Page 2 of Ruger (Riders of Retribution #2)

Marigold

When I said that I’d ridden on my brother’s motorcycle, I wasn’t lying. It felt completely different, though; he didn’t go nearly as fast as Ruger’s going. I can’t hold onto him tight enough.

It’s not like I mind being pressed up against him.

He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

He’s tall, all chiseled muscle and raw grit.

I can feel his strength in my arms, and that combines with the vibrations of the motorcycle between my legs, making me feel funny.

Not a bad funny, by any means. It’s like there are butterflies everywhere .

I’m a little disappointed when we finally stop in front of his house. All I want is to be close to him, so peeling myself off his back almost hurts. And, when he starts leading me up his walkway, I have to make an effort to keep a respectable distance between us.

Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.

Something about Ruger’s mere presence makes me warm all over.

It’s addicting and confusing. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been allowed to date – Blade’s overprotective, and he’s kept me far away from men ever since our parents passed away.

Ruger might be the first man I’ve ever had a crush on who wasn’t a celebrity.

I have a crush on him. That realization slams into me.

It hits me so hard that my knees nearly buckle.

All at once, I know that every time I thought I had a crush, I was just thinking the man in question was cute. This is all consuming.

“After you,” Ruger says, his deep voice lighting up parts of me that have been dark my entire life.

As I step inside, I can feel myself blushing again. Actually, I don’t think I’ve stopped blushing since I first laid eyes on him. It’s even worse when he looks at me or talks to me.

When I walk inside, I’m surprised by how clean and neat the place is. It’s not that I was expecting Ruger to be a messy person, but there isn’t even a half-empty cup on the coffee table. The carpets are clean, and there’s no dust on any of the surfaces – at least not that I can see.

The thing is, my brother told me that Ruger was rough around the edges. In my mind, Blade’s best friend was the kind of person who would knock back a few beers and pass out on his couch with trashy TV playing. I was never led to believe he’d be dusting and vacuuming in his free time.

“It’s not much, but I don’t really spend much time here,” he says as he walks me through the living room. He stops in front of a door in the hallway, and murmurs, “And I’ll admit that the spare bedroom is even more lackluster.”

With that, he opens the door and leads me into a little room. He wasn’t lying, there’s not much here. The only thing in the bedroom other than the bed draped in a gray comforter is a nightstand with a lamp. It will suit my needs just fine, though.

“If you need anything else, just let me know,” he says, scratching the back of his head, his fingertips scrubbing against the short, black hair there. “I’ll get whatever you need to make sure you’re comfortable here.”

His kindness shouldn’t be so charming. I know that he’s only doing this because my brother asked him.

Still, it feels like he’s going above and beyond.

He didn’t have to personally drive me here.

He doesn’t have to offer to get me whatever I need.

He could have just told me where the room was before going to do whatever got interrupted when he was called to get me.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling up at him. When our eyes meet, my heartbeat becomes so loud in my chest that I’m sure he can hear it. “You don’t have to do that, though. This is enough.”

“You’re going to be here a while,” he tells me, not mentioning that it’ll likely be a few years.

They really threw the book at Blade. He isn’t even eligible for parole for at least a year and a half, and the law enforcement around here doesn’t typically favor bikers.

“So, if anything comes up, let me know. Or, I could get anything you need from your house. I want you to be comfortable.”

His gruff looks are a stark contrast to the way he cares about me. Somehow, it makes my desire even more intense. He’s hot and he’s nice. He accepted his job of protecting me without any questions. The attraction I feel for him is catching like wildfire in my chest.

Oh, my god. I’m going to have to keep this under control the entire time I’m here, or I’m going to end up embarrassing myself.

“You don’t have to do all this,” I say, my voice coming out breathier than I mean. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Marigold, you’re not imposing on me,” he says, ducking his head to catch my gaze. My face, impossibly, gets even hotter. “I’m happy to have you here. My house is yours as long as you need it. I said I’d protect you, and that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

“Th– thank you, Ruger,” I say, forcing myself to keep my focus on his dark brown eyes.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, reaching out and placing his enormous hand on my shoulder. “Now… is there anything I can get you? I don’t know what you had in your bag, but I’m sure there was something in there to keep you occupied.”

“Just a few books,” I admit, reaching up to twirl my hair – a nervous habit I’ve had for as long as I can remember. “If you have anything I can read, I’d love that.”

“I’m on it,” he says before turning on his heel and leaving my new bedroom like a man on a mission.

I stand there stunned. I’ve never seen someone so serious about finding a book, and I work in a library. The gesture only endears me to him more.

I’m not left waiting for long. He reappears with several magazines in his hand. Magazines aren’t my typical reading material, but I’m not going to say no to some literary entertainment. But, when I take the stack from him and scan through the titles, I can’t help but giggle.

“What is it?” he asks very seriously, which only makes me laugh harder. When I look at him, the anxious look on his face softens. “Is there something wrong with the magazines?”

“No, no,” I say, reigning in my giggles. “It’s just…” I hold out the motorcycle magazines, gesturing between him and them. “I’m just not surprised this is what you had on hand when I asked for something to read.”

His shoulders relax a little, and he gives me a smile that lights me up from the inside out. Ruger says, “I’m not much of a reader. I’m not even sure how old those are.”

“Let’s see,” I murmur, looking for the publishing date. “Ruger! These are four years old.”

“I told you I don’t read much,” he says defensively, though he’s still wearing the remnants of that smile. “What are you, some kind of reading expert?”

“I am, actually,” I say, holding the magazines against my chest. I don’t want him taking them back – I might think it’s funny that this is what I’ve been given, but I’m always willing to expand my reading horizons. “I’m a librarian.”

“No shit?” he asks with a chuckle. “Well, maybe you can recommend something for me to read.”

“Sounds like a fun task,” I admit thoughtfully. “I’ll get on that the next time that I’m at work.”

“I’d really appreciate that,” he says.

“I’m happy to do it,” I say with a shrug. “Besides, you’re letting me stay here. I think the least I can do for you is find you something you’d enjoy. I know you said you’re not a reader, but I’ll use these as research to figure out what I should pick out.”

“Seems like you take your job pretty seriously,” he says with a playful lilt.

How is this giant, muscular man so charming? It’s not fair. Everything about him is perfect. He’s like a man out of a romance novel. Men like him don’t exist in real life, do they? I mean, obviously they do; Ruger’s standing right here in front of me.

“You okay?” he asks.

Oh no. I’ve been staring and lost in my thoughts about him. I’m already embarrassing myself in front of him. At this rate I’m going to combust by the end of the week.

“I’m fine,” I promise. Because I am. A little flustered, sure. But I’ve been worse. “These last few days have just been… a lot.”

“That makes sense,” he says, sympathy underneath that unpolished exterior. “I’m sure your brother getting locked up is hard enough. Now you’re in a new place.”

“Exactly,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe most of my weirdness can just be explained away. “I’ll be okay, though.”

“You’re a tough girl,” he says decisively. “You will be.”

My heart flutters in my chest. I’m overcome with the urge to do something , but I’m too inexperienced to know what. My palms practically itch with the desire to reach out to him, so I grip onto the magazines tighter.

“Well, I’m going to let you get settled in,” Ruger says after a beat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “If you need anything at all, my room is right down the hall. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you again,” I say, moving forward before I can think about it too hard. “For everything.”

Then, because I’m apparently not in control of my body right now, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips against his stubble-ridden cheek.

I pull away just as quickly as I initiated the contact, blushing all the way to the tips of my ears.

I’m unable to look him in the eyes. Apparently, that’s as far as my bravery goes.

Ruger lingers for a long second, and I’m sure he’s going to say something. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or horrified when he walks out of the room without another word, closing my door softly behind himself.

Once I’m alone, I sink down onto the bed, setting the magazines beside me. I bury my flaming face in my hands and force myself to take deep breaths. Only one thought runs through my mind for the next ten minutes.

What the heck am I going to do?