She did it for Murph. That much was clear, and it was almost painful to watch the poor woman force the shake down, but the settling of his tense shoulders and relief on his face was obvious.

I’m not even paying attention when I walk out of the house through the door next to the garage. The thunderous roar that catches me off guard makes me scream and clutch my bag to my body. When I turn the corner to the garage, I find Murph there, straddling his motorcycle and looking down at his phone, clearly not noticing my presence.

For a moment, I can’t help but admire how good he looks on that bike. Murph is really not my type. I was never into the older guys, and after the toxic relationship I just got out of with Hugo, the last thing I need is a guy who is full of himself and intimidating on purpose.

There is something else there. The way he teases me, not out of cruelty, but for the novelty of it only makes me hungry for more.

A guy like him could easily have any girl on the island—but the idea that I could make him wild fuels the fire.

It’s the wall he has up that really drives my actions. Murph is closed off, distant and resistant to anything too vulnerable—I see the way he wants to break over Hazel, but the cracks in his hard facade have me wanting to dig my fingernails in and pull the exterior away to see what’s inside.

My focus is distracted by the tight jeans on his backside when he whistles at me, stealing my attention.

“Stop undressing me with your eyes.”

I shoot him a scowl and continue my walk toward the road where I was headed before his body on that bike stopped me.

“Where are you going?” he asks as he glides his bike toward me, following me to the sidewalk.

“None of your business,” I answer with bite.

“My business is exactly what it is. Now tell me or I’ll throw you over my lap and carry you home.”

I swallow down the heat rising from the words he chooses and the image in my mind of being bent over his lap, the vibration of the motorcycle rumbling through my body. It makes me really want to challenge him. So I remain silent as I continue walking on the brick path through the tree-covered neighborhood toward the boardwalk.

Just when I think he’s given up on me, I hear him approach. His words can barely be heard over the roar of the engine between his legs. But when I glance over, I catch him mouth the words, “Get on.”

“No way.” I don’t even slow down, clutching my tote bag even closer to my body.

“Savannah,” he barks, and this time, his voice can be heard over the engine. I stop in my tracks, glancing at him with shock in my eyes. He nods his head, motioning for me to get on the bike behind him.