“I get the feeling you don’t want to talk to me,” he said, nudging several people out of the way as he fell into step with her again.
“I don’t know you,” she said.
“I’m an okay guy, honest.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said, “but you’re making me uncomfortable. Please stop following me.”
She found the baggage carousel and prayed her suitcase was already off the plane. Surely her delayed—but apparently not delayed enough—sojourn in the restroom had given the crew time to unload the baggage.
“So where’s this boyfriend of yours?” Chris asked as he moved to stand beside her while she watched unfamiliar bags circle the conveyor.
“Waiting outside,” she said.
“Likely story,” he said. “You aren’t the first woman to blow me off, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. Have a nice life.”
Out of the corner of her eye she watched him leave, noting that he didn’t pick up any luggage before he left the baggage claim area. Madison blew out a calming breath. She didn’t like to be mean to people, but surely Chris understood that a woman traveling alone felt more than a little threatened when a guy followed her around an airport for no reason other than to follow her.
She tucked several stray curls behind her ears and smiled with relief when her pink suitcase plopped out on the conveyor and slid against the rail. Now she could see Adam and forget she had a care in the world. He freed her from all constraints, and that feeling was far more addictive than any substance she’d ever treated. At least it was for her.
Madison wheeled her suitcase to the passenger pickup area outside the terminal. She couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the hot biker parked on the sidewalk in front of the exit doors. Nothing hotter than a hot guy dressed in denim and leather straddling a Harley. The broad-shouldered man’s skin was decorated with tattoos, his dark hair had been cut in a shaggy, shoulder-length style that beckoned her fingertips, and his jeans drew attention to a pair of slim hips and a tight ass that begged to be squeezed. His head was turned away from her as he spoke to a cab driver parked beside the bike, but Madison would have known him anywhere. That wasn’t just any hot biker. He was hers. But how in the world had Adam gotten his motorcycle from Austin to New Orleans?
Plagued with a strange case of nervous excitement, Madison clutched her suitcase handle tightly and forced herself not to run toward him. She was sure Adam was much too cool to appreciate being tackled off his motorcycle or having every inch of his face kissed in front of a cab driver. The driver noticed her standing behind Adam and smiled at her.
Adam turned his head and before she could even form a greeting, his arm wrapped around her waist and she found herself sideways on his bike seat, wrapped in his strong arms. His lips moved against hers as he claimed a deep kiss. He pulled away slowly, the smile on his lips shining equally bright from his dark gray eyes.
And as expected and appreciated, all her troubles vanished under his attention.
“Well, hello,” she said breathlessly, wrapping her arms around his broad back, her fingers rubbing against the worn leather of his jacket.
“I missed you,” he said, his voice low in her ear.
“Me too.” She kissed him again and then, finding herself too worked up for the public eye, she buried her face in his neck and inhaled the heady mix of his cologne, his skin, and leather. “Mmm,” she murmured, “that kiss was a fantastic surprise.”
“That’s not the surprise,” he said with a low chuckle.
She leaned back to look him in the eye, and her heart rate kicked up just because he was near. God, what this man did to her. “Then what is it?”
“You’re sitting on it.”
“Your lap?” she asked with a wicked grin. “You know that’s my favorite surprise.”
“That surprise is for later. I meant the bike. I rented it so we could go for a ride. Since we got in trouble last time we took off with the band’s limo, I figured I’d try to be a little more courteous and find us our own mode of transportation.”
He was notorious for taking whatever he wanted without consideration for consequences. Frankly, it turned her on, but thinking of others was a good sign that his recovery from addiction was going well. He touched her hair as he searched her eyes.
“But you’re wearing a skirt, so you’ll have to ride in the taxi with your suitcase until we can get you outfitted properly.”
Her joy at the thought of riding behind him, plastered to his back with her hands wandering over his hard chest and flat belly, turned to bitter disappointment.