High Heels & Bicycle Wheels. Jane Linfoot

Absentmindedly, she pushed an arm into a sleeve. ‘If you’re sure.’

      Not looking at him when she was talking to him, then. Following her sightline downwards, he saw that her eyes had locked onto something a lot lower than his face.

      ‘Aw, damn.’

      Length and width – and plenty of both – bulged against the glossy black sheath of his shorts on proud display, and still more to give. Thanks to the God of Lycra for the stretch. His attempt to whack the bulge into submission with the heel of his hand failed.

      ‘Gotcha.’ Bryony, eyes shining, proving she could serve an ace return.

      Cheeks pinker than ever now that he’d caught her, her lips twisting into a grin that lit up the world, as she zipped herself into the safe haven of his jacket. And not backing down.

      ‘So you did.’ He gave a snort. ‘No place to hide in Lycra.’

      Not backing down. And sharing the joke. He liked that in a woman, even a high maintenance one.

      ‘Come on.’ He glanced swiftly at his watch. ‘We’d better get moving if we’re going to catch this race.’

      ‘Made it!’

      Bryony caught the grin Jackson flung over his shoulder as they whizzed under the start banner, chasing the other riders who were already a hundred yards down the road. At least now her seat was higher and she could see ahead, she was less queasy. Getting travel sick on a tandem…she’d never live that one down. In a blur out of the corner of her eye, she caught Cressy, arms flailing like windmill sails, yelling.

      ‘The camera bike will catch you up!’

      Then she was gone, her words lost in the rush of air. And who even cared about cameras? Damn it to that, in spades. A TV production woman who forgot about filming?

      In front of Bryony, Jackson was up on the pedals now, bouncing from side to side, giving chase. Navigating, steering, and zig-zagging alarmingly between the other tandems as they caught up with the bunch.

      ‘Oh, my. This so wasn’t my best idea.’ One groan to comfort herself, perked up by the view.

      Wow, that was one toned butt. As for the muscles in those thighs… Nudging her hand too, as he sank back onto his saddle. OMG. I just touched Jackson Gale’s…

      ‘Blimey.’ A bump in the road threw her out of the saddle, cancelling all wayward thoughts.

      ‘You okay back there?’ He slung a grin over his shoulder. ‘Don’t forget to hang on.’

      She locked her fingers more tightly on the handle bars. If she didn’t concentrate here she’d be off the flaming back. Her wrists were already burning with the effort of holding on, and they’d hardly even begun. If it had been achingly scary going slowly round the block, now they were weaving in and out of other bikes right across the road – it was terrifying.

      ‘At least I haven’t chucked up.’ Yet.

      ‘It’ll soon be over, it’s only ten miles.’ Another nugget tossed in her direction. ‘We’ll get ahead of the rest of the field and keep out of trouble.’

      So comforting. Not.

      ‘It all feels like trouble.’ It was alright for him. He was used to it.

      ‘There’s no serious competition. Most people are in fancy dress.’ Another spurt, and he gave a loud guffaw as they accelerated past a custard-yellow cloud. ‘We ruffled Donald Duck’s feathers there!’

      What crazy place had she landed in?

      ‘Only a guy could be that competitive about overtaking cartoon characters.’ Craning her neck as she shouted, she peered past his ear and saw capes up ahead. ‘Batman and Robin – they’ll give us a run for our money.’

      She should have shut up. Like a red rag to a bull. Jackson was up again, and her feet were flying around on the pedals in time with his as they soared past them.

      ‘Batmobiles can’t keep up with me.’ He was shouting back with the enthusiasm of a five year old. ‘I top sixty miles an hour downhill on a good day.’

      Not what she wanted to hear. If it hadn’t already been in free-fall, her heart would have sunk.

      ‘Can’t we ride with the rest?’

      That groaning appeal fell on deaf ears.

      ‘The faster we go, the quicker we get there.’ One flash of a backwards grin told her he had no intention of slowing down. He might even be enjoying tormenting her. ‘It’ll all be over in another twenty minutes. Keep pedaling.’

      As if she had any choice.

      When had she ever been this out of control? Another bump sent her rocketing skywards.

      ‘Ouch!’ The dull ache in her butt exploded as she crashed back onto the saddle, the padding in her shorts doing nothing to save her bottom. As for her legs, they were on fire.

      Twenty minutes more? She’d be dead.

      Gritting her teeth, she clamped her eyelids shut and sent a juddering prayer to the God of accelerated-career-progress, to make it end soon.

      ‘Hey, Cherry Bomb, time to wake up.’

      One more jaunty comment flung in her direction and she might just throw up after all. This one penetrated her self-induced trance deeply.

      ‘If you’re expecting me to open my eyes, think again.’ She growled through gritted teeth as no way would her bone-shaken jaw unclench.

      ‘We’re almost there. You need to wave to the spectators. The camera bike is lining up ahead of us too.’

      Weakly, she opened one eye a crack. She couldn’t have ached more if a forty-four wheel pantechnicon had driven all the way over her then reversed back again.

      ‘Smile! It’ll make a perfect shot, us flying down this hill to the finish.’

      It was so like this joker to be mocking her.

      ‘Hill…’ The shock of the word unlocked her jaw. ‘What hill?’

      She snapped her eyes open in time to register a hairpin-bend sign whooshing by. Blinked to bring the blur into focus and saw the road dropping away in front of them, dipping sharply like a roller coaster, then corkscrewing round. She hurled out her mental anchors.

      ‘Hold on tight!’ Another superfluous instruction from Jackson.

      If she’d had any breath left, she’d have hyperventilated. ‘If I hold on any tighter my arms will drop off.’ Angry enough to find the strength to protest. ‘Slow down. Pleeeeeeease.’

      Downhill. Accelerating. Out of control. All her nightmares. To the power of ten, at least, if not to the power of a thousand.

      ‘JACKSON! SLOW DOWN!’

      The only upside to freewheeling was that the pedals were still. The noise of people on the pavement edge bounced off her head as the washing-machine thump of the world switched onto full-spin.

      Why the hell wasn’t he doing as he was told? People always did as she asked. That was the effect she had. The ability to make people do as they were told was her special power and always had been; now was not the moment for it to fail her.

      Colours flashing past, faster and faster, and now the bike was tipping sideways as Jackson flung them around the corner. They had to fall. But then they were upright again, momentarily, then she was hurled the other way as they changed course on the bend. She had one fleeting thought through all the panic – she’d get him back for this. Then, the desperate instinct to survive kicked in and before she knew it she’d let go of the handlebars, grappling her the Lycra slide of Jackson’s torso.

      She felt the heat of his lower back as her cheek clamped against the solid sinew of his ribcage. Jackson’s