I know she is, and don’t blame her. “Not yet.”
“There’s only so much to do around the clubhouse. And I’ve read everyone’s cards a dozen times or more. Even Axe’s.”
“What?”
“Yes,” she confirms. “Axe asked me to read his cards the other day.”
I drag her to the sofa and we sit down together, the soft cushions and new leather smell making me relax. “Didn’t know the asshole believed in that stuff.”
“I wouldn’t call him a believer, maybe card-curious.”
I laugh at her choice in words. “And what did you see in his future?”
“That’s privileged information.”
I whip around and tickle her sides. “I have ways of forcing it out of you, woman.”
“Torture? More specifically, Brick torture tactics?”
“Of course.”
She purses her full lips. “Then I’m not talking.”
“I’ll remember that tonight,” I say, picturing her naked and stretched out on the bear fur in front of the wood burning stove. Shorty had the time and money to install central air in the cabin, so if we really want to get cozy, I’ll turn the AC down as far as it goes, chill the place, and light that damn fire. “We have three days together, no cell phones, and no interruptions from the club.”
“Really? How’d you pull that off?” she asks, leaning her head on my shoulder.
I can’t give her details. But I took care of Lane Bullock’s little problem last week, leaving Dwight’s body in a bayou somewhere outside of New Orleans. “Earned it with due diligence, sweetheart.”
She sits up and digs her cell phone out of her pocket. “Here—I willingly surrender my only connection to the outside world to you.”
I turn it off, doing the same with mine, dropping both in a decorative bowl on the coffee table. We’ve been through hell with the Devil’s Crusaders and struggling to find our way back to some kind of normal existence. The day I shot Checkers left serious psychological scars on both of us. Not because I killed him, but because Starlet was in the mix. If I’d missed by one hair, she’d be dead. Though we’ve never talked about it directly, we’ve hinted around it, agreeing there aren’t any words for what we both almost missed out on—our lives together.
Those kinds of memories don’t just scar your mind, they sear your soul. And I remember it every time I look at Starlet. She’s beautiful and fierce—but delicate in so many ways. I tilt her chin up so she has to look at me. “I’ve got you, baby.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “And I’ve got you.”
I tap my fist over my heart. “Right here.”
Hours later, we watch as the sun sets, leaving a trail of fiery colors in the sky. This is how it’s supposed to be. “I like it here, Starlet.”
“No regrets?”
“Maybe one,” I say.
She looks at me.
“That I didn’t take the time to build a deck on the front of the cabin. It’s a pretty tight fit on these stairs.”
She laughs. “Bet the cabin is nice and chilly.”
We relocate inside. Starlet rummages around in the kitchen while I throw some wood in the stove, getting a good fire going. The next time I look up, she’s standing in front of me, wearing nothing but a lacey white pair of panties with a tray in her hand. I lick my lips as she kneels next to me on the carpet—tempting me with her luscious body, champagne, strawberries, and chocolate syrup.
“Found all of this in the refrigerator,” she points out. “Guess you had this planned for a while.”
“Guilty,” I confess, caressing her breasts, wanting nothing more than to be inside her.
“I forgive you.” She dips a plump berry in the chocolate and feeds it to me.
