Page 7

Chelsea

He looks good.

Perhaps a little too good, and it’s clear he didn’t just wake up.

And God, the man is so freaking handsome, it’s annoying.

Somewhere in the back of my mind is a voice that begs to remind me that the man standing in front of me is a dangerous killer and practically a kidnapper, but I tune it out, choosing instead to ogle the man and take in all the rugged details of his face all at once.

His jaw is smooth and freshly shaven, and I catch the light scent of his aftershave.

I blush at the memory of feeling his stubble against my jaw when he kissed me last night, and I’m a little disappointed he’s shaved it away.

I flush, my ears burning with embarrassment at the memory.

Christ, I have no idea what came over me last night to act the way I did, but I don’t exactly regret it.

A part of me wants to do it again, and maybe this time there will be more.

Shit, I bet it’s written all over my face too.

I quickly drop my eyes from his face to his massive frame, brows furrowing when I notice for the first time that he’s fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a black shirt.

“Are you going somewhere?” I ask, sitting up and causing the covers to drop from my shoulders.

The strap on my nightgown slips, but I barely pay mind to it until I look up to find those steely eyes trailing over me with something hot in them.

A shudder rolls down my back, my body responding furiously when he traces his eyes over the exposed skin.

There’s desire clearly written in his gaze, and…

it should scare me. It should do a lot more than just scare me, but instead, it does the opposite.

It sends heat licking up my body and my nipples aching.

Desperate for a repeat of what played out last night, I’m about to do something dumb like invite Hound into bed when he finally speaks, his voice cutting into the tension like a knife through butter.

“I left for an hour or so,” he says, tearing his eyes away from me and turning his back as he walks toward the window. “I just got back.”

Oh.

His words cut right into my fantasy, and I try not to hide disappointment that he didn’t stay in bed with me. I try to focus on the bright side, putting on a smile as I turn to the tray of food on the bedside table. “Thank you for the breakfast. It looks delicious.”

“The ladies downstairs made it.”

“Ladies?” I ask, trying to play it off, but I find curiosity clawing at my chest, half terrified of his answer. “I didn’t know the Steel Rebels had women in the club.”

“We don’t,” he says, stopping at the window and drawing the curtains to allow in sunlight. “Barely any women apply to be a prospect for our club. They seem to prefer the all-female MC further south. Ever heard of the Iron Lilies?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“It’s an all-female club in Springfield. One of the largest in the state.”

“Huh,” I muse, and as intriguing as it is to learn about this particular subject, I find my mind wandering to the initial point. “So, uh, what about the ‘ladies’ downstairs? They’re not… Oh God, taking women and holding them here as collateral isn’t a common thing for the club, is it?”

“No.” He chuckles, the first sign of humor on his face since I woke up, and I find that I love the deep sound of his laugh. “They’re members’ partners—girlfriends and wives.”

“You guys have…wives?”

This time, he laughs fully. The sound starts low in his chest, a rumble that vibrates through the air.

His head tilts back slightly, exposing the strong line of his jaw as he lets loose.

The sound makes my stomach flutter and a strange warmth spread through me.

I watch as his whole face changes, eyes crinkle at the corners, that hard steel softening and sparkling with amusement.

God, he’s beautiful. A sight so magnificent I am robbed of the ability to think, breathe, or do anything but…stare.

“Contrary to what most people think, bikers are not nomads. Quite the opposite. We settle down, marry, and have kids.”

“And do you want that too?” I blurt out. “A wife and kids?”

The laughter dies from his face, and there’s a sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes slips away, and I want to take my words back. Anything to bring the light back to his expression, but I see him shut down. Shut me out.

What’s wrong? I want to ask. I question what soft spot I unknowingly poked, but I know I will not get an answer from the man. Before I can say something else, he nods toward the tray of food. “You should eat that before it gets cold.”

“Will you join me?”

“It’s all yours,” he says, his voice neutral, creating more distance between us. A part of me wants to climb off the bed and walk to the man who's standing at the other end of the room. Uncertainty over whether my actions would be welcome is what keeps me glued in place.

I nearly laugh at my own thoughts. I’m not exactly on a honeymoon, now am I? Less than a day ago, this man nearly shot and killed my brother. I’m here, not as a guest or a girlfriend, I think bitterly, but as collateral. It’s best if I don’t forget that.

Still, I find myself wanting to be close to him.

A dull ache settles in my chest as I attempt to remind myself of my place here.

Sure, he indulged me last night, but that doesn’t exactly have to mean anything.

It was special to me because it was my first kiss, but Hound probably has a revolving door of gorgeous women.

They probably bump into each other as they come and go from his place in droves.

A man like this, built like a woman’s wet dream, could have his pick, so why would I think myself special?

The sadness begins to morph into resentment and perhaps a little bit of jealousy.

The urge to pull the covers up to my chin and turn my back on him is strong, but I refuse to mope.

I need to call my brother and assure him that I’m fine, and my manager to let him know I haven’t been kidnapped on my way to work or anything crazy like that. Well, not exactly anyway.

“Is it okay if I contact my brother?” I ask, my voice with a little bite in it, but I can’t exactly push the thought of other women in bed with Hound out of my mind.

Up until a few hours ago, I did not know of his existence, and now, after a kiss and a mind-blowing orgasm, the man has somehow imprinted on my mind.

Get a hold of yourself, Chelsea!

And yet, when he turns around at my question and those stormy gray eyes land on me again, I find my body craving his touch. Which only serves to frustrate me further. “You’re not a prisoner here, Chelsea. You can contact your brother anytime you want.”

We both know that’s not true. At least the first part of his statement, but I don’t mention that as I reach for the nightstand and grab my phone.

I expect Hound to stand guard and listen in on the call to make sure my brother and I aren’t concocting a plan to break me out of here, but he excuses himself, giving me privacy.

I stare at his broad back until it disappears and the door closes softly behind him. With a sigh, I dial my brother’s number. Ransom answers on the first ring, his panicked voice breaking through the speaker and nearly splitting my eardrum.

“CJ, are you okay?”

I pull the phone from my ear before he can do any permanent damage to it and put him on speaker. “I’m fine, Ransom,” I say, climbing off the bed and heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

“Did that monster touch you? I swear to God if—”

“No,” I cut in, cheeks flaming at the memory of Hound gripping my butt and rubbing his manhood against my sex, the friction working wonders for clit.

But it wasn’t just sex, there was intimacy, those gray eyes heated as they locked on mine, threatening to take me apart and then put me back together.

And Christ, I would have let him.

“Chelsea?”

“Huh?” I clear my throat when it comes out a little raspy. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Yes, I asked if something happened. I’ll kill him if he hurt you.”

There’s regret in his voice, and I catch the hint of fear too.

Ransom, protective brother that he is, stands no chance against an entire motorcycle club.

Unlike the neighborhood boys he threatened when they whistled and catcalled me, his methods would not work on Hound and the others here.

“I’m fine,” I assure him through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“It’s not too bad here. Besides, I get to take a break from work, and I bet it’s nice to have the place all to yourself.

” I rinse my mouth before walking back to the bedroom, phone in hand.

“It must be a reprieve not to have me fussing at you for making a mess.”

My attempt at humor doesn’t go unrewarded as he laughs, but I can tell his heart is not fully in it. “He hasn’t put you in some dark basement, has he?”

“No, I’ve got my own bedroom,” I say, turning to the tray and reaching out to snag an apple slice, popping it in my mouth. “I even get served breakfast in bed. Hmm, I could get used to this.”

“I’m sorry, CJ,” he says after a moment, but this time, I sense the tension and fear he was holding ease. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I should have known better than to fuck with the Rebels.”

“I’m not mad,” I say honestly, realizing with some surprise that it’s true.

At least not as mad as I was when I found out who he’d stolen from.

“But you have to promise me that you’ll stop stealing.

I’m not a kid anymore, Ransom. I work now, and I’ll help with Nonna’s nursing bills.

You have to stop bearing all the weight and live your life for once. ”

“C—”

“Promise me, Ransom. That once you repay the Steel Rebels, then that is it.” The memory of my brother on his knees with a gun aimed at him is one that will be burned in my mind for eternity, and the thought of that happening again makes me sick to my stomach.

The next Hound might not be as patient. “You’re done stealing after this. Promise me!”

“I’m done,” he says with a heavy sigh.

“Good, now do whatever it is you have to do, but don’t worry about me. I’m safe here. Probably safer than I would be anywhere else in the city.”

I reach for another apple slice and then another as our conversation moves to lighter topics, and when the call ends, I realize I’ve wolfed down most of the breakfast. Whoever made the egg toast is my new favorite person.

I’m about to go find Hound to ask him that before I remember that I am mad at him.

I climb off the bed, shooting a text to my manager to let him know I’m dealing with a family emergency and can’t come to work, feeling a little guilty at the half truth. Minutes later, he texts back letting me know that he’s got someone to cover my shift.

With that settled, I glance at the bedroom door and debate whether I should go after man before deciding against it.

I turn toward the ensuite bathroom again, the promise of a hot shower a less terrifying prospect.

Something about being in his bathroom, using his soap to clean up, sends my heart racing.

It’s stupid. Foolish to find even a sliver of joy in something so small, but I can’t help myself.

Everything in here smells like him, and a small smile forms on my lips when I bring his body wash to my nose before lathering it over my skin.

I try not to think of last night as I shower, those rough calloused hands on my body, touching me in ways no one else ever has.

God.

The sigh slips out when my hands brush over my nipples, wishing it were his hands instead.

Wanting him in here with me, loving on my body like he did last night.

He’s so close too. Just a room away. Bet he’d hear me if I called out.

Maybe he’d join me in the shower, slam me back against the wall and then…

“Oh God,” I sigh again, withdrawing my hands from my tits. I quickly rinse off before stepping out. I wrap a towel around my body before emerging from the bathroom, and I’m just crossing the threshold when the bedroom doors open and Hound steps in.

We both freeze. Mid-step, mid-breath.

The stillness in the room is replaced by a sudden charged tension. I’m still damp from my shower, my hair tousled, and he’s standing in the doorway, giving me a hungry look. One that reminds me of a lion bracing to attack.

And I wait for it.

Despite the weakness in my knees and the racing of my heart, I wait for him to make the move.

To close the distance between us and recreate the magic of last night, but he does no such thing.

To my utter surprise, he turns to look at the opposite side of the room.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice tight. “I should have knocked. I’ll leave and give you some space to get dressed. ”

“Space?” I scoff, stopping him before he can leave. Is he really going to ignore me? Pretend last night never happened?

My jaw clenches so tight, my teeth ache. Hurt curdles into something hot and sharp in my chest. I want to kick something, preferably the man who suddenly seems to have the restraint of a saint. If he was going to act so cold, then he never should have touched me.

How dare he make me want him—give me a taste of heaven and then deny me another slice? I could have gone my entire life never knowing what it feels like to be pulled against a strong body, touched by skilled, calloused hands, or kissed by a mouth so addictive I had dreams about it.

Now that I know how it feels, I can’t function without it—him—and he pulls away. Creates a distance between us so large, it’s practically a crater. The thought that he might not want me as desperately as I want him sends angry tears burning behind my eyes.

It’s humiliating that I would fall for the last person I should. A man who threatened my family and practically kidnapped me from my home is the one person I should steer clear of, but I desperately want him close.

And he doesn’t want me!