Caro’s gaze didn’t waver. “Well, twice in as many days you’ve been so drunk you’ve either passed out or made inappropriate comments to me.”

Shit. She was right.

“I think my question stands,” she said.

I didn’t want to go there, but I guess she deserved the truth.

“When I was 21,” I said at last. “That’s when I started drinking.”

It was true: apart from the odd beer, the occasional shot, I hadn’t drunk that much—a lot less than most of the guys in my Unit, that was for sure. But when I realized Caro wasn’t coming back for me, my world had fallen apart. I anesthetized myself with women and booze. I’d done that for the last seven years. Maybe now it was time to feel everything again—even the pain.

Caro looked horrified.

“Sebastian, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

I shrugged and looked away. “Old news, Caro, don’t worry about it.”

She looked like she was struggling to speak, but when she did, she’d reverted to small talk. I guess it was more comfortable for both of us.

“Do you like living in Geneva?”

“It’s okay, but I miss the ocean.”

“Ah, no famous Swiss surfing beaches.”

Her words made me smile.

“I haven’t found any yet.”

She smiled back, and it felt good to be at ease with her. But now I was eager to start our day trip—apart from anything else, the thought of having her body pressed against mine on the back of my bike made me impatient.

“Are you done eating?” I asked. “Should we go?”

“I just need to go back to my room and pick up a jacket and, I presume, my passport, but otherwise, yes, I’m good to go.”

I frowned. “You’re a journalist: you should always have your passport with you. Hell, it was in the fucking tedious lecture that Parsons gave the day before yesterday.”

“So you were listening,” she swatted back.

I shook my head and smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, just grab a sweater, too: it’s going to get cold.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about me being bossy as she walked away.

Give me the chance and I’ll show you how ‘bossy’ I can be.

I went to pay the check, but the waitress said she’d put it on Caro’s room tab as instructed. I wasn’t very happy about that, and I was even less happy when she passed me her phone number. But I guess old habits die hard, because I slipped it in my pocket and winked at her as I left the room.

I took the elevator to the basement and brought the Honda to the hotel’s entrance.

Caro’s mouth dropped open when she saw me.

“Are you kidding me, Hunter? You expect me to get on that thing?”

Caro gestured at the bike, looking shocked. Guess I’d forgotten to tell her we’d be traveling on two wheels.

“Sure! It’ll be fun,” I said encouragingly.

“Do you know how to drive it?”

Her voice was laced with suspicion.

“Caro, I rode it from Paris—I think I can manage 88 kilometers to Chamonix,” I grinned at her.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “I’ve never been on the back of a motorcycle before.”

I was surprised. “Really? Because we used to talk about doing that and riding from…” I stopped abruptly.

Was it ever going to get easier to talk about the past? She met my eyes, the shadows of our shared lives never far away.

“Oh, what the hell,” she said, shaking her head and walking towards me.

“Such faith in my abilities, Ms. Venzi.”

“If I get killed on this thing, I’m going to come back and haunt you!”

“Promise?”

“Oh, you’d better believe it, Hunter!”

I loved seeing this side of Caro. With each sentence it was more like how it used to be … and I fucking loved that.

I pulled my spare leather jacket out of the saddlebag and helped her put it on. It was old and battered, but it would give her some protection from the cold, or an accident—which wasn’t going to happen on my watch.

She was so tiny compared to me that her hands disappeared inside the long sleeves, and I had to fold back the cuffs so she could free her hands. I pulled up the zipper, my fingers dangerously close to her lush tits.

“Suits you,” I said, raising an eyebrow and ignoring her frown.

I passed her a spare helmet, waited until she’d fastened it, then swung a leg over the bike and held out my hand to help her mount behind me.

The seat slanted her forward so her thighs automatically gripped mine. I liked that a lot.

“Hold on tight,” I said, pleasure coursing through me from the sheer fucking joy of this moment—a moment I thought would never happen.

She wrapped her arms around me; I never wanted her to stop.

The engine started with a gravelly roar that crescendoed as I revved the accelerator. I took it slow to start with, letting her get used to being on the bike. I waited until we were at the lakeside road heading north-east to Lausanne before I really opened the throttle.

This moment. This woman.

She gripped me tighter as the bike flew around the curves of Lake Geneva, the air cool as the miles rushed past. When we reached Montreux, I slowed the bike, giving her time to appreciate the chocolate-box old town with chalets and Disneyland castle. I preferred being surrounded by open space and empty roads, but I thought Caro might like it.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” I called over my shoulder.

She nodded enthusiastically, bumping her helmet on the back of mine as she gave me a thumbs up.

I pulled up outside a small café that looked over the lake, then kicked down the stand and cut the engine. The sudden silence seemed to reignite the fire between us. I was sure I wasn’t the only one who was feeling it, but I forced myself to keep it casual.

I pulled off my helmet and grinned at her.

“How was that?”

She struggled out of her own helmet and ran her hands through her long hair tangled by the wind.

“That was … surprisingly okay.”

I laughed, but my eyes dropped to her full lips and I knew she saw in my eyes what I was thinking, because she scrambled off the bike hastily then rubbed her hands together, although whether it was from nerves, I couldn’t tell.

“Are you cold?”

“A little: just my hands.”

Without saying a word, I took her hands in mine and lifted them to my lips, warming them with my breath and rubbing them gently.

After a moment, she pulled free, her cheeks tinged with pink. Although that could have been from the cold.

“That’s fine, thank you.”

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her that she’d never stopped being important to me. But then she looked away, her expression conflicted.

“This café looks good,” she said quickly.

She strode into the café and found a table by the window.

I followed more slowly, sliding into the chair opposite her. The waiter ambled over and I ordered coffees for both of us.

“Un espresso et un caffé americano, s’il vous plâit.”

“Do you speak French, as well?” she asked curiously.

I shrugged. “I lived in Paris for two years so more than enough to get by. I never studied it.”

“And the Dari? The Arabic? How did that come about?”

“My first tour in Iraq. I was playing soccer with some of the local kids who used to hang around the Base. They taught me a few words and I just started picking up some phrases. My sergeant heard me talking to the kids and sent me on a couple of training courses. When we started pulling out of Iraq, they figured I should learn Pashto and Dari so I could be useful in Afghanistan. I found I could just hear it, all the different cadences.” I laughed coldly. “Finally found something I was good at. Who knew.”

She seemed surprised by my scathing tone.