“You’re safe, Red,” he said in a softer voice. “I’ll take you to grandmother’s house.”

He watched me, obviously waiting for something.

The best my drunken brain could offer was, “The Big Bad wolf eats Red.”

He paused, grinned, and patted the seat. “You’re too drunk for that too.”

I blinked at him. Then his words sunk in, and I gasped. I hadn’t meant that, but now that he planted the idea in my mind, I couldn’t speak.

“You’re safe with me,” he promised, and then he patted the tiny seat behind him.

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to be safe, not after he’d planted such forbidden images in my mind. I yanked my mind out of the gutter and climbed onto the motorcycle, wrapped my arms around his waist, and tried not to shiver. I shouldn’t like the way he talked, but I did. I liked the whole package: the rescue, the insinuations, the motorcycle.

Maybe alcohol and fumbled petting with Quincy just skewed my judgment so severely that Zion seemed more tempting than he actually was. I wasn’t sure. I also didn’t think it mattered. By tomorrow, I would be too sober to think about kisses or any of the other things he might be good at doing.

He pulled my arms tighter around him, holding my hands together on his very taut stomach. It was a little embarrassing that being on the back of his Harley was doing far more for my libido than all of Quincy’s—and every other man’s before him—effort.

“Hold on, Red.”