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“I get why you let your mother hire us,” Tate says and cocks his head. “It’s good that you picked our company.”
“Huh?” I glance up and meet his eyes that sparkle with mischief.
“This temporary living arrangement can turn out to be fun. Think about it. You, down the hall from me at the clubhouse. It sounds damn good to me.”
It takes every bit of restraint I have not to junk punch him for saying that now, while the whole Jett ordeal is sinking in. “Seriously, Tate? Don’t you think about anything but sex?”
“Sure, I do. Like weapons, good booze, long rides…want me to go on?”
“Not really.”
“I got you to forget about whatever’s on your mind, didn’t I?”
Damn it, he has. “Maybe a little,” I admit. “You’re something else.”
He rocks back on his heels with his hands in his pockets. “And yet, your mom’s money in my pocket says otherwise.”
He’s right—we’ve paid him for the luxury.
I grit my teeth.
Crap.
This is going to be a long few days.
Chapter 6
Molly
While Tate is strapping my duffel bag to the back of his ride, I walk further down the private driveway to my Jeep. I need to grab the pieces of ID I keep stowed in the glove compartment, and I’m sure I left one of my textbooks in the back seat. I click the remote when I’m halfway across the semi-circular paved driveway, but don’t hear the usual sound of the door unlocking.
“Strange,” I mutter.
I’m sure I locked it before I went inside a few hours ago. That uneasiness hits another level when I notice the driver’s side door of my white Jeep Cherokee isn’t fully closed. I pause mid-stride, nearly dropping my keys to the ground as my hands start to shake. My head throbs, vision blurry as the adrenaline adds to how jittery I already am. Swearing under my breath, I jog the last few yards toward the door and nudge it with my foot. I don’t want to touch anything. It’s less about contaminating possible evidence and more about the regret of being in physical contact with anything Jett has put his hands on. It’s not my fault that all of this is happening, but I can’t help feeling some blame.
And dirty.
Stupid.
Like I’m part of the problem because I let him into my life, to begin with.
I take a beat to pull myself together and wish I’d asked Tate to check the vehicle before I got here. As I glance into the lit-up interior, I’m sure that I should’ve. My vision blurs as I catch sight of it, and I take a step backward, bumping into the side door of mother’s Mercedes coupe parked beside my Jeep. Thankfully Mom’s car alarm doesn’t go off. She doesn’t need to know that Jett was here again twice. But Tate needs to take a look.
Numb tingling washes over my limbs. With my pulse in my throat, I lean in closer to my car, shaken by all the rose petals dotting the seat, the floor mats, and the dashboard. There’s a black silk teddy-style piece of lingerie spread out on the back seat, a postcard beside it, and a bunch of pictures is fanned out around it. A closer look at the photos causes me to pull away again, disgusted and nauseous. These are new. They’re photos of me in my bedroom. Jett has been watching and waiting, lingering even more intimately over my life than I ever expected.
I don’t want to, but end up reading the words on the postcard through blurry eyes. It reads:
Watching you from a distance isn’t enough anymore. On the day you accept that we’re meant to be, I expect you to be wearing this. Until then I’ll be waiting for you, baby.
Love always,
Jett
I’m so rattled by the scene in front of me that when a hand lands on my shoulder, my fear and instinct to fight take over. A scream comes from my lips, and I turn, attacking the source through hot tears, my fists blindly thrashing the chest in front of me.
Tate’s chest.
“Calm down!”
He grabs my arms, pulling me into him with my wrists pinned together in one hand. Tate doesn’t let me go. His soothing voice at my ear breaks through my haze as he rocks me back and forth in the driveway. I’m a frightened little girl all over again.
As I start to calm down, it hits me that I’ve never seen this side of Tate. I’m used to the asshole, the rough, rugged, filthy talking biker. And right now, he’s kind and nurturing. Protective. It feels like a dream. I want to wake up and be back to my confident, independent, fearless self again.
