Page 4 of Ruger (Riders of Retribution #2)

Marigold

It isn’t that I’m expecting Ruger to join me while I’m cooking dinner, but I thought that he was going to at least come and keep me company.

Instead, I sear steaks, bake potatoes, and steam broccoli from a frozen bag I found in the back of his freezer.

I sigh at the lack of dinner rolls, but it’s not like I could be choosy.

There wasn’t much in the way of food here.

If I had to guess, I’d say Ruger lives on takeout and motorcycle club barbecues.

Ruger finally makes his appearance as I’m plating our meals. He’s freshly showered, droplets of water still crawling down his neck and being absorbed by the collar of his very soft looking black t-shirt. I have to look away from him, my face burning.

I was so focused on making dinner that I didn’t hear the shower running. It’s probably for the best, though. If I was imagining his strong body all soaped up and under the hot water, I think I’d have burned everything.

“Smells good,” he says as he sidles up beside me at the counter. “Broccoli? Where’d you get that?”

“I found it in your freezer,” I say, turning to look at him and immediately regretting it.

Well, not really. He’s gorgeous, probably one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in real life. No wonder Blade kept me away from him at the MC family gatherings I attended. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself; I still don’t know what to do with myself!

“Huh. Guess I should probably go in there more often,” he murmurs as he walks to the fridge and pulls out two sodas.

“Well, I mean if you want frozen peas that have been used as an icepack and a package of freezer burnt french fries, you should definitely check it out,” I say, picking up our plates and carrying them over to his dining table.

My joke makes him laugh, and I feel a shock of pride at the sound. It’s warm, radiating from his chest and settling in mine. I want to hear more of it.

“These are medium,” I say a little breathlessly as I settle the dishes onto the plate. “I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I just made them right in the middle. I hope that’s okay.”

What is this man doing to me? How did my crush on him become all-consuming in such a short amount of time?

“That’s perfect,” he says, pushing my drink toward me and settling in on the opposite side of the table. “Actually, you’re perfect. I don’t think I could ask for a better housemate.”

If he were anyone else, I’d assume that he was just trying to flirt with me. I’m not very good at picking things like that up, but I’m not stupid—being called ‘perfect’ is an obvious flirtation. With Ruger, it doesn’t feel like that, though. Instead, I can tell that he’s being genuine.

Somehow, that makes my heart thud even more than the alternative.

“So,” Ruger says, smirking as he begins to cut into his steak. Apparently, he’s noticed how flustered I am. I do wear my heart on my sleeve even though I’d prefer that it stayed in my chest. “You must be pretty damn smart working at the library, right?”

I bristle at the assumption. I like to think I’m smart, but there’s no good answer to that question. There’s so much I don’t know. So, I say, “I think ‘well-read' is the phrase you’re looking for.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” he challenges.

“Not exactly,” I say, busying myself with my meal to avoid his intense gaze.

He’s looking at me like I’m something special, and it makes me feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle.

“I think smarts are relative. Just because I read books doesn’t make me some kind of genius.

I’m sure there’s tons of stuff you know that I don’t. ”

“Oh?” he asks, and after a beat I realize that what I said could definitely be taken as meaning something else.

“I– I mean,” I begin, tripping over my words and nearly choking on the food in my mouth. “It’s… I don’t know anything about motorcycles, but you probably know almost everything about them. And you work at the garage don’t you? You– you probably know a lot about all kinds of vehicles.”

Ruger chuckles again, but it doesn’t feel derisive. In fact, I might even say he sounds charmed. His joy is enough to soothe the icy sting of embarrassment.

“I guess I know more than the average person about bikes and cars,” he says, taking another big bite of his meal. I watch as he chews it, then swallows. Juices linger on his lips, and my stomach swoops at the sight. “Damn, this might be the best dinner I’ve had in this kitchen.”

“That can’t be true,” I say. And my lord , will I ever stop blushing around this man? Signs point to no.

“Oh, it is,” he confirms. “I can’t cook for shit. But I think you already knew that. This is not the kitchen of a gourmet chef.”

“The cabinets were… bare,” I concede.

“I just might have to keep you around forever,” he says, those words making me feel special, like I’m being rewarded for every good deed I’ve ever done. I’d happily cook every meal for him if it meant getting to stay in his presence.

“I’d like that,” I say, feeling like I’m committing to so much more with those three words.

The two of us lapse into silence as we work our way through our steaks.

And, I have to admit, these might be the best that I’ve ever made.

Or, perhaps it’s the company that makes the meal so special.

It isn’t until we’re nearly done that Ruger speaks again, taking a sip of his drink and clearing his throat before he does.

“I am looking forward to seeing what kind of books you pick out for me,” he says, a look of sincerity gracing his masculine features. “I know you’re going to be looking for things you think I’ll like, but feel free to throw something in there I might not pick up for myself.”

“Consider it done,” I reply as I take my last bite.

One quick glance confirms that Ruger’s plate is empty, too. So, I grab it and hurry over to the sink, not wanting to let him clean up. He’s already doing so much for me, this is the least I can do. Plus, I need a minute to cool off. It’s probably not healthy to blush for prolonged periods of time.

Ruger, however, doesn’t leave. Instead, he joins me at the sink, listening to my nonverbal command to stay back while I work. I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, but with the dishes in front of me, I’m able to tune it out for the most part and focus on the task at hand.

“Tell me about the MC,” I say, wanting him to talk because if I do, I’ll surely say something embarrassing. That, and the fact that I really like the sound of his voice. Sue me.

“Blade didn’t tell you about the Riders of Retribution?” he asks. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You know how he is,” I say, hoping the explanation is enough. The truth is, he told me some things, but there’s obviously more to it if he went to prison for club activities and I have to be watched by someone else from the MC. “There’s a point where being protected just leaves you ignorant.”

“Ah, but he means well,” Ruger says. “Although, there isn’t really much to it. We do charity rides and give back to our community. You could say we’ve made keeping Rio Lunas safe our unofficial job.”

He’s definitely not telling me everything, but his non-answer is a fairly damning one. Maybe it was some act of vigilante justice that got my brother locked up. It would be easy to find his charges online, but he asked me not to look, so I haven’t.

“I think I knew that,” I say, looking away from the pan I’m scrubbing to meet his warm brown eyes again.

When I do, a lock of my hair falls into my face. My hands are too wet to tuck it away, so I try blowing it out of my eyes. To my frustration, it doesn’t work, and I probably look like a real idiot.

I’m so focused on what I’m doing that I don’t notice Ruger reaching out to tuck the strand behind my ear until his fingers brush against my cheek.

It feels like the entire world grinds to a halt.

Our eyes lock, and something electric flows between us.

It’s like a live wire, I just want to grab onto it and hold on tight. Even if it hurts me.

I feel myself leaning forward, my attraction to him so magnetic that it physically manifests. Even before this moment, I knew I was drawn to Ruger in a way I’ve never been drawn to anyone else before. But now… now I don’t think there’s another soul in the world that could make me feel this way.

Ruger meets me in the middle, his lips soft against mine. It’s tentative at first, like he’s asking for permission. I do my best to give it to him, moving my lips in time with his. This is my first kiss, though. I don’t know if I’m doing it correctly.

I must be, because he kisses me harder, stepping in so close that our bodies are nearly flush against each other.

I’m looking straight up to maintain the contact, and even though my hands are wet, I put them on Ruger’s shoulders to keep myself steady.

He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, the touch only spurs him on further.

His tongue presses against the seam of my mouth, and I open up to him on instinct. He plunges inside, licking against my teeth and tongue. I feel a little weak in the knees.

There’s something else, too. Something foreign and warm and undeniable happening in my abdomen and between my legs. It’s like every fiber of my being is screaming for more. More pressure, more attention, more Ruger