubble only adding to his new all-grown-up appeal. “How are you?”