Page 2 of Marked by the Protective Biker (Heat & Ink)

EMILY

The guy sitting next to Jack drones on about the injustice of him being in prison. I really should be paying closer attention, but instead I’m focused on Jack.

He asked to talk to me after the session, and I told him no.

Not because I’m scared of him but more like I’m scared of how I’ll react to being alone with him.

I don’t trust myself not to touch him. Hell, I can totally see myself begging for his touch.

I’ve never in my life been attracted to a man like I am to Jack.

When I first saw him, it was his big shoulders, chiseled chin, and big blue eyes that drew me to him.

I swear when he looks at me, I feel so much heat I’ve had to stop myself from fanning my face.

And that was at one glance.

When I got to know him through counseling, I started to fall for him. I shouldn’t have, and I know better, but it was inevitable. He’s irresistible.

He’s my complete opposite, but he calms me in ways I never saw coming.

Hell, he’s part of a motorcycle club. He’s in prison for killing a man and was sentenced to twenty years and he’s getting out after only serving one. I’m sure there were strings pulled, but they are saying he’s getting out on some technicality.

The sad part about this is, I don’t think he wants out. I think he was content being in here and now that he’s about to get out, there’s a restlessness to him that he can’t seem to get a hold of. Which sort of explains the speech he just gave.

It worries me some because I can see him doing something to be able to stay in here, and that would be the worst thing for him. He needs to take his freedom and run.

As the guys continue talking, I look at Jack.

He’s staring straight at me, and I don’t have to wonder if everything he said about claiming what’s his was about me.

I’ve known since the first words we exchanged that I was his.

We may never act on it, and we may never do more than talk, but I feel as if I’m his.

It’s like I belong with him, and the thought should freak me out, but it doesn’t.

I stand up from behind my desk and move across the room. Every eye in the room is on me. Charles is talking about how his ex-wife won’t bring his kid to see him, and I search my brain. When he pauses, I ask him, “Your daughter is thirteen, right?”

He nods, and I give him a look of understanding. “I understand you want to see your daughter, but have you tried reaching out to her? Maybe write her a letter and let her know you love her and are thinking of her.”

One of the other guys jumps in with a mocking laugh. “Charles can’t write.”

A few of the others snicker, and I am about to take back control of the session when Jack chimes in. “I’ll help you write it tonight.”

Charles nods at Jack and thanks him.

And that right there is another reason I’ve fallen for Jack.

He’s not like the other guys here. He is hard and strong, and no one here doubts that, but he’s also compassionate and caring.

A lot of these men are in prison because they’ve done really bad things.

And yeah, Jack killed a guy, but he did it protecting a child that was being assaulted next to a park in Whiskey Run.

He broke the law, and he hasn’t shown any remorse for what he’s done because he said if he had to do it again, he would. Who can really blame him for that?

I nod toward Jack. “Thank you for helping him. Now, Mike, what about you? Anything you want to talk about?”

The next few guys grumble through their confessions and complaints, and I take notes of things I can help them with.

Before I know it, time is up, and I start to panic.

Jack is about to walk out of here, and who knows if I’ll ever see him again.

Do I want this to be my last encounter with him?

Am I going to be able to just let him walk out the door without another word?

The thought makes me sick to my stomach, and as all the guys start to file out of the room, I step in front of Jack, putting distance between him and the guard. “Hey, Bradley, I’m going to go ahead and do Jack’s exit interview now, okay? I’ll just need around thirty minutes.”

Bradley is an older guard, and he’s taken it upon himself to look out for me. His wife sends in cakes and cookies to give to me at least once a week. Bradley leans his head back and looks up at Jack. “You going to give her any problems?”

Jack shakes his head. “No, sir.”

Bradley measures him with a look and nods his head. “Fine. I’ll be right here, Em—I mean Ms. Riles. You just say my name and I’ll be here.”

I nod, unable to hide my relief. It’s not much, but I have thirty more minutes with Jack, and it’s going to have to be enough.

I’m going to have to commit everything he says and does to memory because I don’t want to forget anything about any of it, but mostly I don’t want to forget how he makes me feel.

Bradley steps outside of the room, and I grip the door and close it halfway.

Without looking at Jack, I walk back toward my desk.

The long skirt I have on feels tighter, and I know Jack is watching my ass move side to side as I go.

I resist shaking my hips even though I want to.

Even though this is inappropriate, I can at least put up a modicum of professionalism.

As I settle at my desk, Jack walks toward me. His gaze is penetrating, and I slide my thighs together, wanting the friction there.

“Have a seat,” I tell him breathlessly.

I point at the chair across the desk, but he grabs it and picks it up like it weighs nothing. I hold my breath as he carries it around the desk, sets it beside mine, and then settles his heavy frame into it.

It feels like something is lodged in my throat, but I mumble, “What are you doing?”

He turns toward me. He’s caged me in with his arms and thighs.

His right arm is on the desk in front of us, his left arm is on the back of my chair.

His left leg is behind me, and his right leg is pressed against my knees.

I hold my breath because even though we’ve sat close before, this is closer; this is different.

He leans his head toward mine, and just for a second I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.

His breath is hot on my cheek. He's that close. “I leave here tomorrow, Em. I have thirty minutes to breathe you in, and the only way to do that is to sit close to you.” His hand comes down on my thigh, and I jump. Not because I’m scared but because I wasn’t expecting his touch.

“Please, let me have these thirty minutes touching you.”

My voice is shaky and filled with need. “We shouldn’t do this.”