Catching Claire Read Online Free PDF Page B

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motorcycle helmet. The blood had drained from her face on the spot.
Now, however, the shot of adrenaline she’d experienced during the
ride from Rosewood morphed into a strong surge of pride. Not only
had she survived the thrill of her first motorcycle ride, they’d
made decent time.
    “Can I take off my helmet?” she asked as he planted
a boot on the pavement and silenced the motorcycle.
    Flipping up his visor, he glanced back. “Wait until
you climb off. I’ll keep the bike steady.” He gripped the front
handles.
    “Okey-doke.” Claire remained in her seat. “Uh, how do I get off?”
    “Balance your left foot on the peg.” He pressed both
boots firmly on the ground. “Swing your other leg over the seat and
dismount. Watch out for traffic—and the hot exhaust pipe.”
    Claire followed his instructions. The motorcycle
barely wobbled.
    Moving onto the sidewalk of the busy Belltown
street, she tugged off the helmet. Ridge set the kickstand and
dismounted the bike. His amused glance slid her way.
    “What?” Claire peeked into the motorcycle’s side
mirror. “Crap!” At the apartment, she hadn’t thought to ask to
borrow a blow-dryer. Tanya’s mother’s righteous ire had wiped all
but the most basic of grooming needs from her mind. Ever since
Claire and Tanya had met in kindergarten, Mrs. H.’s steely gaze and
firm mouth had unsettled Claire. The woman didn’t know how to
relax. In her presence, neither did Claire.
    “You look cute,” Ridge said, still wearing his
helmet. “Just run a comb through it.”
    Cute? Stringy waves plastered her skull. She
looked like a swamp rat.
    She thrust her helmet at him, rushed to the carrier
at the rear of the motorcycle, and yanked free the bungee cord
holding her purse. As Ridge slung her helmet over a front handle,
she pawed through the purse. Her throat tightened.
    No comb! No brush! No freaking hair pick!
    He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll go in with you.”
    “You don’t want to do that.” Really, he was too
much. Too kind, too sweet, too hot and handsome.
    She plunked her purse on the motorcycle seat.
Hunching in front of the mirror, she combed her tangled mop with
her fingers. Not her best look, but it would have to do.
    “It’s my fault you’re late.” Ridge yanked off his
helmet and raked a hand through his hair. It stood up in sexy
spikes. “Now we both have helmet head.”
    Claire laughed. She liked him so much. Just
twenty-four hours ago, she hadn’t imagined they’d spend the
afternoon together.
    What other delights would the weekend hold in
store?
    “Isn’t there someplace else you’d rather be?” Most
men would rather chew sawdust than attend a bridal fitting.
    His mouth quirked. “Ashamed of me?”
    “Not on your life.”
    “Then let me come in with you. You look like you’re
about to walk the plank.”
    “Tanya’s mother has that effect on people. And…I
love Tanya, but she’s been a bit of a Bridezilla lately. Her mom’s
anxiety is rubbing off on her.”
    “So, let Mrs. Helms see you walk in with the
stripper from the party. Her head will implode.”
    “How will she know you’re the stripper?”
    “Ten-to-one someone will fill her in.”
    Claire’s heart beat as rapidly as hummingbird wings.
She could really fall for this guy. “Okay.”
    They grabbed her purse and the helmets. Together,
they entered the ritzy salon, which featured six private dressing
rooms and a central runway. Claire directed Ridge toward a fancy
white reception desk.
    “The Helms-Winslow wedding,” she requested. “I’m the
maid of honor.”
    The receptionist eyed Ridge. “This way, please.”
    He carried the helmets as the woman escorted them to
Tanya’s salon. In the halls, stylists hustled back and forth
collecting gowns from the racks for their assigned brides.
    The receptionist led them into a room packed with
Tanya’s bridal party decked in dresses in hues of fuchsia, coral,
goldenrod, and tangerine—Tanya’s “sunset” colors.