“What are you doing?” I demanded, cinching my robe tighter around my waist.
“Come inside so your neighbors don’t see you half naked,” he growled.
“I’m not half naked,” I argued.
“My cock says otherwise. Inside.”
“You’re bossy,” I hissed.
“I’m yours,” he countered, sending my heart into overdrive, “and you are fucking mine, and I don’t share. Inside, baby.”
I stomped up the walkway, breezing past him into the house, throwing the mail onto the side table.
He closed the front door behind him, leaning against it, staring at me with his arms crossed over his chest.
“This is my house,” I declared, whirling to face him.
“I’m aware,” he growled, stalking toward me.
“You slept in my bed,” I accused breathlessly as my back reached the wall in a futile bid to escape him.
Before I could continue, his lips were crashing onto mine, his hands gripping my hips as his tongue stroked mine, his teeth gently biting my lower lip as I fought the urge to climb him like a vine.
His hands dove into my hair, pulling just enough to strike a balance between pleasure and pain.
I fought, and lost, the urge to pull him closer as he took what he wanted as though he owned me. And hell, he pretty much did.
When he broke away, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing was labored. “Very aware I slept in your bed, and baby, it won’t be the last time,” he vowed, his nostrils flared, gaze flashing with intent.
I knew he was referring to much more than sleeping in my bed, a prospect that was far too daunting to consider so early and without caffeine.
“I need coffee,” I breathed despite my heart pounding at an already frantic pace. What I really needed was a moment to collect myself.
His lips twitched as he apparently read my mood, gesturing with his arm for me to precede him.
“How about you let me make you breakfast?” he asked with a raised brow as I poured us each a cup of coffee. I might be befuddled by him, but my manners were somehow still intact.
“It’s okay, you should be resting,” I protested as he opened the fridge and began rummaging through it.
He stood to his full height, a carton of eggs and cheese in hand. “I feel fine, ladybug. Slept great last night.” He winked.
My cheeks grew hot as I pretended to be really focused on putting sugar in my coffee. As though he knew my blush wasn’t playful and based on genuine consternation, his tone was sincere and a notch deeper when he spoke again.
“Grace.” His voice was a gentle rumble as he waited for me to look at him. “Come here,” he coaxed gently, extending his hand.
I took it, my heart hammering as his warm, strong hand engulfed mine and pulled me to him. He looked down at me, his green eyes striking as he gently pushed my hair back from my shoulders.
“I know I’m coming on strong,” he acknowledged. “All I want is a chance. Spend the weekend with me, here. We can get to know each other. I’ll keep my hands to myself from now on unless you ask me not to,” he swore.
I knew instantly that would be a battle I’d likely lose, and soon.
“I just want to spend time with you. Learn what you like on your pizza, what movies you like, I already know that you like sugar in your coffee.” He tipped his chin toward my cup, where in my nervousness I’d dumped in nearly the entire canister. “Baby”—his eyes were painfully earnest as he looked down at me—“I just want to get to know this glorious girl that slayed all my demons while I slept and maybe, if I’m lucky, slay some of hers too.”
I looked up at him, all the conflict and emotion that had nearly eaten me alive since I’d set eyes on him threatening to swallow me whole. “You live in Colorado,” I rasped, feeling broken by the prospect and my tone conveying as much.
His expression softened, his hand cupping the side of my face. “Logistics, remember?”
What would it mean to explore these feelings with this beautiful man for the weekend, to see what we could be—whatIcould be, not as the daughter of an MC, but as a woman who desperately wanted this man.
