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There was conversation during the meal but not much. Mostly just the clang of forks against plates.
Swiss’s hand was on my bare thigh the entire meal.
I’d only been able to function because I was so starving and had eaten every single bite.
Which brought us to now, when I was getting showered with praise and didn’t quite know what to do with it.
“It’s just pasta,” I said quietly.
“Just pasta?” Cody repeated. He shook his head. “No. That is not just pasta. That is fucking sorcery.”
Heat crept up my neck. “It’s a simple recipe. And I didn’t simmer it for as long—”
“Nope,” Swiss interrupted. “I can tell you’re going to try and criticize either yourself or that meal, and I’m not fuckin’ havin’ it.” He squeezed my thigh and looked to the other men at the table. “I trust you fuckers can clean up all of this since my woman was generous enough to cook you an incredible meal. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” He pushed up from his chair, lifted me from mine, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me out of the room.
Carried me out of the room.
And somehow, he managed to expertly move so none of my private parts flashed the men at the table as he did so.
And that concluded one of the best nights of my life.
Well, there was still a little bit to go.
“I was serious, you know,” I whispered into the darkness. I couldn’t be sure that Swiss was even still awake, but his breathing had a cadence that hinted to him being alert.
“About what?” he asked, voice low and thick.
“About leaving,” I said.
His arms tightened around me, and he didn’t respond for the longest time. “Why?”
His voice was quieter now. Softer. Curious. But with an edge.
I sighed. Why was such a simple question. With such a messy, complicated answer.
The truth hovered on my tongue. I could tell Swiss everything. All of it.
There was something inside of me that told me he could fix things somehow. Get me out of this situation. Hadn’t I seen the news stories about biker gangs helping battered women get their things out of their houses when they left their husbands?
Battered women.
That’s what I was. A battered wife.
And a sixth sense told me that somehow, this man whose arms were around me, would fix it.
But that would turn me into a battered woman to him. Nothing else. I would cease to be Kate, the woman who was traveling around the country after her divorce, Kate who was brazen enough to go to a biker party all on her own and proposition the first man she saw.
It would make everything real. There would be an urgency to fix it all, to stray from this fantasy.
I was not ready to do that yet. I was comfortable in my denial.
“Because leaving is the… sensible thing to do,” I answered, hating myself.
“The sensible thing,” Swiss repeated after a long moment.
I didn’t reply because I couldn’t force any lies out of my mouth. Lying by omission was still lying, something I’d drilled into Violet when she was entering her teen years.
Swiss pulled me suddenly so I was straddling him. My hands landed on his pecs for balance. They were warm, hard. His hands went to either side of my hips, grinding me against him.
