“E-excuse me,” I stammered, jerking my gaze back up. The squirrel’s big dark eyes stared down at me, wide as saucers.
With an awkward hip thrust, he bumped me again and I snapped, “Stop that!”
I shuffled backward to avoid his enormous . . . what even was it? A strap-on? Was it sewn into the costume? I shook my head and told myself this was one mystery I didn’t want to unravel. I might have laughed, but my overriding emotion was annoyance.
“There you are, Chippy.” A woman appeared at the squirrel’s side. “Oh, did you meet a friend?” She gave me a flirty smile.
I mumbled something and backed away, still shaking my head. I didn’t bother searching for Annie anymore. My overriding thought was: Leave. Get out of here, Emerson.
A guy reached for my arm, but I side-stepped him as I hurried toward the front door. I plunged out into the night and sucked a breath of bitter-cold air into my lungs, unaware until that moment that I had hardly been breathing since I stepped inside that house. Which totally mystified me.
I had wanted to check out this kink club ever since I heard of its existence. I figured it would be the perfect place where I could hook up with guys who didn’t mind dominant girls who called all the shots. Only it hadn’t been like that at all, and somehow I knew. Shaw was to blame.
He had ruined me. I couldn’t even think about being with another guy. He filled my head. I wrapped my fingers around the porch post and stared out at the silent street, my fingers digging into the rough, cold wood. I needed to get him out of my system. And to do that . . . maybe I should just get my fill of him, satisfy my curiosity, my urges. Then I could walk away from him for good.
I took several more bracing breaths and released the post. Stepping down, I let that idea take root, testing it out, trying to decide if it was as crazy as it sounded.
I heard him before I saw him. Like the mere idea of him had conjured him up here.
Footsteps thudded against the sidewalk. His large shape appeared, skidding to a stop at the end of the walkway, his chest lifting with breaths.
“Shaw . . . what are you doing here?”
Crazy, stupid delight coursed through me. I drank in the sight of him, standing tall before me, legs braced apart like nothing could take him down. The guy was built like a tank, and my belly fluttered, the very core of me reacting to him in the most fundamental way. A week without a glimpse of him and my heart reacted, pounding with longing. Such a treacherous thing. The heart really does have a mind of its own.
“I got a text from Reece.”
Anger flared to life inside me. I approached him with hard steps, delight at seeing him withering away. “Why did Reece text you?”
“Logan told him you were here.” His gaze flicked to the house. “He was worried about you.”
Damn Logan. My life was none of his business. “And you raced over here? For what? To rescue me? I told you I didn’t need rescuing.”
His gaze slid from the house back to me again. I had no doubt that he knew what this place was. Reece hadn’t left that tidbit out when he called him. And why had Reece called him anyway? Did he think Shaw and I were involved? Because that would be incorrect on his part.
“What are you doing here, Emerson?”
I compressed my lips, not about to tell him that I had been wondering the same thing. “I don’t need Logan or Reece or you looking out for me like I can’t take care of myself.” This was the part where I could tell him that I had made a mistake and had decided to leave, that the kink club wasn’t for me—that I was in fact leaving when he showed up, but I refused to give him that satisfaction.
“C’mon.” He reached for my hand, but I yanked my arm back before he could claim it.
“I drove myself here. I can get myself home.” I circled around him and started walking in hard steps away from him and toward my car.
He followed fast on my heels. “What were you doing here?”
He wasn’t going to let it drop. “That’s none of your business.”
“This isn’t you.”
That only made me even angrier—if possible. My boots dug into the concrete with every step. I hit an icy patch and would have gone down. My arms flailed for balance, but he was there, grabbing me to stop me from falling. I struggled free from his hands and kept going until I reached my car. I whirled around at the door and jabbed a finger at him. “You don’t know me.” Emotion shook my voice, betraying me. I swallowed and inhaled a deep breath.
“I know you’ve tried really hard to keep me out, but it didn’t work. I’m in your blood. And you’re in mine. I know that.” He stared hard at me, letting the words sink in. “And I know you. I see you.”
I shook my head like a stubborn child, panic crawling up my throat.
He motioned back toward the house. “If you don’t know why you’re here, then I do. You’re running from me.”
I laughed and the sound rang brittle even to my own ears. “Oh, you’ve got ego.”
He didn’t care. Just kept talking. “I know that you’re not half as wild or experienced as you pretend to be.”
My laughter faded. I stared at him for a long moment, something that felt dangerously close to fear bubbling up in my chest. He couldn’t know that. He couldn’t see me. “I’m not pretending to be anything.”
His eyes glinted knowingly as his well-carved lips flattened into a grim line. He didn’t say the word but I heard it between us just the same. Liar.
“How?” I demanded. “How do you know anything about me?” I wasn’t admitting he was right, but I had to know. I had to know what I’d said or done that gave me away.
Why was he here? Lately every time I turned he was there. He wasn’t like any other hookup. If he was, he’d already be gone. Every guy I ever messed around with was happy to take what I gave and then move on. Why did he want more? Why did he have to be different?
He moved in then. Just three steps and he had me backed against the cold metal of my car.
“You know what they called me in the Marines?” I shook my head and he answered, his voice low and deep and raising goose bumps on my skin, “Hawk. And it was because I could read people, assess situations in an instant. Call it whatever you want. Street sense. Situational awareness. I have it.”
Hawk. It fit him. I swallowed back the golf-ball-size lump in my throat. His deep voice, his closeness . . . My skin shivered uncontrollably. I hated that I trembled but at least I could blame it on the cold. He didn’t know it was him and what he did to me.
Of course, he just claimed to be able to read a person. I gulped, worried even as I told myself he wasn’t a mind reader. He couldn’t be that perceptive. Even if he was a former Marine with a nickname like Hawk. He couldn’t see my secrets.
My gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth, both so close. Even in the near dark, with only the glow from the streetlamp halfway down the block, I could make out the tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes. My hands fluttered between us as though looking for a place to land. His chest felt so warm and inviting, a solid wall pressing intimately against me, against breasts that felt achy and swollen.
“Well, Hawk, you’re wrong.” I lifted my chin. I went for a mocking tone, but I missed the mark. My voice sounded breathless and affected in a way I was trying to pretend not to be. “I just did like four guys back in that house.”
His mouth curved almost cruelly at my lie. “Such a liar.”
Okay. Maybe I should have gone for a more believable number. Especially since Logan couldn’t have called him more than thirty minutes ago. He reached between us and plucked the keys from my hand.
“What are you doing?”
He reached around me, his arm brushing my hip as he lifted the door handle. “I’ll drive. Get in.” He motioned for me to circle around my car.
I watched in astonishment as he pulled open the door and settled himself behind the wheel of my car, adjusting the seat for his long legs. I glanced at him and looked around. “Where’s your truck?”
“I got dropped off.”
That explained how he got here so quickly. He must have been nearby. I cocked my head. “Who dropped you off?”
“I was with a friend when Reece texted.”
A friend.
I knew without him saying that it was a girl. Apparently he wasn’t so into me that he excluded other girls from his life. The pain that flared to life inside my chest was so unexpected that it infuriated me. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I had no right to feel this way.
The familiar urge to storm off came over me. Unfortunately I had nowhere to storm. He was sitting inside my car.
I stalked around the car and dropped down into the passenger seat, sealing us in the cozy interior. There was some leftover heat from earlier. He started the engine and let it idle, the motor warming.
When I thought about the fact that I had just toyed with the idea of giving in to my urges, of just playing this thing out—whatever it was—between us, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“You didn’t need to end your date for me.”
He leaned his head back against the headrest and gave me a lazy look. “Jealous?”
“Why should I be jealous? I do what I like, with who I like. You’re entitled to the same.”
He smiled slowly and that grin made my stomach flip over. There was such knowledge and experience behind that smile. Of the world. Of life. Death. And, as unlikely as it seemed, me.
“You like me,” he announced. “You don’t want to, but you do.” He said this so easily, so matter-of-factly that I wanted to stomp my feet and yell no. I faced forward instead, looking out the windshield. “Let’s go. Drive.”
Chuckling, he put the car into drive. We traveled for several moments before he said, “I wasn’t on a date.”
“I don’t care.” Of course I snapped this off so fast that I sounded like I did care.
“Cara is a friend. We went to boot camp together. She was in town on leave for her nephew’s christening.”
A Marine like him. She must be strong. Tough. Probably sexy like Alice from Resident Evil. “How nice. You must have a lot in common.”
“We do.”
“Sounds perfect. Why aren’t you still with her then?”
“Because you needed me.”
“I didn’t need you. I was leaving.” My voice faded, full of regret over admitting that to him—that I had been in over my head at the kink club.
“Why? Doing four guys wear you out?”
I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest.
“C’mon. I know that didn’t happen. You were leaving because it wasn’t for you, right?”
I hated that he was right.
“Because,” he continued, “you’d rather be with me.”
I snorted. “I’m surprised you even fit in this car with that inflated ego of yours.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll convince yourself that there isn’t anything between us.”
I sniffed and bit back the reply that there wasn’t anything between us.
He chuckled and the deep sound sent shivers through me. I stared through the windshield, frowning. “Where are we going? This isn’t the way to my dorm.”
“My place.”
The two words sent a jolt through me. “Why?”
“I’m without a vehicle.”
“So I can drive myself home from your place, is that it?”
He nodded once, but there was something unconvincing in the motion that only seemed to heighten my own unease. Like maybe he was hoping I would stay. You’re just dropping him off, Emerson. You’re not going inside.
I had my own car. I was in control. As we turned onto the narrow road that wound around the edge of the lake, I reminded myself of this.
We bumped along the uneven gravel drive beside his house. The night seemed full of light out here. Moonlight bounced off the vastness of snow and ice. The lake stretched out into forever like a white sheet of glass. He killed the engine. “I’ll get your door. It’s slippery.”
I watched, my pulse pounding, as he walked around for my door.
Stepping out, I held my hand up for the keys. “You didn’t need to turn the car off.”
“I thought you might like to see something I’m working on.”
I frowned, certain that suspicion stared out from my eyes. He looked down at me so soberly. There was nothing sly in his gaze. It was just him, but he’d always been like that. From the very beginning. So direct and straightforward. He didn’t say a lot, but when he did it meant something. It was truth.
He motioned to the work shed beside the house. “I’ve seen your art . . . at least what was in your room.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. He actually looked a little self-conscious. A definite first for him. He always seemed so confident. Something fluttered loose inside me at this new side of him. “Well, this is mine, I guess.” His art. That’s what he was saying even if he was having trouble admitting it. Something loosened inside me, and I knew that I couldn’t turn away from this part of himself he was offering to show me.
I glanced at the shed. I wasn’t even going inside his house. I didn’t have to step foot inside the cozy-warm space that reminded me of a Norman Rockwell painting. I didn’t have to see that big bed again to remember how comfortable it was.
It was just a shed. What could it hurt? I nodded jerkily and followed him to the shed. It was a little warmer inside, but not by much. He flipped on a switch and I blinked at the sudden flood of light.
Engine parts and pieces of bike littered the small space everywhere. There were at least three motorcycles that looked finished. I didn’t know anything about bikes, but one was definitely a chopper. It was cherry red with shiny chrome. Beside that one sat another one that looked partially assembled. It wasn’t painted yet. I stepped between the two.
“You built these?”
“Yeah.” He stroked one of his bikes, and I couldn’t help watching his hand. The long, blunt-tipped fingers. I remembered the unbelievable way they felt on me . . . in me. My face burned and I took a bracing breath.
Fortunately he was still looking at his bikes. “I’m making this one to sell. I have a client who’s interested.”
“If it looks anything like this one, you won’t have any trouble selling it.” I touched the red one, admiring it. All that fiery red was cold and smooth under my hand.
“I’m thinking about putting a mural on the tank and fender . . . maybe something patriotic.”
“Like your tattoo?” I asked.
“A bit. It’s a starting point at least, but I would like it to be something fresh.”
“You could do an eagle’s face up close . . . have the eagle’s eye in actuality be the globe.” I bit my bottom lip, contemplating. I moved my hand in front of me, fingers flexing like I could see it. Touch it. And in that moment, I could. It was like I was working the shapes and colors with my hands right then. “That could be cool . . . symbolic. Maybe clouds that look faintly like flags.” I dropped my hand and shrugged. Glancing at him, I froze at the intent way he was looking at me. Like I had said something profound.
“Could you do that?”
“M-me?” My voice squeaked a bit. “I’ve never done anything like that. I work on paper or canvas.”
“But you could do it.” He uttered this so absolutely. Like he had no doubt. “It’s just airbrushing.”
“I could mess it up.”
“Then we’d start over.”
We. When did that happen? We weren’t we in any way, shape, or form.
“How do you know you can’t do it? You gotta try, right?” He searched my face, his eyes peering into mine like he was looking into my soul, and suddenly I didn’t feel like we were talking about airbrushing his bike anymore.
I shivered and chafed my arms, pretending it was the cold and not him. Not the way he watched me or talked to me. Not the memory of what his hands and mouth felt like on me.
He looked down at the bike
again. “Have you ever been on one?”
I shook my head quickly, relieved at the change of subject. “No.”
His mouth twisted into a half smile. “Afraid?”
“No. I’ve just never been with—” I caught myself and corrected. “I’ve never met anyone who had a bike before.”
Something flashed in his eyes and I knew he caught my slip. Thinking that way was dangerous. You’re not with him. Never forget that.
He patted the seat. “Hop on.”
“What? Ride it? Now?”
“No. It’s too cold, but try it on for size.” His eyes roamed my face in that way of his that made my stomach flutter. Like he was really looking at me. Memorizing me.
I looked down at the seat and shrugged. Why not? I lifted one jeans-clad leg and straddled the bike. It wasn’t like hopping on my beach cruiser back home. It was bigger. I had to spread my thighs wider. My hand stroked the seat cushion.
It was a little intimidating to think about flying sixty miles an hour down the highway on this thing.
His voice sounded close to my ear. “How’s it feel?”
I grasped the handlebars in front of me. “It feels . . . dangerous.”
“Here. Like this.” His bigger hands closed over mine, adjusting my grip. My heart raced faster at the texture of his callused palms on the backs of my fingers, at the solid press of his chest against my back. I trembled, longing to twist on the seat and wrap my arms around him, pull him close and taste him again.
Only I knew where that would lead.
“And sit back a little farther.” His hands skimmed along my arms. Even through my sleeves goose bumps broke out all over my flesh. His hands settled on my hips. He pulled me back on the seat in one easy drag. Like I weighed nothing at all. It heightened my awareness of his strength, his size. I was used to being smaller than average, but even I couldn’t be called skinny. I had my curves. But Shaw made me feel almost delicate. “You don’t want to be so far up front.”
I nodded dumbly.
“Feel better?” he asked, his voice a deep purr near my ear. The question was innocent enough, but his hands lingered on me. The weight and pressure of them made me think of where else those hands had been. The delicious things he had done to me.
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