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I feel a flush creeping up my neck, daring to hope that I hear a bantering note in his voice.
That he’s going to make me pay.
And maybe I’d like that.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Relax.” His smirk returns. “I’m just messing with you, Kelly.”
“Are you really interested in Shakespeare?” I say, unable to stop the girlish, giddy smile from captivating my lips like a jailor. “Or are you just playing games with me?”
“Why would I play games with you?” he asks, his voice low, leaning forward so that his scent washes over me.
Because I’m the daughter of the man you hate.
But the more he gazes at me, the more I’m starting to wonder if he really doesn’t know.
Or this could be a twisted game, pretending to be the Romeo to my Juliet, taking me from my family and turning me against them.
Paranoia nips at the heels of the interaction.
“I don’t know,” I say, wishing I could be the cool confident girl without her face perpetually stuck in a book.
My blush is getting out of hand now, blazing, a wildfire.
“Listen,” he says. “I wish I could sit here and talk with you all day, Kelly. I really do. But, unfortunately, I’ve got business to attend to today. But I want – no, I need – to take you for a ride later. Have you seen the stars at night, in the desert, with no artificial light there to ruin them? That should be pretty damn poetic, if you ask me.”
A tingle dances up my spine.
Is this a date?
An image of Dad’s twisted expression if I told him I was going for a ride with Kane Knight darts into my mind, the rage that would spew from his narrowed eyes.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hear him growl. “Do you know who that man is?”
But my body is telling me a different story, blotting out paranoia and family loyalty.
My body is screaming out for this man, for his touch, imagining what it’d be like to wrap my arms around him on his bike and feel his irrepressible body through his leather jacket.
This could be a trick.
It easily could be a trick.
Which is why even I’m surprised when I say, “Sure, that sounds nice.”
“The library,” he says. “Eight o’clock. We’ll ride out as the sun begins to set. Sound good?”
But he’s up and on his feet without even waiting for a reply.
I watch him go, his confident swagger and broad shoulders sending crazy signals to my womb, to my insides, to my sex which gets warm and clammy and needy.
I should’ve said no.
I should go after him right now and say no.
He’s dad’s worst enemy, a comic book arch nemesis deal.
But I don’t do any of that.
I turn back to my book and feel a smile spreading across my face, thinking about later, about Kane, about the stars that will be so much brighter once the town is a speck behind us.
Later, as the sun fades to an orange glow in the sky, I wrap my arms around myself and lean against the library wall, the road stretching off to my left and the Thank You for Visiting Aslado sign chipped and wind-bitten.
I almost flinch when a motorcycle comes to a stop behind me, just out of view, with a rubbery screeching noise.
I turn to find Kane standing there, his lips twisted, his clean shaven jaw tight.
“Kelly,” he growls. “Kelly Yeager.”
My belly drops.
“You didn’t tell me you were his daughter.”
Suddenly, I’m very aware of just how alone we are out here on the edge of town.
Chapter Three
Kane
I stare at her, changed now into tight fitting black jeans and a tank top that just shows the strap of her pink bra, her form just made for offspring, her breasts not huge but full, fertile, the sort of breasts I can imagine suckling precious milk from once our children are done.
Primal, urgent need riots through me, compelling me to take her, right here framed by the bruised light of the setting sun.
I found out she was Jason’s daughter earlier today, mentioning in passing to Garrote that I was taking a woman for a ride this evening. It’s standard procedure to let my VP know where I am, just in case any shit hits the fan.
After he’d gotten over his visible shock – I’ve never once taken a woman for a ride in all the years he’s known me – another wave of uncertainty crossed his face.
“You know she’s Jason Yeager’s daughter, right?”
I felt like he’d just punched me in the chest, a solid brick-fist right to the pectoral.
I’d heard that Jason and Henrietta had a daughter, of course, and perhaps I’d even heard her name once upon a time. But if I had, it had fallen by the wayside of my memory, replaced with the MC and the Cartel and keeping Aslado clean.
