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Back First Comes Love Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. First
  2. Love Connection
  3. Zero
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. One Month Later
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Six Months Later
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Twenty-two
  28. Twenty-three
  29. Twenty-four
  30. Six Months Later
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. I Have Never
  41. One
  42. Two
  43. Three
  44. Four
  45. Five
  46. Six
  47. Seven
  48. Eight
  49. Nine
  50. Ten
  51. Eleven
  52. Twelve
  53. Thirteen
  54. Fourteen
  55. Fifteen
  56. Sixteen
  57. Seventeen
  58. Eighteen
  59. Nineteen
  60. Twenty
  61. Twenty-one
  62. Twenty-two
  63. A Christmas Date
  64. One
  65. Two
  66. Three
  67. Four
  68. Five
  69. Six
  70. Seven
  71. Eight
  72. Nine
  73. Ten
  74. Eleven
  75. Twelve
  76. Thirteen
  77. Fourteen
  78. Fifteen
  79. Sixteen
  80. Seventeen
  81. Eighteen
  82. Nineteen
  83. Twenty
  84. Twenty-one
  85. Twenty-two
  86. Note from the Author
  87. Sneak Peek – To the Stars and Back
  88. Two
  89. Three
  90. Four
  91. Also by Camilla Isley
  92. About the Author

“Nah, don’t worry,” Diego says, “it’s only a ten-minute ride on the bike.” He unlocks the saddle to take out his helmet. Then, as if on second thought, he adds, “Hey, you want a ride? Your office is on the way.”

“No, no, you’re already late, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“And you won’t; we have all the time we need.”

“I don’t have a helmet,” I protest.

“And I always carry a spare one.” He opens a sort of detachable trunk and offers me a black helmet matching his.

“Err…”

When he sees me still hesitating, he asks, “You’re not afraid of bikes, are you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “I’ve never been on one.”

“Come on.” Diego smiles encouragingly. “No girlfriend of mine, fake or otherwise, could skip a ride on my bike.”

I quickly censor all the inappropriate scenarios my degenerate brain conjured up at the “take a ride on my bike” comment, and bravely nod, taking the helmet.

Eight

Sleigh Ride

The moment I climb on the bike behind Diego, I know I’ve made a mistake. This black monster is way too wobbly and unstable for my tastes.

At first, I try to keep my palms respectfully flat against Diego’s sides while he backs the bike up. But the second he twists the accelerator, I wrap my arms around his waist as tightly as I can, my gloved fingers gripping his leather jacket for dear life. Especially when the bike stumbles off the curb with a roar of the engine, tires skidding on the road. The rumble is deafening; it vibrates up my legs to reach deep into my guts. I close my eyes, glue my head—helmet and all—to his broad back, and hope this ride will really only take ten minutes.

Diego works the clutches, making the bike gather speed, and I can’t help but grip tighter as a little scream escapes my lips. Diego’s chest starts to shake under my arms, and I have a strong suspicion he’s laughing at me and my fear.

I couldn’t care less. Right now, I’m focused on surviving the ride and getting off this death trap as soon as possible. Honestly, I don’t understand how other women can find this sexy. Okay, I get the intimacy—physical, for how close the bodies touch, and emotional, for the trust one has to put in the driver to give away all control. And some women might like not being in control, or find the drop in their stomach at every acceleration thrilling, but I’m not one of them.