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All evening, he’d tried to fool himself his interest in her nocturnal activities was straight-up for her safety. For all she knew, Chloe was luring a crazed ax murderer to her hotel room to fuck. Rocket was just tailing her to ensure she didn’t end up in pieces in a killer’s trunk.
And yes, the irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d killed more men than anyone he knew.
The convincing worked, too. To his mind, he was there to keep her safe. Not at all because the thought of another man sticking his cock in her made his trigger finger twitch.
So where the fuck was she?
Just as Rocket was about to call the motel and verify she did indeed have a reservation for the evening, her little navy Honda rounded the corner and veered into the parking lot.
Interesting.
Once again, she wore that curve-hugging purple dress that had driven him batshit a few weeks ago. Rocket couldn’t tear his gaze away as she exited her car and swung those sexy hips toward the entrance. Even though her appearance suggested the night was a typical weekend one, something was different, off with the way she carried herself. Gone was the confident woman who owned the room each week. In her place was a fidgety, nervous Nelly. The real Chloe. The woman who’d been violated and had been treading water for months. Made sense her limbs would tire at some point. Was tonight that night?
Had something happened? Did someone spook her? Hurt her? Fucking touch her?
Inhaling through his nose, Rocket fought to stamp down the rising anger. Whatever it was that set her back tonight, he needed to know. Needed to discover what put her off her game.
And needed to vanquish her demon.
There was a way to get it done. A way to work the information out of her, but it would be the stupidest thing he’d done in years. So reckless, Copper would probably rip his patch off and eat it for lunch if he found out.
A man on his way out of the bar held the door for Chloe. Normally, she’d bat her eyes, engage in some banter, flirt a little. Tonight, she averted her gaze and slunk in the building.
For long moments, Rocket just stared at the door after it closed behind her. Right now, she was scanning the room, looking for a man to dominate.
A man to fuck.
And she wasn’t in top fighting form, which meant she was more vulnerable than usual. The bar faded from his sights, replaced by the vision of Chloe riding some nameless, faceless asshole. A rumble vibrated through his chest. No fucking way was her hot pussy taking in a strange cock tonight.
Decision made, Rocket fired up his truck.
He had a plan to put in motion.
HER HEART WASN’T in this.
Neither was her freaking body, or even her mind. Usually the idea of dominating whomever she’d taken back to her hotel room got her at least a little turned on. Even if her body had trouble getting on board with her choice, her mind craved the control and power enough that she was eager to go through with it.
Tonight? Nada.
Chloe lingered outside the motel room with her key card poised above the slot. She should bail. Plead a headache or an upset stomach. This guy seemed dumb enough to believe it.
But then, she might not get this chance again until Scott left. And she needed it. Needed to feel the power of having the upper hand for at least a little while. She needed to right her world and remember that she was in control of some things. It’d be the only way to erase the winery incident from her mind.
So, she stuck the card in the slot and grabbed the metal handle when the light blinked green.
God, she was so fucked up.
With a sigh, Chloe pushed the door open only to have her stomach drop and her eyes bug out of her head. “Holy shit,” she said on a shriek, jerking backward and slamming the door shut as she did so. Her heart hammered so hard against the inside of her chest she was bound to have trauma to the vital organ.
“What’s wrong?” Pizza-guy—as she’d been referring to him all night because he owned an Italian joint in New Jersey—asked.
“Wh—uh, nothing’s wrong.” She volleyed her gaze between the closed door and the man whose black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, his matching eyebrows arched in confusion.
Nothing, except a very sexy man was already handcuffed to her motel bed.
A man she’d met.
A man she’d fucked.
A man who made her come.
Clearly, it wasn’t going to happen with pizza-guy now. “You know,” she said, lifting an unsteady hand to her temple. “My head is pounding.” She squinted her eyes. “Gosh, I think I’m getting a migraine. I’m so sorry, but I’m not sure this is a good idea tonight.” She tried to send him a sweet smile while her nerves were going berserk.
