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My thighs press together on pure instinct. Between the pregnancy hormones and the way he’s looking at me, I’m basically a walking slip-and-slide. The roof is packed, but the twenty feet of space between us feels like absolute torture. I'm standing here pretending I have an ounce of self-control left, while my brain is running a highlight reel of everything he did to me in that hotel room. I don't want to be friends right now. I want him to walk over here and bend me over this bar.

Before I can abandon my dignity and go beg him for what I really want, a wall of leather and ink steps right into my line of sight, completely ruining my view.

Some biker leans an elbow on the bar next to me, holding out a plastic cup filled with amber liquid and ice. He’s fine-looking, I guess, but he’s no Sumner.

"You look thirsty," he says, flashing a cocky grin.

"I'm good," I say, lifting my sparkling water to prove the point.

He doesn't take the hint. He steps closer, invading my personal space. "Water? Come on," he says, his gaze dropping to my mesh dress. "You're way too hot to be stone-cold sober on a Friday night. Let me get you a real drink."

Before I get the chance to tell him to fuck off, a large, warm hand flattens against the almost-bare skin of my stomach. I’d know that touch anywhere.

Sumner steps right up behind me, plastering my back to his front. When I tilt my head back to look at him, he’s completely calm on the outside, but I can feel the rigid tension vibrating through his body. There’s a violent storm brewing right underneath his surface that tells me it wouldn't take much for him to completely go off.

"She's drinking water because she's pregnant with my baby," Sumner says. His voice is a low, even drawl, but the look in his eyes is absolutely murderous. He stares the guy down, looking like he's just begging this fucker to give him a reason to snap.

The guy blinks, his cocky grin faltering. He looks at Sumner's size, looks at the arm wrapped around me, and takes a slow step backward. "Right. My bad, man. Congratulations."

The guy turns and walks away.

But Sumner doesn’t drop his arm. Instead, his fingers flex, gripping me tighter and digging in. I hope they leave bruises behind that I can look at later.

I open my mouth to tell him that I’m a big girl who can handle things on her own, but the words die in my throat when I look up at him. The feminism leaves my body. Just floats right up out of here because, respectfully, holy fuck, the way he’s looking at me.

The calm facade he just used on that biker is completely gone. His jaw is rigid, and the look he’s pinning me with is so sharp and lethal I actually forget how to breathe. The man looks like he's about to tear something apart.

My stomach does a terrifying, weightless free-fall. A hot flush blooms across my chest, sinking straight down, down, down all the way to my toes. My entire body leans back into him, and how the hell am I supposed to resist?

He reaches out, plucks the cold can of sparkling water right out of my hand, and sets it onto the bar. His fingers wrap around my wrist, firm and inescapable.

"Sumner—" I start, but he’s already moving.

He pulls me away from the string lights and the crowd, dragging me straight toward the stairs.

He yanks the door open and pulls me into the dim concrete landing. A blast of air conditioning hits my flushed skin, but it doesn't even make a dent in the absolute meltdown happening inside my body. The heavy metal door slams shut behind us, cutting off the music and the party completely. We’re trapped in the quiet dark, totally alone.

I stare up at him, my pulse going bananas, and realize exactly how much trouble I'm in.

Because if he touches me right now, I don’t think I’m strong enough to resist.

CHAPTER 21

SUMNER

I back her against the exposed brick wall, planting my hands on either side of her head to cage her in. My chest brushes hers with every breath I take. The cold air blasting from the vent overhead does nothing to cool my blood. All I can smell is the sweet scent of sweat on her skin, and my muscles shake with the effort to not lick it off.

Goldie’s eyes are wide in the dim light, her lips parted as her hands hover in the narrow space between us—like she can't decide whether to shove me away or grab on and pull me closer. The frantic beat of her heart thumps against my chest. I step in, crowding her against the wall until her hips press right into where I'm rock hard behind my zipper.

I'm pretty sure she wants this. I see the way she looks at me sometimes, the way she reacts when my skin brushes against hers. It makes me think she wants me to stop holding back and cross the line right here, right now. But she hasn’t said it, and not knowing for sure is driving me out of my fucking mind.

"Tell me to break the rules, Goldie," I say, my voice dropping into the tiny bit of space between us.

I lower my head, resting my forehead against hers, and close my eyes. I have to talk myself down, fighting to keep myself in check when I’m dying inside with how much I want her.

"Say the word," I murmur, my mouth hovering a fraction of an inch from hers. "Three little letters. Tell me, and I'll kiss you until you forget why you ever told me no."

She shivers. Her hands finally grab the front of my shirt, holding on tight. She tilts her chin up, chasing my mouth, her breath warm against my lips.