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Now, she bats her eyelashes, but not in the artificial way of a club girl.
Nerves fuel these movements.
I can read her.
Of course I can.
She’s my woman, and even if this just exploded into more-than-complicated status, I can’t deny that.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I growl. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” she whispers, as I step closer, a shiver running through her that could be fear.
Could be.
But I can read her body, the way her luxurious blonde hair cascades down to her shoulders, shivering, shimmering.
Lust.
Primal, urgent, hungry desire.
Her womb screaming at her as loudly as my seed is roaring at me.
“Then why did you come?” I demand. “I’m assuming you recognized me.”
Her smile quirks. Her eyes twinkle.
“Aren’t you Mr. Confident?”
She says it and looks away at the same time, as though part of her is embarrassed by the flurry of confidence.
“Well?” I say, but my smirk twitches despite myself, her magnetism unstoppable, her sassiness like a warm drink after a cold day.
“Yeah, I recognized you, Kane. And yeah, maybe I shouldn’t be here. But I guess … I don’t know. I guess I felt like I had to come. Not that I was being forced. But there was this feeling inside of me and …”
She drifts off, shaking her head.
I step closer, scenting her in the air, her womb rising, tangy, perfect.
I need this woman. I’ll die if I don’t have her.
“I mean, it’s complicated. I know, me even being here. You’re forty-something. I’m eighteen. Not that I care about the age gap, really. But my dad hates you. You hate my dad.”
“I don’t hate him,” I murmur. “He hates me. We were friends once.”
“Then why aren’t you friends anymore?”
She leaves the question hanging as I stalk even closer, my body pressed almost against hers now, her lips pursed and her head tilted.
I neglect to answer, instead raising my hand and touching a strand of her hair, feeling the way her body trembles, her loyalty to her family warring with her desire for us.
“Let’s go for that ride,” I growl.
“Really?” she whispers. “I thought that was off the table now?”
“It should be. We both know that. But there’s somewhere I want to take you. Do you trust me?”
She giggles, rolling her eyes. “We both know that’s probably the most loaded question you could ask me, Kane. We both know I shouldn’t trust you. We both know that it’d be really, really silly if I did trust you.”
“Yes,” I agree, voice husky. “That’s true. But that’s not what I asked you, is it?”
She bites her lip, looking up at me, everything about her declaring that she’s mine, the woman I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for.
It’s a feeling like a volcano, a tsunami, the force of a hurricane or a wildfire, something elemental and as old as life itself, something true in a way I’ve never experienced anything in my life before.
I feel as though all my ancestors – maybe men who really did ride Bloody Chariots – are calling to me through the eons, telling me to claim this woman, with her child-bearing hips and her uniquely beautiful features.
“I trust you,” she says, with a small, endearing laugh. “How crazy is that?”
“Then follow me,” I tell her, any thought of ending this seeming like a laughable, impossible thing now.
I couldn’t end this.
Even if I wanted to.
And I don’t want to.
Ever.
I turn and stride toward my bike, and a moment later I feel her at my side, not touching me but close.
“Where are we going, then?”
“First,” I tell her, grabbing my helmet from the rear of the bike and handing it to her. “Put this on.”
“What about you?” she asks.
I smirk. “Don’t worry about me. Take this, too.”
I shrug off my jacket and walk around the back of her, somehow resisting the urge to drive my rock hard manhood against the supple curves of her ass in those form hugging jeans, round and full and perfect.
She wriggles into it as I drape it over her shoulders, sliding her arms into the sleeves.
Then I climb onto the bike and gesture for her to do the same.
She pulls the helmet on and climbs on after me, wrapping her arms tentatively around my waist, her nervousness plain in the way her fingers tic and shift and her body stiffens.
I feel her body against my back, vivacious and driving me wild even through the leather, and then I start the engine and glide us away from the library, joining the road that leaves Aslado and heading out to the desert.
We glide together, and as we do I let my mind leap to all the other times we might do similar things, together, moving forward, powered by the engine beneath us.
I almost let out a boyish laugh, or throw my head back to the emerging moon and howl like a wolf.
