New Biker Novel - Free Read! - Stars Harley-Riding Hollywood Director

Greetings and special thanks to Alex for inviting me to share a story about my OWN motorcycle experience with the EatSleepRide community.

I decided it would be more interesting to share an excerpt from my just- released book,Take Two: a Hollywood Romance (which can be found at your favorite book seller). In this scene, Zac experiences the thrill of the ride for the first time.

This is Book One in the Lady Biker Series, so there will be more to com! Visitwww.TakeTwoNovel.comfor more free reads and details, to subscribe for updates, or to contact me directly. Thanks for reading!

Zac and Gina watched the chopper until it was well in the distance.

‟Who is the eyewitness?” Zac said.

‟What?”

‟The eyewitness.” He turned to her. ‟The person who saw Sasha with the cookies.”

‟Zac…”

‟You told me you searched my room on a tip from someone else.”

She looked at him. ‟Are you sure you want to get into this now?”

Suddenly he wasn't sure he did. What if Gina was the eyewitness? But he said, ‟If not now, then when?”

Her brown eyes bored into his. ‟You realize that's confidential information, don't you?”

‟Don't I have the right to know?”

She sighed. ‟If you ever hope to bring charges against Sasha, you will need this person. And for their own safety, they need to stay anonymous.”

For the first time, he was struck by the realization that if Sasha was capable of poisoning him, she might be capable of hurting other people too.

What if she went after Gina?

He suddenly felt cold. He tossed the can into the recycle bin at the edge of the deck. ‟This is bullshit,” he muttered.

‟You got that right.” Suddenly Gina pushed out a breath. ‟I need to go for a ride.”

The change of topic threw him. She was already stepping through the doorway when he put two and two together. ‟On the motorcycle?”

She didn't answer. She headed toward the hallway closet where she kept her helmet and riding gear.

‟I'll go with you,” he said.

She turned just as she reached the closet. ‟You would want to ride, um…on the back?”

‟Don't they call that riding bitch?”

She looked embarrassed and he actually smiled. ‟Sure, I can be your bitch.”

She stopped in mid-reach. ‟Are you sure? Guys don't usually...”

‟Hey, I'm bored and I've never ridden a bike like that,” he said. ‟Besides, I don't give a shit about that macho crap.”

‟Um…” She rummaged in the closet, pulling out a jacket and a steel blue helmet. ‟I don't know if I've got a helmet that'll fit you...and what about your dizzy spells?”

‟Haven't had one all week.” It wasn't entirely true, but they'd been low-key. ‟Besides, how hard could it be to hold on to you?”

‟Holding on isn't the problem,” she said wryly. ‟You're a tall guy; you could take the bike down if you suddenly lean hard to one side.”

‟So you're saying you can't handle a larger passenger?” His voice took on a teasing tone.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her hands on her hips. ‟Don't think I don't know what you're doing.”

‟Come on, Gina,” he said.

She appraised his attire coolly. ‟All right. I'm going to change my clothes. I suggest you do the same. I'll meet you in the shed.”

He made quick work of exchanging his ratty work clothes for clean jeans, t-shirt, and the green overshirt she'd bought him. She appeared in the shed moments later wearing jeans and a tank top with a short leather vest over it. Around her waist was a belt made of sparkly stones. She handed him the blue helmet she'd pulled from the closet. ‟Try this on.”

He was about to joke that real bikers don't wear helmets. But as she sat down to put her riding boots on, he forgot his smart-ass comment. Damn, there was something sexy about that image…

He watched through the helmet opening as she pulled her jeans down over the top of the boots and stood. She grabbed the sides of his helmet and shook. ‟Kind of tight, but better than too loose,” she said as she crossed to a high cabinet and pulled out a gray helmet. ‟It'll have to do. I can wear one of the girls'.”

She pulled the gray helmet on. ‟So you've never ridden a cruiser? Like, ever?”

‟I live in L.A., remember?” he said.

‟City boy.” She grinned.

‟Pishaw!”

She threw her leg over the bike, and he couldn't help glancing at the boots again. ‟So the rules are simple,” she said. ‟Don't get on or off before I tell you I'm ready. No squirming. And most important, lean with the bike into the corners, not away. Let the feel of the bike and the road be your guide.”

He gave a mock salute.

In response, she hit the start button and the engine came to life. She twisted the throttle and a deep, throaty roar filled the shed; there was something primal in how the vibration settled in the pit of his stomach.

She grinned at him as she walked the bike out. She checked her mirrors and flipped the passenger footrests down. ‟Okay!” she called.

He placed one hand on her shoulder as he swung his leg over the bike. He found the footrests and settled himself into the passenger seat. He looked up to find her watching him in the rearview mirror. She surprised him by grabbing one of his hands and placing it on her waist. ‟This is so I know you're not going to get dizzy and fall off!” she called.

For a moment he was flustered. But she was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and it was contagious. He placed his other hand on her waist and grinned back.

‟Ready?” she yelled.

‟Ready!”

He had been on yachts and sailboats and scooters. But this was altogether different. The wind rushed by and took his frustrations and worries with it. The vibration of the motorcycle worked its way up his spine like an invisible masseuse. By the time they entered the canyons, he thought he couldn't enjoy himself any more than he already was.

He was wrong. Gina downshifted as they moved into the first of many twisty roads, and he began to understand what she'd said about leaning with the bike and feeling the road. He couldn't help it; he threw one hand into the air and yipped like a young kid on his first rollercoaster ride.

He felt Gina's laughter through her jeans. He caught her eye in the mirror and winked.

@ Copyright 2013, Tracey Cramer-Kelly. http://www.TraceyCramerKelly.com