Wrecked (Stories of Serendipity #8): #8

Anne Conley
Text copyright © 2013 Anne Conley

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of a brief quotation embodied in critical articles and/or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Vanessa Booke

Edited by Nicole Powers

S
pecial thanks to Suzanne, who has read this manuscript more than anyone else, besides myself, for her encouragement and kind words. You are a constant reminder of the reason I publish, and I’m so glad I’ve found someone else who thinks my characters are as real as I do.

T
his book is dedicated to those with whom I’ve become close on this journey of mine – my writing group. What began as a random group of women with one thing in common has led to friendship of incomparable worth.

And as always, to my husband. Without your support, I wouldn’t be doing any of this. Thanks Stud.

R
enae’s heart was broken. Kelly was officially installed in her dorm room, groceries purchased (yogurt cups, lunch meat, and Dr Peppers) for her mini-fridge, and neon purple decorations abounded. Her buddy was gone. Two hours away. Renae drove back to Serendipity, feeling indescribably lonely. She tried to focus on the road and increasingly familiar landmarks as she got closer to home, but her mind kept wandering back to memories of her daughter: her mess, her noise, her complaints.

It had been Kelly and Renae for sixteen years, and now Kelly had gone off to college, as it should be. Renae had raised her daughter to be independent, make her own choices, and survive on her own. Now that it had happened, Renae felt lost. It seemed like only yesterday she’d given birth to the tiny baby, and two years later she’d promised that baby they would conquer the world together.

That was why she didn’t immediately see the motorcycle. She was waiting to turn right after the railroad tracks and had been trying to see over the truck with enormous mudding wheels on her left, blinker on, when some reptilian part of her brain decided it was clear, and her foot lifted off the brake pedal.

As she gently pushed on the gas, turning into the correct lane, she straightened into her turn, noticing a blur in her peripheral vision. When she turned to look, the blur took shape and a man on a motorcycle flew by her into the ditch on the side of the road. He hit a bump and the bike flipped, sending him flying, landing several feet away from his motorcycle, flat on his back.

He’d been swerving to miss her, and she’d never even seen him. Her stomach plummeted at the idea that she’d nearly hit the rider and could have killed him while she’d been reminiscing about a life that was changing.

Renae slammed on her brakes and backed up, driving her van into the ditch between the man and his bike, trying to get close and out of the road.

“Oh no…” Heart thudding in her chest, the sense of dread in her limbs nearly paralyzed her as she forced her hand to unlatch her door and walk around to where the man lay on his back. He was long and lanky but still muscular. The frighteningly still body held a silent strength, and she said a quick prayer she hadn’t killed him. On her knees next to his still body, Renae was afraid to touch him. She looked around to see the giant truck had gone, leaving her there alone to fix this man.

“Sir?” Her hand stroked his chest, hoping the touch would revive him. She prayed he would sit up and declare himself fit, hop back on his motorcycle and drive off. A-OK. “Sir?” She said it again.

His motorcycle helmet was black. And shiny. She hated to put smudges on it, trying to see his face, and she didn’t dare try to remove it. He might have a spinal injury or something. So she tried to raise the visor on it, leaving fingerprint smudges on the reflective fiber-glass.

His eyes were closed, framed by long, light brown eyelashes.

“Sir?” She reached in and stroked his cheek. Smooth skin, with a coating of rough stubble and a slack jaw. His skin was warm, though, and sent a small tremor up her arm as her fingers lightly trailed down his face. But he didn’t respond. “Oh no…” She’d killed him. Leaning back on her heels, Renae touched his shoulder, shaking him gently. Nothing.

Renae leaned over the man, resting her ear on his chest, noticing how firm the muscles were there, as she tried to look up at his face under the helmet. She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her own heartbeat, so she crawled closer, straddling his slim hips, hands on his biceps, keeping her head on his chest. His body was hot, pressed against hers, and a shiver of awareness coursed through Renae. She tried to concentrate on listening for his heartbeat, but her own blood rushed so loudly in her ears.

Finally, she did notice a rise and fall of his chest, so she knew he was breathing, and if he was breathing, his heart had to be pumping, right? She could see his long neck reaching into the helmet, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow. His hips rose suggestively, and Renae was shocked to feel a riotous heat in her crotch. She sat up and looked at the man, whose eyes were open wide, dark blue orbs staring at her with disbelief.

Suddenly, Renae was being shoved off the man by hands she didn’t see. The man sat up, ripping off his helmet, dropping it to the ground.

“What the fuck!?”

Speechless, she could only stare as dark eyes mesmerized her, settling on Renae. “Did you hit me?”

She nodded, gulping down embarrassment. “I’m sorry… I—” Renae wasn’t sure what she was sorry about, her intimacy with an unconscious stranger, or making him unconscious in the first place.

“You weren’t texting, were you?” His anger was palpable, and Renae couldn’t blame him. He could have been killed. Strong, thick hands fisted at his sides.

She shook her head slowly, seeing him for the first time. He was gorgeous, and suddenly all words in her defense completely left her. If she had killed this guy, women the world over would hate her forever.

His short, dark hair stuck up wildly with sweat - helmet head, she supposed - but it was sexy. There were slight streaks of silver at his temples, shining in the sunlight. His face was rugged in a weathered, sun-kissed way, a nose that had been broken, with a scar running down his left temple. But it was an undeniably handsome face with chiseled features and impossibly blue eyes. His jeans had been ripped in the wreck, and Renae tried not to stare at the top of his thigh that peeked through the mangled denim.

“Are you okay?” She managed to squeak out, feeling terrible about everything.

“Where’s my bike?”

Renae looked around, not having a clue. She’d never even thought about the bike, as concerned as she had been about the man. Eventually, she went back to the other side of her minivan and found it lying on its side. She bent down, grabbed the handle bars, and heaved, unable to budge the metal.

“I got it,” he growled behind her. He reached down and righted the machine, straddling it. His helmet dangled from his hand before he crammed it back on his head.

“Wait…” She turned to the minivan and rummaged around in her purse, spilling the contents into the floorboard until she found what she was looking for. Holding out her insurance card, she said, “Here. If you need anything done, I should be covered. All the information is here….I’ve got another copy at home.” She felt completely inadequate in this situation. He seemed angry at her, and she couldn’t blame him. His body language radiated irritation from the squared set of his shoulders to the grip on the handlebars, to his tense thigh muscle peeking out through his torn jeans. And his face… She swallowed disappointment that the stern set of his mouth and the crinkled brow indicated annoyance with her stupidity. Renae felt undeniably guilty for not paying enough attention, for hitting him. If he was hurt, she’d die. And she didn’t even know him.

Without a word, his hand slowly reached for the card, grasping it in his fingers. He didn’t look at it as he slipped it inside his coat pocket before turning back to his bike.

Renae stifled the overwhelming surge of hormones that rushed through her body. Every cell inside her wanted to straddle the motorcycle behind him and hang on to his rippling torso. She exhaled sharply, as he jumped twice before starting the roaring motorcycle.