"You can spend two days on the back of a bike," I reassure her.

"What if we just flew to Arizona?" she asks, toying with the straps on her Chanel backpack.

I give her a look and she rolls her eyes. We've been through this. The point is the ride, not the destination. We could go to fucking Toronto for all I care. But we'd be riding there.

Tipping up her chin I ask, "do you want to go or not?"

"Yes," she says with her lower lip in a pout.

"Then get the fuck on the bike." She squeals when I smack her ass.

We've packed light. Everything we need has to fit on the bike. Slinging her slim legs around me, she holds on and we ride west.

Our first stop is in New Orleans. When it was just me, I planned to ride there in two days. There's no way she could handle that much time on the bike.

My boots step with a heavy thud across the floor of the Ritz Carlton. Silvie holds her backpack straps tightly. She looks around in wonder, making no noise as she walks. We get unappreciative stares from the people milling around the lobby.

Good. Making rich uptight assholes uncomfortable is a favorite pastime.

I slide my credit card and license across the counter. The clerk looks pleasant but annoyed when he realizes we have a reservation. He gestures toward the elevators and gives us the keycards.

"Is this a palace?" Silvie asks, flopping down on the bed.

I can see why she asked. It's decorated like we're in Versailles. Cream and gold and green silk adorns everything. The bathroom has been recently renovated. It's all white marble.

"Oh my god," she squeals and climbs into the tub clothes and all. "You could fit ten people in here."

"What about two?" I ask and watch her hands grip the edge of the tub a little tighter.

"Later," she smirks up at me.

She's right. We need to shower and eat. Stepping out of my clothes, I get into the shower. It's pure glass and she can see right through. Good. I like watching her hungry eyes follow me.

"Wanna get room service?" I ask, praying she has no intention of leaving this room.

"No, I want to see the city," her eyes light up before she undoes her bun. Curls and waves of dark hair spill out around her shoulders and I just want to run my hands through it. With a towel around my waist I step toward her, capturing her lips between mine. She runs her soft hands over my chest before wrapping them around my neck.

After a long kiss that does nothing to tame my erection, she finally pulls back. "Okay, go so I can take a shower."

I hear the door lock behind me and I roll my eyes, waiting for the day that I get to see all of her. I hear the shower turn on and smell her sweet peach scent that rolls out from the steam. I look over the room service menu and try to think of ways to convince her to stay in. We can have food delivered and fuck here all night.

Wishful thinking.

"Okay, I'm ready," she calls, opening the bathroom door. Excitement shines in her face and I can't say no to taking her out. Abandoning my room service pep talk plan, I watch my beautiful girl stride toward me. She frowns when she realizes I'm not dressed yet.

"Needed to see what you put on. It'd be so embarrassing if we wore the same thing," I joke and her laughter is a musical sound.

Her black lacy tank top and ripped jean shorts make it hard to not just pull her down into the bed with me. Tearing my eyes away, I put on clean clothes and run my fingers through my damp waves. "Do you own anything that isn't black?" she asks, watching me pull a shirt down over my torso.

"A few things."