Closer Than Before

Sienna

I didn't want to go. Didn't even want to get ready. And yet, by five, I found myself finishing my work early, replying to emails, doing my hair, adding a little makeup, and even picking out a cute outfit.

Maybe... because I knew Mom would side with Alex anyway.

Yeah. That was it. Nothing else.

I dabbed a little perfume on my wrists and neck, and my phone binged. I already knew who it was.

"Are you ready, or do I need to come up and get your ass down here?"

So aggressive, considering I was fully ready. Oh well. He didn't know that.

"Wait a minute," I texted back, confused at how... normal I felt texting him. Was something wrong with me?

Contrary to my thoughts, I grabbed my shoulder bag and walked downstairs, humming a tune. Mom sprawled on the couch, popcorn in hand, glued to the TV. God, she was adorable.

"Oh my dear Evelyn," I chuckled as I reached her, kissing her cheek before snagging a piece of popcorn. "When are you going to drop your obsession with dramas?"

As I turned to leave, she sat up, mouth full.

"Wait..." Her words were garbled but I understood. "Where are you going?"

"With a friend. I'll be back soon—don't worry."

"Wait! What friend?" She swallowed and paused the TV, looking at me.

I sighed. "It's Alex, Mom."

"Oh." Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. I quickly leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "No more questions—I'm out."

The lift carried me down as I tuned mom's questions down, and as I stepped outside, I froze.

A bike. Black. Massive—like a monster.

A man leaned casually against it—a man I knew.

"A bike?" I whispered, glancing at it, then at him. His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate. My choice of long jeans and a crop top suddenly felt... both smart and pointless. He could see through it all. He always could.

"You look cute," he said after a long, appraising moment.

Before I could respond, his hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer, pressing me between his legs.

I blinked, startled, my heart lurching. His face was dangerously close, his breath brushing my skin. My pulse raced, and I struggled to breathe normally.

"Ever been on a bike, Flower?" His voice was low, smooth, tinged with amusement. Mint and something else—something him—hit me, sparking a dangerous heat I tried to ignore. Something about him was strangely...enchanting.

"I... don't clearly remember," I admitted, swallowing hard.

Calm down, Sienna.

That smirk—oh God, that smirk—spread across his lips. "Then what do you remember? That crappy scent of worn leather and your ex's dirty car?"

My jaw dropped. "You are actually a fucking asshole!" I shoved him and stepped back.

He chuckled at my reaction, then grabbed a helmet and placed it over my head.

"Hey—" I started, but he lifted the visor just enough to see me.

"Let's go, Flower." His smile was unreadable behind the visor, but I could feel it.

"Where are we going?" I asked, though a part of me didn't want to know.

"That's a surprise."

He mounted the bike, and the engine roared like a beast—louder than a car, startling me. My stomach fluttered. What the hell was this thing? Custom-made? Limited edition? Of course it was. Alexander Grayson didn't do ordinary. He was the kind of rich where the world bent to his whims, ten, twenty times over.

"Are you good at driving it?"

"I'm as good at this as I am at... fucking." His eyes gleamed, and though I couldn't see his smirk, I felt it.

"Well, then—" I climbed on behind him, clutching him, heart hammering. "Now I'm scared for my life."

And he wasn't offended that I had called him "poor at fucking." Instead, he laughed. Third time—suddenly it felt like a thrill I wanted to savor, like a dare: I wanted to hear it ten times, maybe more. Didn't know I had this in my bucket list.

He glanced back at me, eyes locking onto mine as if he could see straight through me. "You should be," he said, lowering his visor just slightly. "Because I am too fucking good at it. You might actually feel like you've died... and come back to life."

With a snap of his fingers, he lowered my visor too—and then—suddenly—he chopped the throttle.

I screamed, crashing into him, body pressing flush against his. My hands gripped him tight, my chest pressed to his back, and the world blurred into wind and adrenaline.

He chuckled low in my ear. "Hold on tight, Flower. We're about to fly."

"Alex! You better be careful and—" I barely got the words out before he accelerated, and another scream tore from me, muffled by the helmet.

I clung to him, heart hammering, stomach twisting in equal parts terror and... something else. My mind screamed, Well... I might as well just die of embarrassment after this ride ends

***

What had started as a scare quickly became one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I clutched him tighter, hugging him from behind as he roared down the road, speed slicing through the air like blades.

If you had asked me five years ago, I would have sworn it impossible that I'd ever ride a bike with Alexander Grayson. And yet, here I was, eyes shut, holding on for dear life—and loving every second.

"You okay there, Flower?" His voice cut through the wind as he glanced back at me.

"Yeah," I said, hoping he couldn't see the smile tugging at my lips. Or feel it pressed against his back.

He nodded, eyes forward, pushing the bike even faster. We were far from the city, but I didn't care. A part of me didn't want this ride to end.

As all good things do, it eventually slowed. Ten minutes later, he eased off the throttle, and the world seemed to hold its breath. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the lake beside the road. A narrow path ran along the water, disappearing into the woods.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from it.

"We're here, right?" I asked softly, not wanting to break the spell.

"Yes." He removed his helmet, letting it hang casually on the bike's handle. His face was calm, but there was a rare light in his eyes, a quiet happiness that didn't often surface.

Did this place mean something to him?

"How do you know this place?" I asked, stepping off the bike.

He followed, taking my hand and tugging me closer before gently removing my helmet. His fingers ruffled my hair, smoothing the mess the ride had made, and I found myself lost in the small...pointless... intimacy of it. Nobody—not even Ryatt—had ever done this for me.

"It's a long story, Amore," he murmured, the Italian slipping in like a missing piece of a puzzle. He rested my helmet on the bike and gazed at the lake. His eyes reflected stories I couldn't capture on canvas—stories no brush could hold. I could paint the sunlight glinting on his hair, the warmth of his skin, the perfect curve of his lips, the shadowed lines of his jaw, the sculpted nature of his body—but not the secrets in his eyes. Those cruel, blue, impossibly beautiful eyes... lethal and captivating all at once.

And I wanted to know them. Risk be damned.

"I guess I'm stuck with you here for a while," I said, trying to sound casual.

A small smile curved his lips. He stepped toward the lake, then extended his hand.

"Come here. It's a bit rocky—you might fall."

"I can handle myself."

"Barely."

Without another word, I took his hand. Warmth radiated from his skin, seeping into mine. Who knew Alex Grayson's touch could feel so grounding, so... human?