“Take the pins out of your hair,” I say, stuffing her things away, waiting for her to chastise me for being so rough with her new dress. The dress that’s conveniently going to go missing very soon.

“Where are your leathers?” she asks, her hands in her hair feeling around, pulling grips out here and there. My mind blanks, not only because of her question, but because I’m being blitzed by some pretty fucking incredible memories of me plucking millions of the things from her hair after the Lusso launch night.

“I don’t need them,” I say mindlessly.

“Why, are you indestructible?”

“No, lady, self-destructible.”

Her frown is instant, and so is my regret. “What does that mean?” she asks.

“Nothing.” I shove her helmet on quickly before she can challenge me, making sure it’s snug and safe before lifting the visor. The second I have her eyes again, I know my hope of avoiding my cock-up is wasted.

“You should wear protective clothing,” she grumbles, motioning down her front. “You’re making me.”

“I’m not prepared to take any risks with you.” Because you’re precious, and I am not. “Anyway . . .” I go on, keen to change the subject, giving her leather-clad arse a little slap, “you look fucking hot.” But hotter in lace. I drape her bag across her body. “When I’m on, put your left foot on the peg and swing your right leg over, okay?” I say, slipping my helmet on and mounting my bike. She steps forward and, with a grace that’s not at all surprising, she gets on the back.

“I feel too high.”

“You’re fine,” I say, looking back at her. “Hold on around my waist, but not too tight. When I lean, gently lean with me and don’t put your feet down when I stop. Keep them on the pegs. Clear?” She nods, and I smile, seeing excitement past the anxiousness. “Put your visor down,” I say, knocking mine into place as she follows suit, settling into my back, her thighs framing me. This takes the thrill of riding to a whole new level.

I start the engine and push back into the road, checking for traffic before pulling off uncharacteristically slowly.

I don’t question it. I don’t need to. I’m carrying precious cargo.

It feels like the fastest journey ever. I relish every second of her clinging to me, and when the gates to The Manor appear, I feel resentment that the best ride of my life is coming to an end. But what about Ava? Did she enjoy it? Will she indulge me again?

“Off you get,” I order gently when we come to a stop, lifting my visor and looking back. She springs off, and I kick the stand down and swing my leg over, setting my helmet aside.