Rumble: an Opposites-Attract, Fake Relationship, Single Mom Romance (Book 4 of Road to Romance series)

Lazarus “Laz” Lowenstein leaned his Harley-Davidson Road King onto its kickstand. The engine ticked as it cooled, the smell of oil and sun-warmed asphalt rising around him.

He squinted at the modest bungalow in front of him. How had he let Roger talk him into this?

As the editor of the uber-popular blog Go Forth, Roger lived to push limits—sometimes journalistic, sometimes personal. He chased stories the way Laz chased open roads: full throttle, consequences be damned. And once Roger decided someone had potential, he latched on.

Like the reporter Laz was here to see.

The one who was too attractive for her own good.

He lifted a half-helmet in his left hand, his thoughts drifting to the woman he’d met in Roger’s office last week. Nora. A single mother, new to the workforce, equal parts determination and uncertainty flickering in her eyes. She wanted this assignment badly—wanted to prove she could do it.

And that’s where Laz came in.

He climbed the few steps to the bungalow. Before his knuckles touched the door, it swung open.

“Lazarus,” she said, her voice a little breathless. “How are you?”

Last week, Nora’s wheat-colored hair had been pulled back with a plastic barrette stretched to its limits. Today it spilled freely around her shoulders, catching the light. The breeze teased loose strands across her cheek, making him itch to tuck them behind her ear.

“Fine, thanks,” he said, forcing his attention back where it belonged. “And you? Ready to ride?”

“I think so.” Her gaze slid past him to the Harley parked at the curb. Her eyes widened. “Oh my. That’s… big.”

She’d never ridden a motorcycle—which, according to Roger, made her perfect. In the office she’d sounded confident, but Laz recognized nerves when he saw them. The way her shoulders tensed. The way she clasped her hands together.

Was it the bike… or him?

He wasn’t the long-haired hard-ass he’d been in his twenties, but he still carried a certain roughness—and probably always would.

“I brought you a helmet.” He held it out.

She accepted it carefully, like it might bite. “Um… thank you.”

She stayed planted in the doorway, so Laz extended his hand. “Come on. Let me introduce you to the Road King.”

He guided her down the steps, stowed her purse in the saddlebag, then turned back to find her gripping the helmet with white knuckles.

“You seem a little nervous,” he said.

“I’m petrified.” She let out a short, breathy laugh. “I thought this wouldn’t be a big deal, but…”

He covered her hands with his, skin warm against the cool plastic of the helmet. The tremor beneath her fingers eased slightly.

The tremor in his chest did not.