Page 8 of Shadow’s Protection (Hurricane Heat MC #1)
I cock my head and rack my brain. “I do?” I can’t remember much about last night…at least not the later part of the night. “What did you ask?”
He turns on the stool to face me, every muscle in his torso pivoting with the movement.
His beard is thick and trimmed. It looks so soft.
He must have woken early and cleaned up.
His hair looks damp, like he might have showered.
The thought of Shadow naked just steps away from where I was sleeping makes my nipples go hard.
Just then, another crash of thunder and wind startles the ever-loving daylights out of me.
I leap off my stool and throw my arms around Shadow’s neck.
“What was that?” I look into his face, his full lips now just inches from mine.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I—” The words die on my lips as Shadow’s hands circle my hips.
He’s sitting on the stool with his legs open. He pulls me between his legs and holds me close to him. He feels so, so good. Hot, hard, soft, and smooth. I want to touch his beard, run my fingers through his hair. I tip my head back and look into his green eyes.
Maybe I’m still drunk, and heck, maybe I’m more reckless than I realize, but I swear I don’t even think about it.
The heat of him under my hands, his smooth, corded muscles, even the feel of being between his legs.
I’m drawn to him like a bee to a flower.
As soon as I smell him, my eyelids drift closed.
I want to taste him. I lean my face closer to his, and before I realize what’s happening, I’m kissing him.
I’m about to pull away in horror when he grips my ass and yanks me tight against him.
And oh, sweet mother, does he kiss me back.
I open my mouth, thankful I brushed every last trace of whiskey from my teeth, and his tongue and mine meet like long-lost lovers reunited.
Desperately, deeply. I may only have known him for a night, but my body didn’t get that memo.
I am falling, falling, literally weightless as I’m pulled under by bliss.
All I feel are his hands, his lips, his tongue against mine.
He tastes rich, like black coffee, and sweet, like the lightest trace of sugar.
His bare skin under my hands is hot, and I just want more of that, more of him. I want to be closer, to tangle myself against the furnace of his chest and lose myself in the pleasure.
I dig my fingers through his hair, scratching, writhing, pressing myself as close to him as I can get. He cups my butt cheeks, and while it should be too much, too soon, it’s not close enough.
He feels so unbelievably good. It’s like everything else fades away. The storm. The bikers. The women. I pause to catch my breath, but I wrap my arms tighter around his neck. I whimper, a needy, hungry sound, and press my chest toward him, my nipples suddenly hard and aching for contact.
“ Fuuuuuuuck meeeeee .”
That was definitely not his voice.
A low moan from one of the passed-out people behind us breaks the moment. Someone must be waking up. I hear movement, bodies rolling, furniture being pushed around.
Shadow pulls his lips from mine, holds my face in his hands for a second before releasing me.
His breathing is ragged, his eyes wild. I am breathless, unsteady—and, worse, disappointed.
My knees feel weak and my legs are wobbly.
I’m still drunk, yes, but not on whiskey.
On him. I’m like a thirsty woman who finally took a sip of water.
And now, I want to finish the whole bottle.
I’ve never, ever been kissed like that by anybody before. The kiss that made the storm outside look like a light summer mist.
I must be standing there looking as shocked as I feel because Shadow wordlessly grabs both of our mugs by the handle in one hand and takes my hand in the other. He gets up off his stool and drags me past people in various stages of waking up.
One guy groans and runs for a trash bin before puking loudly into it. A few women stumble around, fumbling for their tops or shoes.
But no one else matters. Shadow moves with the determination of a soldier, marching me in the opposite direction of the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply, just releases my hand and ticks his head for me to follow.
I suppose now would be the time when a rational woman would excuse herself. Go back to Shadow’s bedroom, lock that dead bolt, and keep him and all these other people as far away as possible.
Yesterday, I would have called myself a rational woman.
Today, I’m not sure. I’ve done whiskey shots with him. Searched his closets. Tasted his lips.
I have a split second of indecision before I take the uncharted path and follow him wherever it is he plans to lead me.
When he reaches a locked door, he pulls a set of keys from the back pocket of his jeans and unlocks it. He waves me through and locks the door behind us.
The lights are off, so I assume either the generator isn’t connected here or he’s chosen to save the power. As my eyes adjust to the dim daylight, I’m stunned by what I see.
“Reinforced metal doors, no windows,” he explains. “Safest room in the compound.”
Shadow sets our coffee mugs down on a stainless-steel table that looks like something out of a professional kitchen.
He takes my hand and walks me past row after row of gorgeous cars and motorcycles.
These are not just everyday bikes and trucks like the ones outside in the lot where he left my car.
These are vintage, rare, and collectible.
Valuable vehicles treasured by those who own them. Antique, restored works of beauty.
We walk past a pristine black GTO that is as glossy and perfect as it must have been the day it rolled off the assembly line in the early seventies. I hover my free hand over the gleaming paint without touching it and hum appreciatively.
“This is gorgeous,” I tell him. I’m not even much of a car person, but wow. It’s hard not to be impressed by something this beautiful.
“I’m not looking at the car right now,” he tells me.
Even in the low light, I can see exactly where his eyes are. He’s devouring me, his lips parted, his gaze moving from my chest to my lips until, finally, our eyes meet.
It’s like an instinct now, the way I just throw myself at him. My mouth crashes against his, and we’re kissing again, his mouth open, his tongue doing scandalous things to mine, while his hands grip my bottom.
Suddenly, he picks me up and sets me on the hood of the GTO.
“I’m too heavy,” I say nervously, not wanting to dent the hood. Echoes of angry voices—my ex’s voice—cause me to draw my shoulders down and sink deep into myself.
I don’t want to think about him right now.
Don’t want to hear his rage in my ears, his cruelty, his judgment.
Even though it’s been six months since I ended things, I just can’t help it.
It’s like he left a trace of himself in my ears, the small, angry voice relentless in its criticism of everything I do.
“Sweetheart, this shit is old-school. It can handle a man my size. You’re fine.
” Shadow practically growls the word at me, planting two huge palms on either side of my legs.
He pats a beat against the metal hood, as if to prove the frame can hold my weight.
He tips my chin toward him and claims my lips in a hungry kiss.
“Unless you tell me to stop, I’m gonna make you come until you can’t see straight.
I know this car can take it. But the real question is… can you?”
My shoulders release, and my body nearly falls back against the hood. Make me come?
“Shadow, I…”
He leans across the bumper and grips my face in his hands. “Yes or no, sweetheart.”
I don’t break his intense stare, but my mind is whirling a million miles a second. “What about the others? Can’t anyone just…”
“This place is off-limits to almost everybody. I’m the VP of this club, and I locked the door.
Ain’t nobody gonna try to come in here.” He pulls me closer to him and whispers against my ear.
“This beauty is mine, and I have condoms in the glove box.” He points to the door.
“You’re free to go back to my room and read if you’d rather, Violet James. ”
His words aren’t sharp like Clive’s, not belittling. Coming from Shadow, my name—Violet James—somehow sounds sexy.
He’s given me a place to be safe from the storm, and now he’s giving me an out from something that might be even more dangerous than the hurricane. He’s giving me a chance to walk away. To stop whatever this is from happening while there is still time. It’s not too late. A kiss can be just that.
I think about Clive, my broken proposal.
The heat of Shadow’s shoulder, the way he tucked me into his bed and slept on the couch like a gentleman.
He doesn’t look the part, and God knows he could still be dangerous.
But after what I’ve been through, the real fear I’ve experienced, I want to trust again and get lost in something so good that I can’t worry or think or wonder.
I don’t know where the words come from, and they sound silly coming from my lips, but I force myself to say them anyway. I want another life, a new start, and whether this is a dead end or a brand-new path, I’m pushing myself.
“I want you, Shadow. I want this.”