“Come on, Libby.” Wanting to share his pleasure, he held out a hand. “You’ll like it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She looked at him, and at the bike, hovering just above the pine needles that were strewn on the forest floor. It was a small machine—if indeed that was the proper term—but there was room enough for two on the narrow black seat. The body was painted a metallic blue that glistened with deeper shades in the sunlight. It looked harmless, she decided after a moment, and she doubted if anything so small could hold much power. With a shrug, she slid on the seat behind him.

“Better hold on,” he told her, mostly because he wanted to feel her body curve against his.

The strength of the vibration beneath her shocked her, though she knew it was foolish. Cal had looked harmless, too, she remembered. “Hornblower, shouldn’t we have helmets or—” The words whipped away as he accelerated.

She might have screamed, but instead she squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Cal so tightly that he choked on a laugh. He could feel her heart beating against him, as fast and heavy as it had through the night. With an innate skill honed finer by practice, he steered once around the ship, then up the slope.

Speed. He’d always been addicted to it. He felt the air slap his face, stream through his hair, and pressed for more. The sky beckoned, his first and most constant lover, but he resisted, aware that Libby would be more frightened than thrilled if he took her too high too quickly. Instead he breezed through the forest, winding around trees, skimming over rock and water. A bird burst off a branch just above their heads and went wheeling away, chattering bad-temperedly at the competition. He could feel her grip relax a fraction, then a little more. Her face was no longer pressed between his shoulder blades.

“What do you think?”

She could nearly breathe again. It seemed her stomach had decided to stay in place. At least for the moment. She opened one eye for a cautious look. And swallowed hard.

“I think I’m going to murder you the minute we’re on the ground again.”

“Relax.” The cycle tilted thirty degrees right, then left, as he danced through the trees.

Easy for him to say, she thought. Another look showed her that they were more than ten feet above the ground. She gasped, nearly managed to squeal out a demand to be set down, but then it hit her. She was flying. Not enclosed in some huge, bulky plane thousands of feet up, but freely, lightly. She could feel the wind on her face, in her hair, could taste the promise of spring on it. There was no loud roar of engine noise to disturb the sensation. They were skimming through the forest as playfully as birds.