A Kiss, a Harley, and a Heart He Didn’t Plan to Risk
At the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, it’s easy to believe in temporary rules—fast rides, easy chemistry, and no strings attached. That’s what Vince has always counted on. But from the start, Tori’s challenged him in ways no one else has, pushing past his charm to the guarded places he’d rather keep hidden.
This moment in What Happens in Sturgis comes on the heels of that growing tension—when flirtation starts to blur into something deeper, and Vince realizes he may not be as in control as he thought. What was supposed to be a simple, no-strings week is beginning to feel a lot more complicated… and a lot more dangerous to his heart.
Vince was just starting to wonder how long it took a woman to pee in the forest when Tori reappeared, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the sky. She moved toward him with an easy, fluid grace that made his breath catch.
He planted both feet to steady the motorcycle.
Instead of swinging on behind him like he expected, she placed her hands on his shoulders and lifted one leg over the tank, settling astride it so she faced him.
His hands came up without thinking, bracing her hips. Her fingers curled into the collar of his leather jacket, tugging him closer until her mouth brushed his in a light, teasing kiss.
“Another session?” he murmured.
“No,” she said. “This is just for the pleasure of it.”
This kiss was different. Not careful. Not instructional. There was something behind it—heat, yes, but also a depth of passion she hadn’t shown him before.
A shiver slid up his spine. “Whose pleasure?” he said.
“You tell me.”
She kissed him again before he could answer. He shut out everything else—the road, the mountain, even the vibration of the Harley beneath them—until all he could feel was her. The way her breath stuttered. The subtle arch of her back as she leaned into him.
His hands slipped beneath the hem of her jacket, resting at her waist, thumbs pressing into warm, solid muscle. It was breaking the rules, he knew, but he didn’t stop.
God, how he wanted to slide his hands higher. To feel more.
“I love the way the Harley feels,” she murmured against his mouth. “Don’t you?”
Instead of answering, he threaded his fingers into her hair and drew her closer, deepening the kiss. He tried what she’d shown him—tracing her lip, teasing her teeth. When her tongue coaxed his, he hesitated only a heartbeat before opening to her.
The sensation gathered low in his belly, sharp and electric.
And then—there it was. That same fleeting, perfect touch of tongue to tongue.
Only this time, there was no fear. Just heat. White-hot and spreading, grounding him in his body instead of pulling him out of it. His tongue found hers again, slower now, exploring, matching her rhythm.
French kissing, he thought dimly. Who knew?
She pulled back, breathless. “Wow. I think you’re cured.”
He smiled, a little dizzy. “I think I need more practice.”
He leaned in again, but she laughed softly and pressed a hand to his chest. “Chuck is going to wonder what happened to us.”
“Chuck will understand.”
“Still.”
She shifted, hands on his shoulders, and in one smooth motion, she swung her leg back over the tank and settled behind him—leaving his body acutely aware of every inch of space she’d just vacated.
Her arms slid around his waist. “Take me to the concert, stud!”
And that was the moment he knew.
He wasn’t falling for Tori.
He’d already fallen—hard enough to want more than heat and kisses and borrowed moments. He wanted to know her. All of her. And he wanted her to know him the same way, scars and history included.
He wanted the intimacy she’d talked about.
But this—right here—was all he was going to get. The ride. The concert. One more night with her arms around him.
What happens in Sturgis stays in Sturgis.
Fine.
Then he’d make it count.
He put the bike in gear and eased back onto the road.
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