Page 71 of Not So Goode

Adrenaline was pounding through me, making me shake, making me daring and bold. I reached up and scraped my fingers into his hair and pulled him down to me, gripping his leather cut in my other hand and kissing him back, adding tongue to taste the crisp malt beer on his tongue, kissing him until he growled in his chest and yanked away.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman, youwantme to drag you into the bathroom and drill you up against the stall wall?”

“Drillme?” I arched an eyebrow at him.

“Way I’m feelin’, darlin’, that first time won’t be slow and pretty.” The primal promise in his voice made my sex clamp, heat rushing wet through me until I felt it literally, actually soak my underwear. “So yeah. You keep kissin’ me like that, woman, and you’re gonna find out what it means to get drilled, hard and fast.”

“That’s crude and demeaning,” I murmured. “And strangely arousing.”

He rumbled a laugh. “You handled that big asshole like you’ve done that before.”

“Mom sent all of us girls to self-defense classes for women. We all went together, every Saturday morning at eleven, from the time I was twelve and Poppy was six. I went all through high school, until I graduated. And yeah, I’ve had to do that before. Men are pigs.”

He frowned. “Not all of us.”

I smiled at him. “No, not all of you. You’re one of the good ones, Crow.”

His frown didn’t dissipate. “Wouldn’t go as far as that, but thanks for the sentiment.”

“Why didn’t you step in, out of curiosity?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I was gonna, but then you got in his face and I wondered how you’d handle it. You were god almighty feisty that night we met, and had you been sober I don’t think those fuckers would have wanted to tangle with you. So, yeah. I wanted to see what sober Charlie would do when threatened.” His eyes met mine, hard and serious. “I was only a few steps away. I’d have stepped in before he laid a hand on you.”

“So what you’re saying is, you trusted me to handle myself, and only planned on stepping in if it became more than I could deal with?”

He nodded. “About sums it up, yeah. You ain’t no helpless little thing, Charlie. I called you a sweet little filly, and that pissed you off and I get it, but don’t for a fuckin’ second think I underestimate you.” His eyes, those deep turbulent dark brown eyes were hot and serious, and not at all tame.

“That means more to me than you can imagine, Crow,” I said.

“You’re a hell of a woman, Charlotte Goode.”

My eyes stung. My heart squeezed. Had anyone, ever, thought as highly of me as he seemed to? Had anyone ever in my life shown such admiration for and belief in the woman and person I was?

Mom, perhaps, but that was her job. Not that I valued it less for the fact that she was my mom, by no means. But it was her job to prop me up and believe in me, and she had. It was getting that from…well…from a man that I craved.

My dad had been great at being playful and affectionate when we were kids, rarely raised his voice, called us beautiful. But as he grew older and we grew older, and as whatever it was eating him up inside gnawed away at his soul, he’d withdrawn from us all. That affection and playfulness and love had slowly been taken away. And when he’d died unexpectedly, it was gone forever. But, in truth it had been gone well before that.

I’d been searching for that validation for a long, long time.

And suddenly, in the wild nomad that was Crow, I’d found it.

And it scared me half to actual death. More than that, actually.

I couldn’t hold his gaze for long. I was too afraid of falling into those eyes. Too afraid of falling any farther into…anything.

I dropped my eyes and scratched a fingernail on the sticky bar top. “I’m hungry.”

He nodded, accepting my change in subject. “Well, I hope you like a cheeseburger and fries, because that’s about all they got, and that’s what I ordered us.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said. “I could eat a shoe, about now.”

The bartender came by and set a beer in front of me, but didn’t leave right away. His eyes cut to me, and then Crow. “Watch your backs.”

Crow showed no surprise at the unexpected, low-voiced warning. “He’s got buddies, I imagine.”

“Mean ones. The Yak doesn’t take kindly to strangers at all, much less those who make a fool of him in his own territory.” The bartender was tall, thickly built, with long blond hair and beard, resembling Fat Thor from that last Avengers movie.

I snorted. “The Yak?”