I’VE RIDDEN MAC’S MOTORCYCLE a good few times in the past eleven months. Still, as I stand next to it in my blue helmet, there’s a hint of trepidation in me.
 
“We should get going,” he says, a hand sliding across the back of my brand-new motorcycle jacket. “If we make good time today, we can make it to Santa Monica by midafternoon.”
 
“I’m nervous,” I blurt.
 
Mac pauses beside his bike, then turns to look at me. He tilts his head. “About riding?”
 
“The longest we’ve ridden is an hour or so. We’re about to do two full weeks, Mac. What if my butt hurts?”
 
“I’ll massage out the aches.” A wicked smile.
 
I put my hands on my hips. “I’m serious.”
 
“Babe.” He moves closer, tugging my hand to bring me nearer so he can wrap his arms around me. He nuzzles his nose against mine, then pulls back to look at my face. “You’ll be fine. I thought you liked the idea of seeing part of Route 66.”
 
“I do. In theory.” I bite my lip.
 
His eyes grow intent. “You don’t want to do this?”
 
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. I do want to do this. Really. Kevin has the kids for two weeks, and Mac and I decided we didn’t want to stay in an empty house doing nothing. I was the one who suggested we ride along Route 66. I went down a deep, deep rabbit hole of all the attractions we could see along the way, even if we can only make it partway and back in the time we have.
 
I think of the wind whipping past my face, Mac’s body warm at my front, and I release a long breath. “Of course I want to do this. I’m just being dumb.”
 
“You’re never dumb,” he replies, then drops a sweet kiss on my lips. Winking, he slings his leg over his bike and jerks his head. “Now get on. We’re going on a road trip.”
 
Glancing back at the house, I wave at my mother in the doorway and sling my leg over the seat. I nestle close to Mac, giving him a squeeze with my thighs that earns me a rewarding groan, and then the engine roars, and we’re off.
 
 
IT TAKES NEARLY EIGHT HOURS to get to Santa Monica. I know Mac is driving slower than he would if he were alone, and I appreciate it. He points out the terminus of Route 66, where we’ll start our ride tomorrow. Then, he turns off and heads toward the ocean.
 
When we pull up in front of a massive hotel, my brows jump. We dismount, and Mac packs our helmets away before grabbing the two small bags we packed this morning. A sly gleam in his eyes tells me he’s planning something.
 
“I thought we’d start this trip with a bit of luxury,” he says, shifting the bags so they’re both held in one grip so he can take my hand with the other.
 
“Mac,” I say softly as we step through the sliding glass doors into pure luxury. The hotel lobby is all gleaming marble, huge chandeliers, with a view straight through to a sandy white beach beyond. When we check in, the receptionist calls him Mr. Blair and mentions something about a suite.
 
Then we’re escorted up to the top floor, and my eyes widen at the word Penthouse on the door to our room.
 
He slides a tip into our escort’s hand, pulls me in the door, and kicks it closed behind him. Then the bags are dropped at his side and he’s picking me up to sling me over his shoulder.
 
I squeal. “Mac! I’m nearly fifty, put me down.”
 
“Quiet, woman.” He smacks my ass and start walking across the room. From my perch, I crane my neck to see an incredible view through floor-to-ceiling windows. There are plush couches arranged around a coffee table, a full bar setup, and a massive television on the wall.
 
He opens a pair of double doors, and I’m soon tossed on a rose-petal-covered bed.
 
I laugh, running my hands over the petals before glancing at Mac. “This is not the seedy motel you promised.”
 
His lips quirk. “Trina, as long as I live, I will never put you and seedy in the same sentence.” He’s stripping that leather jacket off and placing it on the back of a chair. Then he grabs his tee from the back of his neck and tugs it off in one strong, masculine movement.
 
My core spasms.
 
It happens every time I see him naked. Or any time he touches me, or whispers something naughty in my ear.
 
“Take off your clothes,” he growls, kicking his boots off before reaching for my own shoes.
 
Breathless, I do as he says. My new jacket disappears along with the rest of my clothes, until I’m lying on the bed in a matching pair of lacy navy underthings.
 
Yes, I’ve replaced almost all my underwear in the past year, and it feels amazing—especially when Mac’s eyes go lazy at the sight of me.
 
I’ve never felt sexier than when he’s looking at me. He makes me feel young and hot and free. And when those sinful hands sweep up my sides and he dips his head down to suck one nipple through the lacy fabric? I feel like I’m on fire.
 
My hands tangle into his hair, and I let go of a long breath.
 
Mac growls in response as he lays a hundred kisses down my stomach and across my hips. He pushes my knees apart, using one wicked finger to tug my panties aside, then he gives a lot more kisses in a very special place.
 
Side note: I’ve had many, many orgasms like this in the past year.
 
When Mac finally kneels between my legs and thrusts inside me, I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
 
“Two weeks of this, Trina,” he growls, dipping his lips behind my ear. “Two weeks of just me and you. I can do all the dirty, depraved things I’ve been dreaming of for months.”
 
As he fills me with another hard thrust, I spread my palms over his back and hook my legs over his hips. I arch into his movements and let out an answering moan.
 
Two weeks isn’t enough, but it’ll have to do.
 
We make the most of our time in the penthouse. A couple orgasms to start the evening off, then a long soak in the oversized tub, then a few more orgasms in bed before we finally collapse on the pillows, exhausted.
 
Mac slides his hand through my hair and places a kiss on my temple, and I’ve known him long enough to know he wants to say something.
 
“What’s on your mind?”
 
Mac’s hand pauses on my head, then he lets out a low chuckle. “How can you always tell?”
 
“I just know you, Mac.”
 
His other arm gives me a squeeze, and then he pulls away to look down at me. “I want to move in together.”
 
I freeze.
 
“Don’t panic, Trina.”
 
My heart thumps, but I manage to make words. “I’m not panicking.”
 
He chuckles. “I know your moods too, Trina, so there’s no point lying.”
 
“Okay, I’m panicking a little.”
 
“You don’t want to overwhelm the kids.”
 
“Yeah.”
 
He gives me a soft smile. “Me neither. I don’t mean right away, babe, and we can take as much time as the kids need. But I’m getting real sick of spending my nights alone.”
 
My heart squeezes. “Me too,” I say, and it’s the truth.
 
“You’re my woman, and I want us to be a family.”
 
Okay, now my heart just turns to goo right there in my chest. “A family?”
 
“Yeah. A family, Trina. The kids don’t have to call me Dad or anything.” He pauses. “I mean, unless they want to,” he adds quietly before giving me another kiss. “I don’t want to step on your ex’s toes, but I want to be there for them. I want to make pancakes on a Sunday morning, and I want to watch them grow up with you. I want to make you coffee and take out your trash—”
 
“You want to take out my trash?”
 
“—and eat dinner with the three of you every night. I’ll wait as long as it takes, Trina, but I’m just telling you that’s what I want.”
 
I mull over his words for a few moments, trying to tamp down the budding excitement in my chest. Then I turn my head and sit up, letting my fingers drift over his cheekbones. “Okay.”
 
He searches my face. “Okay?”
 
“I’ll do some research, talk to the therapist, figure out the best way to do this.”
 
His eyes soften. “Yeah?”
 
“Yeah.” It comes out as a croak, because holy shit I just agreed to move in with my new man. But my lips tug, and then a laugh falls out of my mouth, and then Mac is rolling me onto my back and kissing me hard.
 
I push his shoulders back, panting. “My mother lives with me.”
 
“We’ll find her her own apartment.”
 
I grin. “Not interested in living with Lottie, I take it?”
 
“I love your mother, but no. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
 
“It might take a while to figure everything out.”
 
“We’ve got time, Trina,” he says, body braced over mine. “We’ve got the whole rest of our lives.”
 
“I like the sound of that,” I whisper, then pull him down for another long, hot kiss.