“Don’t.” My throat closed around the plea.
His palm cradled my jaw. “Who hurt you, little one?”
Three years of frozen screams thawed in my windpipe. Tears scalded worse than the hot candle’s wax that still slightlystung my hand. “I can’t—”
The kiss shocked us both.
Not gentle—a collision of desperation. His growl vibrated against my lips as I clutched his soaked shirt. His tongue mapped the seam of my mouth, not asking. Taking. Claiming.
And God help me, I opened and let him in.
He broke first, forehead pressed to mine as we gasped the same oxygen. “You’re coming home with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
Bronc’s thumb brushed the tear track I hadn’t realized escaped. The calloused sweep ignited fresh tremors, my ribs cracking open beneath the weight of three years spent building armor just to survive. He helped me stand.
“Little Wolf.” His exhale warmed the hollow beneath my ear. The pet name unstitched me.
I braced for mockery, for cruelty masquerading as concern. Instead, his hands framed my face—a sculptor steadying fractured marble. Rainwater seeped through my sweatshirt where his chest pressed mine against the kitchen cabinet. Each breath dragged his scent deeper into my lungs—desert and leather. But there was something else, something wilder, earthier. Something animal.
His nose grazed my temple. “Should’ve known a skittish thing like you might bite.”
The low rasp unraveled another knot between my shoulder blades. My fingers curled reflexively in his soaked Henley. Brushed cotton rasped as he shifted, trapping my shuddering exhale between our bodies. Distant thunder rolled across the plains, answering the growl vibrating his sternum.
“Look at me.”
I didn’t want to. Couldn’t bear seeing pity reflected in his eyes. But his thumb pressed gently beneath my chin, insistent as sunrise.
Gold still bled through his irises, but softer now, embers rather than wildfire. His gaze tracked the scars peeking above my collar. I tensed, waiting for questions. Instead, callused palms slid down to bracket my throat, not squeezing. Testing pulse points.
“Christ.” His forehead dropped to mine. “Who let this happen?”
The raw ache in his voice broke me.
My knees never made it to the hardwoods. His arms banded around my back, hauling me against his chest. I eyed the faded Army insignia tattoo on his arm. His heartbeat thundered through wet cotton—an artillery barrage syncing with mine.
“Easy.” A rumble more felt than heard. “Got you.”
Fingernails dug half-moons into his biceps. The storm’s wrath faded beneath labored breathing and the creak of leather as he rocked us slightly. His scruff tangled in my hair when he turned to glare at the windows.
“Should’ve had guards here tonight.” The admission roughened his voice. “My fault.”
I shook my head, nose brushing his collarbone. “Don’t want babysitters.”
A huff warmed my crown. “Not prison guards, Julia. Sentries.” His palm swept up my spine, blunt nails scraping just hard enough to quiet my shivers. “Club looks after its own.”
The possessive pronoun lingered between lightning strikes. His hand stilled between my shoulder blades. Waiting.
Outside, the tempest hurled mesquite branches against tin roofing. Inside, his silence asked every question I’d dodged since crossing state lines.
When my nod came, it barely shifted the air between us. Bronc’s arms tightened fractionally. "Get what you’ll need for work tomorrow."
Chapter 4
Bronc
The truck’s heater roared against the last gasps of thunder, shaking the cab windows. My knuckles stayed white around the steering wheel long after the rain stopped, every bump on the ranch road sending Julia swaying against the console. She kept her face turned toward the passenger window, black hair clinging to the glass where she’d rested her temple. The memory of her mouth, warm and startled against mine, thrummed louder than the engine.
