Page 9 of Claiming What's His

“For your information, I don’t lock my car because there’s nothing in there to steal. I’d rather not lose a window when someone decides they want to prove me wrong.”

“You can let me in your house, baby. If I wanted to hurt you, I could’ve already. I’m not here for that. I’m here to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to takecareof me. I’ve been doing it myself for a long time now. Not that I need to explain myself to you.” She puts her hands on her hips, reminding me of her grandmother so much that I’d have to be blind not to see it.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Shelby steps back away from me. “What?” she whispers.

Even in the dimly lit area I can see the fear that rolls across her face. Instantly I’m pissed. I’ve never hurt a woman, and I sure as fuck won’t start now. Someone’s hurt her though. The trouble Billie was referring to is getting clearer and clearer.

And I don’t like it.

“You’re just making me like you more and more, Shelby.”

“I think you should go,” she says.

I take her in. She really does look extremely exhausted. I know when to let things go and even though I don’t want to, I nod in agreement.

“Okay, you win this round,” I tell her, holding my hands up in surrender.

“Round?” She tilts her head as she tries to figure out what I mean.

“Yes, Shelby. You win this round, but you need to know that I’m going to win the war.”

“I don’t want to go to war with you,” she says.

“Don’t worry,” I reply, grinning. “I’ll find a way to make sure you enjoy it.”

She shakes her head all the way to her door. She unlocks it and goes inside. Her green eyes are locked on me as she closes the door.

I stand by my bike, watching as her lights come on. Hiking my leg over, I straddle it as I wait. The light at the back flicks on. I figure that’s likely her bedroom.

God, I wish I was in there with her.

It’s not going to happen tonight, but it will. Shelby is going to be mine.

Chapter7

Shelby

The thunder outside wakes me up. I try to roll over and ignore the sound, but it doesn’t stop. When I keep hearing it, I realize it’s not thunder. Someone is at my door. Not just that but they arepoundingon it.

I hop out of bed, throwing on my purple, silk robe. I love purple. It’s my favorite color. It just makes me happy. I pad my way slowly to the door as the knocking continues. I look through the peephole.

“Damn it,” I curse under my breath.It’s King.

I take a deep breath before opening my door, leaving the chain in place to peek out at him. I have to squint as the sunlight burns my eyes.Why is it so bright out? It’s too early for this.

Today King’s in a blue t-shirt with dark washed jeans. The t-shirt is having the same struggles as the other one. the fabric can’t fit his muscles and is stretched taut. I wonder idly why his biceps aren’t ripping the sleeves apart. My gaze lingers on the two, white fast-food bags he’s holding along with a cup holder with two drinks—from the smell of it, coffee.

“Morning sunshine,” King says with a smile. “Let me in.”

I bite my tongue to keep the nursery rhyme from falling out of my mouth as my sleep-addled brain recites it.Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin. It seems fitting. His stare implies he could be the big, bad wolf.

His dark eyes, better to see me with.

His wolfish grin, better to eat me with.

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