Page 17 of Revv

Fuck.

She looks good like this.

A little wild and pissed off, but a lot like trouble.

I take half a step back and hold out a hand. “Come on. I’ll help you down.”

She looks at my hand like I offered her a curse. “I can get off a fucking bike, Revel.”

“You’re wearing heels.”

“And you’re wearing my patience thin.”

I laugh. “Fine. Go ahead, Mama.”

Her eyes narrow at the challenge. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“There she is,” I say, grinning.

“Do not ‘there she is me.’” Cece shifts, swinging one leg over the bike with way too much confidence and not nearly enough balance. “And don’t grin at me like you’re proud of yourself, because I swear to God, Revel, if you call me mama one more—”

Her wedge catches on the passenger foot peg.

Her whole body tips mid-threat.

I catch her before she can hit the ground, one arm locking around her waist, the other catching her hip.

For half a second, all that fire goes quiet.

Then her hands slam against my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.

I look down at her. “You were saying?”

Her eyes drop to my lips.

Then back up.

My grip tightens without meaning to.

“Careful,” I say, my voice dropping before I can stop it. “You almost fell for me.”

Her breath catches.

Fuck.

That tiny little crack in all that attitude, and God help me, I want to shove my fingers into it and pull until she stops pretending.

Her chin lifts, stubborn as hell, but her hands stay fisted in my shirt. She’s close enough that her mouth is right there. Close enough that I can feel the heat of her breath and see the way her eyes keep trying not to drop to my lips.

They drop anyway.

My grip tightens at her waist.

I should let her go.

I don’t.

Because she’s looking at me like she wants to tell me off and climb me at the same time, and fuck, she is hot when she’s fighting herself.