“I love you, Princess,” he whispered against my hair, and I hated him for the reminder. It was the reason he wouldn’t claim me. Why he wouldn’t allow himself to get closer.
My hands roamed over his chest. Memorizing the feel of him. The smell of the leather cut he wore, and the scent of sandalwood that lay beneath it. I lifted my face and rose on my toes, pressing my lips to his.
Grabbing his face in my hands, I held him as our kiss turned passionate. I knew the moment he relaxed into the kiss; I had him. His tongue played with mine, and his hands roamed over me, pulling me against him.
I could do whatever I wanted to him. Strip him of his clothes, drag him to my bed, and he wouldn’t protest.
He was finally ready to give in.
But at what cost?
He would slink out again in the morning as if nothing had happened. Ignoring me until he wanted to climb into my bed again. It was the next step. In the dark of night, he would crawl between my legs while pretending there was nothing between us in the light of day.
Feeling emboldened, my hands slipped down to his chest. Splaying them out over his pecs, under his cut. His shoulders bunched as he tried to help me remove the leather from his body.
Only that wasn’t my intention. His distraction was his downfall. My mouth never leaving his, I shoved him away. He stumbled over something invisible, and I watched as he landed on his ass.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Grace—”
“Get out before I call the sheriff. And this time I will press charges. I’m done. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life. I don’t want you.”
I turned away. I couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes. My hurt was my priority. He didn’t deserve my sympathy.
He stood up from the floor and walked toward me. As I backed up against the counter, his hand went to my cheek, and I turned away. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him.
“I love you.”
“Fuck you.”
I saw the moment he gave up. “I’ll go. For now. But this isn’t done. We aren’t done.”
He left me with a bruising kiss. As he walked out the front door, I realized he had never told me about his mother. I planted my feet, telling myself it didn’t matter.
He wasn’t mine. He never would be. I wasn’t entitled to his pain. His hurt. His life wasn’t mine to fix or console. He’d made his choice.
How dare he tell me he loves me!
How dare he fucking love me and not claim me!
I picked up the bottle of vodka and threw it against the front door. Staring at the drops as they trickled down the wood, I slid against the cabinets until my ass landed on the floor.
I swiped at the tears that fell.
He didn’t deserve my grief.
Chapter Fourteen
King
I knew she was remembering that night the same as I was. I’d stayed away after that; I’d tried to let her go. I still went to her at night, but I parked my bike down the street. I didn’t knock on her door; I didn’t lean on her for support.
Until the shooting at the bar.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have followed you. You don’t owe me your secrets.” She turned to go, and I swear I’d never moved as fast as I did in that moment.
“Grace, stop.” I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into my arms. “This shit has to stop. I’m so fucking sorry, Grace.”
