Wilder

She smiled at him. “Not at all. I’m glad they’re coming.”

“Already here!” I heard through the open door and turned to see Little John standing with his arms open.

I fought my immediate urge to dive behind the bed to hide my shorts-clad legs and held my ground. If he asked, then I’d simply have to answer.

Paxton hugged him, the sounds of vigorous backslapping echoing in the tile-floored guesthouse. “Good to see you!”

“Me? What about you two? So busy heating up Istanbul that you couldn’t get your asses to the ship on time?”

“And so the invasion begins,” Mrs. Wilder said with a conspiratorial wink in my direction. “John, it’s good to see you.”

“You, too, Mrs. Wilder.” He swiped his ball cap off his head. “Thank you for having us.”

“It’s my pleasure. Also, the crane should be functional in the next hour or so.” She kissed Paxton’s cheek on her way out. “Keep the foam in the pit, dear. It was a bitch to clean up last time.”

“Crane? Foam?” I asked. “Do I even want to know?”

Paxton wrapped his arms around me despite the fact that John was there. Guess we’re public. “You’ll want to watch.”

“Oh really?” I looped my arms around his neck, energy humming through me from the simple contact of his body against mine. Last night I’d only gotten a chaste good-night kiss, which had played in my head all day.

He nodded. “Oh yeah. And you know if you get—”

I pushed him back with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Red flag.”

He gave me a panty-dropping smile. “Exactly.” Then he moved in close enough to whisper in my ear, “And your ass is incredible in those shorts. See you down there, Firecracker.”

I watched them walk toward the track, grateful that it was only Little John here. At least I didn’t have to worry about someone trying to sabotage or hurt Paxton. I tied back my hair with a bandana before I followed. One thing I’d learned about Paxton? If he said I’d want to watch…

Then he was about to do something worth watching.

…

I wasn’t sure I could watch it again. Yet I still sat there, my ass growing more numb by the second. But how the hell was I going to walk away?

Paxton repeatedly drove his freestyle bike at dizzying speeds from the back of the track until he hit the tallest ramp I’d ever seen, flying off it and flipping.

Every time he jumped the ramp. Every time the metal thing at the end of the ramp allowed him to fling himself into the air so he could flip forward. Every time my world slowed as he rotated, bringing the bike around with him until he came crashing back to earth, landing in the giant foam pit. Sometimes he landed vertically, almost nailing the rotation. Other times the bike came down on top of him.

My breath held. Every. Single. Time.

I only started breathing again when he gave me the thumbs-up from the pit. Then he latched the bike onto the hook of the crane and Little John lifted it out.

They talked about what went right or wrong. Then it started all over again.

They paused for lunch, then dinner, then kept at it until the sun went down. If I was this sore from watching him, I couldn’t imagine how his body felt.

He swore, punched at the foam, yelled out his frustration, but he never quit, never gave up. He was incredible. I’d known it all along, but that had been watching him twist and turn, completing impossible tricks. But now that I watched what it took for him to be the best, I was awestruck.

All through the day he’d told me to head down to the beach, that he didn’t want me wasting my entire day watching him work. But I was glued in place, unable to move for the fear that I’d miss the first time he did it, or the inevitable hospital trip if things went wrong.

I was paralyzed by the growing understanding of what it meant to love someone as extraordinary as Paxton, knowing that the risks he took were something he’d never change because they were an integral part of him. And like his tattoos, I might occasionally forget they were there, but it was only because I already saw them as part of his skin.

He would always be a daredevil.

That realization was as terrifying as it was sexy, watching this man I loved pushing his body to the limit of what it could endure.

This was the reason every muscle of his body was defined with purpose, why he looked like the Greek god he was when he took off his shirt.

Speaking of which.

He unclipped his chest protector, leaving him in a tight black Under Armour shirt. “I’m calling it. I can’t see far enough ahead of me to make this safe,” he said, motioning to the darkening sky. “If we were home I’d turn on the stadium lights, but we don’t have them here.”

I stumbled to my feet, feeling rushing to the parts of my body that had fallen asleep. “Good. It forces you to break for the night.”

“I can’t believe you sat here all day and watched.” He brushed his hand over my cheek. The look on his face wasn’t quite defeat, but it wasn’t victory, either. It was a weary, bone-deep exhaustion.

“I heard it was the best show on the island,” I said, leaning up on my tiptoes to brush my lips against his. “Paxton?” I looked up at him under my lashes and ran my hands along the waistline of his pants dampened with sweat.

“Leah?” His lids lowered, taking on that look that sent heat spiraling through me, electrifying my nerves.

“You smell.”