His laughter rumbles between us. “Be honest. If you hadn’t been married, would you have come home with me that night if I’d asked?”
A different kind of heat streaks through me, but then another memory of that day squelches that fire. “No.”
He quirks an eyebrow.
“I caught you coming out of the closet with Inga. No way would I have wanted to sleep with you a few hours later.”
He doesn’t laugh at me like I expected. “If you hadn’t been strictly off limits, I never would have been in that closet with her,” he says with such sincerity I believe every word. After a second, he runs his fingers over my cheek. “I did feel bad about that, you know,” he adds, a pained expression settling over his face.
The way he admits that, the raw emotion in his words, loosens the tightness inside my chest. “Why? You were single and free to do whatever you wanted.”
“I know. But the look on your face bugged the shit out of me for days.”
Wow. That my big, tough, reformed manwhore has no problem admitting this to me erases any leftover doubts from our argument. I’m too choked up to say anything, so I bob my head up and down like a dope.
“That’s all my plan with Tony was, Hope. I’m surrounded by all sorts of crap. You were this bright, sweet, genuinely good person. It was just my way of wanting to do something nice for you, the only way I could figure how.”
If I twist my mindset a bit and see it from his perspective, it makes perfect sense.
“Okay, but you can’t keep sticking your nose in my career, no matter how good your intentions are. Let me figure out what to do on my own.” I thump him lightly on the chest to emphasize my point.
He snatches up my hand and kisses my fingers. “Hope, I’m not that guy. I don’t want you to give up your career for me if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“What are you talking about? I know that. Is that why you keep pushing me?”
“Well, yeah.” A sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Plus, I like the idea of you doing stuff for the club. It’s like a small way for you to be a part of it.”
“I knew it. You don’t allow women members, do you?”
The sheepish smile turns into a smirk.
I need to take a deep breath. In a small amount of time, he’s admitted a number of stunning things to me. Each one explains so much. I feel like an absolute bitch for the way I’ve treated him.
“Rock, listen. I had these misgivings before we ever got together. The day we met, I think I told you I was struggling financially. Being a lawyer isn’t what I thought it was going to be. I think you understand how much I withdrew from everything after Clay died. So now, I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with myself. Yes, I like spending all the extra time with you. But trust me, I have no intention of giving up my own life to just sit around and wait on you all day, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Well now that you mention it—”
“Please, my vagina needs a break every now and then.”
That gets a good, solid laugh out of him.
“Fair enough, doll.”
“Good, and don’t lie to me anymore.”
He takes a deep breath, signaling this conversation is not finished, even though I thought it was. “I didn’t lie to you. If you had asked me for some reason, I would have told you about Tony.”
“Really?” I ask with a bit more sarcasm than I intended.
“Yes,” he answers in his typical, no bullshit way.
I’m not so sure about that, but I nod anyway.
“You still hide other stuff from me, though.”
“Hope, you know there is shit I can not tell you.”
“Rock—”
“No. Can you tell me stuff about your clients?”
“Of course not.”
“Right. You’re bound by your confidentiality rules. So am I. Try to see it that way.”
“That’s ridiculous. I actually took an oath. I lose my license—”
Now Rock’s pissed. “Babe, you best believe that I’ve taken some oaths of my own, and I have a fuck lot more to lose than a license.”
“It’s not the same,” I protest.
“No, it’s not.” It sounds like he’s agreeing with me, but I don’t think that’s what he’s actually doing.
For some stupid reason, the term spousal privilege pops into my lawyer brain. “What if we were married?” I blurt out without thinking. “You’d still—”
I stop because he has this strange look on his face.
Way too late, I realize what I just said.
Crap.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“What if we were married?”
Her words punch me in the gut, and any anger I was feeling a minute ago vanishes. “You think about that?”
A deep flush stains her cheeks, and she starts squirming away from me.
Oh, hell, no.
Launching myself on top of her, I pin her underneath me. “Tell me. Do you think about us that way?”
She struggles and won’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you don’t want—”
I love her, but obviously, my girl knows jack about what I want. There’s a fuck ton of things I want from Hope.
The words property patch spring to mind. I need to have that conversation with her soon. It’s way more important to me than a wedding ring. I realize it’s going to take a lengthy discussion for her to understand and not be offended.
But damn, I want—no, I need—her so fucking bad. In so many ways.
Leaning down, I take her lips in a soft, teasing kiss. “I want all sorts of things from you, baby doll.”
Her forehead wrinkles with a bunch of unasked questions, so I continue.
“I want you to move in here for one thing.” Fuck, it feels good to finally say that to her face.
“You do?” she asks with such surprise my heart clenches.
“Yes, baby doll. I hate every night we spend apart.”
She looks so uncertain that I’m taken aback. Before I lose my shit, it occurs to me there could be another reason for her hesitance.
“Baby, you not ready to let your house go?”
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and nods. “I haven’t even been able to pack his things up yet. Selling our house? I don’t know.”
I shift my weight off her and sit back. A brick to the face would have hit me with less force. She still considers it “their” house.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
It takes me a second to remember how to work my mouth. “Don’t be. I get it.” I want to understand, anyway.
We’re interrupted from this painful circle of a conversation by someone banging on the back door.
“Fuck.” It better be life or death, or I swear to Buddha someone is going to ground.
Hope twists and checks out the clock. “I should go—”
“No. I want you close today.” Actually, after her revelation, spending the day with her is going to be a challenge, but since I’m still worried about her safety, I’ll have to suck it up.
She opens her mouth to protest.
“I’m not fucking around, Hope. You got work shit to do, I’ll take you.” I’m telling her all of this as I jump into a pair of jeans and throw on a T-shirt so I can go slap the shit out of whoever keeps banging on the door downstairs.
She goes to protest again, and I try that honesty thing she wants so much. “Hope, please. Give me this.”
Begging works. She nods. “Okay.”
Leaning over, I dip down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.”
Downstairs, I find Z at the back door.
“Why didn’t you just come in?” I snap.
“Got it locked down tight, brother. Forgot my key.”
After leading him into the kitchen, I get some coffee going. I want to get breakfast started for Hope, but I doubt she’ll come downstairs if she thinks this is club business. Which, b
y the way, I would like to find out myself, so I can get in the right frame of mind.
“What’s up?”
“Wrath sent me. Said some shit went down, wanted to know what you need.”
I snort and shake my head. I’d only spoken to Wrath briefly last night. I hadn’t told either prospect what went down, yet somehow, he got some details. Even when he’s down, brother is on top of things.
I give Z a brief outline of the attack, completely leaving out the Tony Cain portion of the afternoon. It’s not relevant.
Z cracks his knuckles multiple times throughout my rundown. “Where is this motherfucker now?”
“Don’t you dare.” Hope’s voice comes from just outside the kitchen entryway before she comes into view.
T-shirt hanging to her thighs, bare legs, mussed hair, she’s fuckin’ beautiful. Z runs his gaze over her a little too long for my taste, so I give him a slap.
He shakes it off and glares at me. “What?”
Hope narrows her eyes at me and comes around the corner to grab some coffee. As she stretches up to grab a couple mugs, the hem of her shirt rises, exposing the bruising all over the front of her thighs.
Beside me, Z sucks in a breath. “Holy fuck, Hope.” His gaze darts to me, and it’s full of murderous intent. “He do that to her?”
“I sure as fuck didn’t.”
Hope pads over and squeezes Z’s shoulder while giving him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I’m really okay.”
I allow this because she initiated it, and my brother keeps his hands to himself. Although he does stare at her ass a little too long as she walks away, so this time, I punch him in the arm.
“Fuck, prez,” he grumbles, rubbing his arm.
“Rock,” Hope warns.
“You staying for breakfast?” I ask Z.
His face says he’s surprised I asked. Am I really that much of a dick? Maybe I want the distraction of another person around, so Hope and I don’t have to go back to the conversation we were having before he got here.
“Sure, thanks.” He slips off his jacket and takes a seat next to Hope.
“You hurt anywhere else, sweetheart?” he asks while I start digging stuff out of the fridge. The question makes me pause as the image of that fuck forcing her over the desk assaults my memory. I can’t even think about what could have happened if I hadn’t been there, or I really will go track that scumfucker down and kill him.
Between fixing breakfast and fantasizing about gutting Greybell, I didn’t hear Hope’s answer. I do hear Z trying to pry some info out of her, though. He thinks he’s being subtle, but he hasn’t dealt with a woman like Hope before.
“Knock it off, Z. I’m not giving you information so you can go track him down and hurt him. I think he’s mentally unstable. Hopefully he’ll get some treatment in jail or something.”
At that, I glance over at the two of them. Z’s slack-jawed expression is pretty damn funny.
Her innocent—clueless, as Wrath likes to put it—outlook on the situation doesn’t annoy Z the way it would Wrath. Z pats her hand and responds in a gentle tone. “Darlin’, what I had in mind would be a lot kinder than the treatment he’s going to get in jail.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Rock has been my constant shadow for the past week. Even though he has kept himself very well-informed of Greybell’s whereabouts and knows the poor guy is still sitting in the county jail, he is very reluctant to let me out of his sight.
We never got back to our conversation about moving in together, but I’ve spent every night at his house since, so maybe he thinks we don’t need to discuss it. Heck, even I’m not sure if it needs to be discussed. I probably should move in with him and get it over with.
Something keeps stopping me. Every damn time I try to pack up Clay’s things, it’s so overwhelming I end up taking a nap instead.
Surprisingly, we haven’t spent a lot of time up at the MC lately. I think he’s trying to make up for the Tony Cain incident, even though I’ve made my peace with it.
The last few days have been similar to when we first started seeing each other. Just the two of us spending time together at his house.
I imagine Rock’s absence is pissing Wrath off something fierce. Since he’s still laid up with the broken leg, Z is the one who makes the trips to visit Rock when something comes up that needs his attention. I’m sure whatever truce Wrath and I may have put in place has been obliterated.
Feeling a bit claustrophobic yesterday, I put my foot down and insisted on going into the office. I really did need to grab some things to prepare for the upcoming hearing in Teller’s case. Rock agreed to let me go on the condition he went with me. Although I hate myself for it, I was relieved to have him there, because seeing the scene of the crime again sent me into a panic attack. Bless Rock’s heart, he kept his “told you so” to himself.
Today something came up that Rock couldn’t put off—although he refused to tell me what, and that is also a conversation we haven’t gone back to—so I skipped on out the door to my office by myself.
And found Hoot waiting for me on the front steps.
Seems I’m destined to have a chaperone whether I like it or not.
“Hoot, you must have more important things to do than play babysitter,” I scold as I let him in the office.
“Nope. Prez wants me here, I’m staying here. I promise not to get in your way, Hope.”
“I know you won’t. You want a soda or something?”
“I’ll get it. Go ahead and do your thing. Pretend I’m not here.”
Yeah, like that’s easy with his lanky, six-foot frame taking up the entire waiting area.
But eventually I fall into my work and manage to forget he’s out there. He’s a good bodyguard. Quiet and thoughtful. Rock’s trained him well.
A little after five, I hear someone at the front door. By Hoot’s tone, I know it’s Rock even before my ears catch the deep, gravelly tones of his voice.
Rock’s gaze locks with mine as I walk into the hallway to greet him. “Hey, baby doll. Prospect behave himself?” I notice he has this way of not even using the prospect’s club nickname when he addresses any of them.
Poor Hoot seems a little tense until I give an affirmative answer. “Absolutely. He’s been a perfect bodyguard. Didn’t even know he was here.”
“Good,” Rock jerks his head at the door, giving Hoot the signal that he’s free to go.
“Take care, Hope.”
I breathe a little easier when I see Rock slip the deadbolt into place. He notices and flashes a tight smile. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’ll wrap up, and we can go.”
“Okay.”
I hear him following me down the hall. When I step into my office, a chill works over me. Before I know it, Rock’s arms slide around my waist, pulling me against his chest. He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I missed you, today.”
“Missed you too. Everything go okay?”
“Mmhm,” he hums against my ear.
When we make it out to the parking lot, Rock stares at my car for a second. “I’d really like you on the back of my bike, baby,” he says softly. Even in the early evening light, the weight of his stormy gaze heats my skin.
On tiptoes, I reach up and give him a kiss. “I’ll be right behind you, promise.”
I am so not leaving my car here so I can be stranded at his house, no matter how hot he’s making me with his I-want-to-fuck-you-right-now eyes. The response I get is not surprising, but it does excite me. He pulls me tight and gives me a kiss to think about on the drive to his house.
When I pull into his driveway, he’s at my car door before I even shut the engine off. I get a kiss on the cheek before Rock turns and glances at the garage.
“What?”
He swings his gaze to me. “Nothing. You hungry?”
I wasn’t until he mentioned food, then my stomach rumbled.
“Yeah.”
Rock takes my briefc
ase along with all the other items I dragged back to his house and leads me inside. He sets my stuff in the living room and turns to me.
“Babe, what do you think about setting up an office here for yourself?”
I’m a little shocked. We never got back to that whole “moving in together” discussion. This seems like a compromise of sorts. Or maybe Rock is upset I rejected him the first time and doesn’t want to risk asking again?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you spend a lot of your time here. So maybe you would be more comfortable if you had a space to work in in when you don’t feel like going to your office.”
I cock my head at him. “Where?”
He shrugs and glances down the hallway. “I got a spare room down here that’s just being used to store parts and stuff. I can move that stuff out to the garage.”
Wow.
“You sure? I don’t want to take up space you’re using. Honestly, Rock, I don’t need it. I can work from my laptop out here if I really need to. It’s not like I’m drowning in work anyway.”
He stares at me a little longer, then shrugs. “Think about it.”
We’re interrupted from talking about it by his cell phone going off. Before he gets it out, a second cell phone starts jittering across the table. He answers one and picks up the extra to check the number before flipping it open and closed. I’ve never realized he uses more than one phone, but it doesn’t surprise me for some reason. He holds up one finger at me and stalks into the kitchen while murmuring into the phone. I hear the back door open and shut, so I wander out to the kitchen. I can see him through the glass pacing back and forth in the mudroom, intent on the call.
I figure I’ll start dinner while I wait. A prickle of unease curls through my belly. Something is definitely up. I keep busy by rubbing a steak down with olive oil, rosemary and garlic, while heating up a cast iron skillet I find in a cabinet. Potatoes get diced and herbed, then thrown in the oven. I find some salad fixings and put that together in a big bowl. Finally, I’m ready to sear the steaks, but there’s still no indication Rock will be returning. I pull out my own cell phone and set it on the counter to use the timer. I’m terrible at judging how long to cook steaks, so I set the timer to sear each side for seven minutes.
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