Full Contact by Tara Taylor Quinn Page B

fathered him.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    I T WAS HOT AS HELL OUTSIDE by noon on Sunday. But Jay changed into a pair of jeans without complaint. The white T-shirt—the kind most men wore under dress shirts—and black leather vest followed. Not usual work attire, but then not much about Jay’s life had ever been normal.
    He spotted Ellen’s Ford Escape the second she pulled into the parking lot five minutes before their appointed meeting time. He’d already been waiting fifteen minutes. He wasn’t giving her the chance to claim she’d shown up and he hadn’t been there. Nor did he want to take the chance that she’d get scared and take off if she had to wait on him. He didn’t want her to talk herself out of the advisability of his brand of healing.
    He would be fine having her talk herself out of this if she was able to get healing elsewhere. But Shawna had led him to believe that he could be Ellen’s last hope.
    Sitting on his bike, he waited for her to park and approach.
    She wore jeans and a T-shirt, too.
    â€œI was kind of hoping you weren’t going to show.”
    â€œI had a hunch. This is for you,” he said, staying seated while he handed her the helmet he’d pulled from his trunk.
    â€œYou don’t have one.”
    â€œI ride at my own risk. You don’t.”
    Taking the helmet, she studied it for a second and then put it on, working the strap latch. With anyone else, he’d have offered to help.
    â€œReady?” he asked as soon as she’d secured her head gear. He didn’t want to risk saying something that spooked her—or give her any excuses to end the session.
    Ellen nodded, but she was frowning.
    â€œYou’re going to have to come closer if you intend to ride on the same bike I’m on,” he said. “I’ve got it steady. Put your foot here—” he pointed “—and hop on.”
    It took almost a full minute, but she managed to mount without coming into contact with his body.
    â€œPush the button on the side of your helmet,” he told her, turning his head so she could hear him. At the same time, he secured the wireless headset he’d also pulled out of his trunk.
    â€œCan you hear me now?”
    â€œYes.”
    He heard her clearly.
    â€œAnytime you need anything—to stop, turn around, anything—you let me know. There’s a mic in your chin piece. If you start to get upset, say so.”
    â€œOkay.”
    He gave her some brief instructions about moving with him, leaning and not leaning, general principals of keeping the bike balanced.
    â€œWhere do I put my hands?”
    â€œOn me,” he said, staring straight ahead. “That’s the point of this exercise.”
    â€œI know that. Where on you?” It sounded as though she was gritting her teeth.
    â€œYour choice. You’re the boss. For this exercise, my body represents your safety. It is fully at your disposal—like a tornado shelter in a storm or a fort during battle. Trust it.”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œWhat about me?”
    â€œWho keeps you safe? I could do something nuts. Like panic and grab at you and—”
    â€œEllen. It’s a bike ride. And you’re a normal, rational woman seeking treatment for an ailment. If you start to panic, you’ll let me know and we’ll pull over.”
    â€œYou didn’t answer my question. Who keeps you safe?”
    If it took ten tries on ten different days, he wasn’t giving up. “You do.”
    â€œYou’re that certain I’m going to be okay? You’re willing to risk your life with me back here?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOkay then. Let’s go before someone sees me and we end up with a caravan behind us.”
    Her touch wasn’t much, a light resting of her fingers on the top of his shoulders. As soon as he felt it, he started the bike and put it in gear.
    They’d been riding about ten minutes