“Your car? What about the motorcycle?” It came out almost like an accusation, and she realized that she was still clinging to that bad boy image of him, conjured by Cherie’s words months ago. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might drive something so tame and civilized as a car, as well.
He looked at her sharply. “You didn’t notice I didn’t have my helmet with me?”
“Unobservant, I guess.” She shrugged, trying to make light of it.
“I used the motorcycle yesterday because I wanted the quickest way of getting between the hospital and your office in the traffic, since timing was tight, but mostly I don’t use it now.” He added deliberately, “It’s merely a relic of my wild youth.”
And she walked right into the trap. “You had a wild youth?”
He pounced. “You hope so, don’t you? That’s what you’re pinning this whole custody claim on.”
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