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“Support?”
“Someone to talk to, a hand to hold…”
I pick up her hand. She stiffens immediately, but she doesn’t pull away.
“I think I could handle that,” I tell her and for once I’m entirely serious.
I thread my fingers through hers and entwine them.
“There’s no way this can work, Logan,” she argues.
I turn into her, letting my fingers brush against the side of her face.
“I think it can,” I tell her, my gaze locked with hers. A man could drown in her eyes.
Drown and die happy.
“You’re a dreamer,” she scoffs.
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, but Angel, tell me something.”
“What?” she asks softly, her tongue coming out to caress her bottom lip. I want to moan as I watch its slow movement, but I manage to keep from it…
Barely.
“What would the world be without dreams?” I ask.
Torrent doesn’t answer, but she sits beside me for another ten minutes. Not speaking, but holding my hand. For now, that’s more than enough. I’ll hope for tomorrow.TorrentThree days.
That’s how long since I lost my mind.
I can’t say what made the final break. It could be the tall, built, sexy biker with beautiful lips, blue eyes, brown and copper tinted hair. It could be the fact I’ve been living in a nunnery for way too freaking long. Maybe it’s hereditary; Lord knows my mother was always a few French fries short of a Happy Meal.
I couldn’t tell you why I’m being so stupid. Maybe it’s a mixture of all those reasons and more. All I know is that this is day three I’m meeting Logan. Day three of risking my cover, and it’s definitely the third day I’m falling deeper in lust for the biker named Devil.
I haven’t kissed him—though I’ve wanted to. I’ve not told him a lot about my life—though the temptation to do that was there too. I’ve held hands, listened to his stories about his brothers. I’ve laughed at his jokes, and shared a few cold sandwiches he brought.
I’m in trouble and when I say that, I mean that there is this giant sign above my head in flashing neon that says “Stupid!” and there’s an arrow under that word pointing directly at my head. I know all of this logically, but when I make it to the park, this time wearing jeans and a shirt—that I hid under the long black uniform dress I normally wear for confession—I find I don’t give a damn. I want more time with Logan and I want to do it as me… Torrent Bishop. Not the make-believe Torrent I’ve been forced to become.
“Damn, Angel.”
“What?” I respond, wondering if something is wrong.
“You’re trying to kill me, showing up here like that. You can’t tell me this is what nuns normally wear,” he grumbles, his voice doing like it always does and sending sparks of awareness instantly through my body. Sometimes when he says my name, I swear it feels like a physical caress.
I start to tell him what I originally wore and stored behind a tree when I got away from the others. The girls are working at a local farm today with some children. I pretended to be sick, and stayed back as everyone else boarded on the bus. It was a little dangerous, but like I said, I’m insane and spending time with Logan has become as essential to me as air and water.
“Whatever,” I mutter, walking closer to him. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to look.”
“Oh, I like it, Torrent. I like it too damn much,” he says, scratching his beard. I almost giggle at the look on his face. It’s clear he’s struggling—but not that much, since his gaze is zeroed in on my ass. Devil is an ass man, that much is clear.
“Horn-dog.”
“Arf, arf, baby,” he jokes and I giggle. “How long do we have today?”
It’s a simple question, but it causes my body to heat and my heart-rate to kick into overdrive. I can’t stop myself from looking over my shoulder in the direction I came. I half expect to see the other girls, including the Mother Superior, standing there ready to…
Crap. I don’t know what they would do, I only know whatever happened next wouldn’t be good.
“An hour or so,” I tell him, knowing that’s pushing it. Most everyone might be gone, but there are still people at the convent and if one of them decided to check on me and discover the pillows under my cover…
“How do you feel about riding a bike?” he asks, surprising me.
I can’t stop the smile that stretches on my face. I miss so much about my former life, but one of the biggest things—outside of father and my friends—has been riding. I was on a bike practically before I could walk. My dad bought my first bike when I was a teen and the bike I have now was built exclusively for me, by him. I cherish it and I miss it every day.
