“No. It’s not.”
But he doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t apologize. Just stands there, letting me see exactly how much he meant it.
My throat burns. “You made a spectacle of me with that kiss.”
He flinches. Finally. Some reaction that says he knows he crossed a line.
“Delaney—”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Just... don’t.”
I turn to the driver’s door, my keys in my hand—when did I grab my keys? My fingers shake so badly that it takes two tries to unlock the door.
I can feel him watching me. Feel the weight of his gaze pressing against my spine, my shoulders, the back of my neck.
I get in. Start the engine. Pull out of the parking lot.
I don’t look back.
I press my fingers to my still-tingling lips without meaning to, touching where his mouth was. Where he claimed me in front of God and the mean girls and my baby sister.
My woman.
I should be furious. Iamfurious.
He had no right to march across that diner like some kind of avenging cowboy. No right to put his hands on my face like I belonged to him. No right to kiss me like I was worth fighting for. Like I was worth making a scene over. Like I mattered.
The thought catches in my throat and lodges there.
For ten years, I’ve been the one who fights. The one who protects. The one who stands between Kitty and every threat. No one has ever fought for me.
Until today. Until Daniel Sutton heard strangers call me desperate and unwanted and decided that was unacceptable. Until he crossed the diner in three strides and kissed me like the whole town could go to hell.
That was dangerous.
Because part of me wanted to be claimed. Part of me wanted to be chosen, wanted to hear someone saymineand mean it. I’ve spent years silencing that part, years starving it and pretending it doesn’t exist.
I pull into Havenridge’s drive and park, then sit there with the engine off and my hands trembling on the wheel.
My woman.
The words echo in my head again.
Under the fury, another emotion blooms. One thatlikedhis hands on my face.Likedbeing chosen instead of settled for. Andlovedmattering to someone so much they’d burn down social convention to make a point.
My phone buzzes. Kitty.
Are you okay? That was... WOW. Call me when you can. Also, I think Daniel Sutton might actually be in love with you??? Tom is going to lose his mind.
I don’t call her. I don’t know what I’d say.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he tasted. He called me his, and I liked it. I’m terrified.
I press my fingers to my lips again. They’re still warm, still buzzing.
Still his.
Damn it.
