I gasp and swat lightly at his chest.
“Hawk!”
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, the tender moment fading as the gruff biker version of him settles back into place.
And somehow… I love that too.
The water continues running over us as I tilt my head slightly.
“Where were you this past week?” I ask quietly.
His expression shifts just a little.
“Club business.”
He says it simply, firmly. No details.
And somehow I already know there won’t be any.
I nod anyway.
“Next time,” I say softly, “can you just… tell me before you leave?”
For a second he hesitates.
I see it in the tightness of his jaw.
Then he finally nods once.
“Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”
And for some reason, that small promise feels bigger than it should.
Nineteen
Hawk
The ride back from Emma’s place should’ve cleared my head.
It usually does.
Cold air slicing against my skin, the open road stretching out before me, and the engine roaring beneath me like a wild beast ready to break free. Normally, that combination is enough to burn the bullshit out of my brain and put me back in my zone.
But not today.
Emma is still in my head. Still everywhere.
Her scent clung to my skin, a heady mix of vanilla and something uniquely her. I could still feel her soft breaths against my neck, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief last night, like she knew exactly the chaos she was stirring inside me.
Fuck.
I tighten my grip on the handlebars as the clubhouse looms into view, its familiar silhouette a stark contrast to the chaos brewing inside me.
I don’t understand what it is about that woman.
I’ve had plenty of others before. Club girls, women passing through town, looking for a wild night and a patch to cling to. They all knew the drill—no strings, just a good time.
None of them stuck in my head like this.
