“Like you did before?” I scoffed. “You know what? This is my fault. I let nostalgia get to me and got swept up in the moment. But I shouldn’t have let you kiss me. And I should have come back immediately.”
He got in my face, stopping just short of slamming into me, the phone still in his hand with the cord dangling. “So they could have attacked you or worse? They did this after the bar,” he said pointing to the counter where my badge was missing.“They’re connected to a trafficking ring, Sparrow. Who knows what would have happened if you came back alone?”
His words washed over me. He was right. If I had come home already, I could have been there whenwhoeverit was broke in. He had no reason to lie about who they were, unless he was trying to scare me so I’d leave with him. Even so, the idea of what could have happened had I been here when they came sent a shiver down my spine.But how did they know where I lived?Then it hit me.
“I just had to go to that bar,” I said. Walking to the sofa, I plopped down, pushing my hands through my hair. Shaking my head, I started to let my guilt seep in. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to tell him off or at least toss a drink in his face. But I’d gone to bars plenty of times with the same idea and he never showed up. It was my own dumb luck that he showed up that night. The same day I lost my job. And the same day these bad guys showed back up. “The last time we were there and that guy was putting the moves on Bit, she mentioned where we lived. They seemed harmless enough and were just talking. We hadn’t heard or seen from them since. Not until I insisted on going back there because…”Because I hoped he’d show up. “She wanted to go to some new restaurant that night. This really is my fault.”
He sighed deeply. “It’s not your fault. But we can’t just sit around and wait for something else to happen.”
I looked in his direction, taking him in: his broad shoulders, his square jaw, the fire in his eyes, the worn jeans and his leather cut, all the way to his black boots. The perfect bad boy. In my twenty-year-old mind, I’d have my bad boy thatwas soft for me.
Now he was older, more filled out, but seemed to carry more burden by the tension of his shoulders and the set to his jaw. Would the man break me like the younger version of him did?
“Maybe I should visit my parents for a while.” That was a reasonable negotiation. He said he wouldn’t leave me here and honestly I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay. But going with him seemed like it would only worsen my current state of confusion. Every fiber of my being was gravitating toward him like shards of metal to a magnet. But that was crazy. How did he have this pull over me?
The phone, cords dangling, was still clutched firmly in his grasp and the sound of plastic creaking confirmed he was about to crush the whole thing. But instead of fighting, he said, “Fine. Go pack a bag.”
As I stood, a sensation radiated through me. As I walked to my room, I tried to pinpoint the feeling. Pulling the carry-on bag from the closet, I tossed it on the bed and moved around my room, grabbing a few outfits. Unlocking the desk drawer that I kept my important things in, I pulled out my credit cards and glanced at my passport. Unsure what my next steps were, I decided to pack it, as well as all my other important documents.
As I stepped out of my bedroom into the bathroom to grab some toiletries, it hit me–that sensation was the numbness returning. The numbness I’d felt for years after the initial shock and sorrow of him leaving had drained me to the point I felt nothing. I’d convinced myself I was content, but I wasn’t. I was apathetic. Then when he showed back up, that numbness had melted away. I didn’t want to be numb anymore. Clutching atravel size shampoo in one hand and conditioner in the other, I darted out of the bathroom.
“So that’s it?” I said, raising my arms beside me.
“What?”
“All the stuff you said at the ranch, was that just a show? If so, what was the point, Rooster?”
He grinded his teeth then said, “I meant every word.”
“Then act like it!”
He wiped his hand down his face. “Sparrow, what do you want from me?”
A frustrated roar left my throat. “I want you to refuse to let me go. I want you to mean what you said at the ranch. Instead, you gave up so easily and saidfine!” I shouted before I chucked both bottles at him.
He dropped the phone as they flew at him and batted the bottles down. He took three strides down the hall and pinned me to the wall. My chest rose and fell with deep breaths as my heart nearly beat from my chest.
“I said fine to get you to pack. Do you think I was really gonna drop you at the airport? Let you leave my sight? I meant what I said.” His hand fisted my hair, tilting my face up to his. “You’re mine. And I’m not giving you up. Not now, not ever.”
He slammed his lips to mine, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. My brain was still being stubborn and my hands pushed at his chest, but the rest of me wanted him closer, and my back arched, pressing my breasts against him.
He pushed himself against me, his hard cock pressing into my stomach. As the kiss deepened, my mind went cloudy and succumbed to his touch. My hands slid over his chest, then down his sides before snaking around his back, pulling him closer even though there was hardly any space left between us.
The scruff from his face that accumulated the last few days was rough on my skin but in a good way. I wanted to feel it everywhere. Pushing us off the wall, we briefly lost lip contact as I turned us and pushed him to my bedroom. But it was only seconds before we both tugged at each other, devouring each other’s mouth.
The only light was from the bedside lamp that wobbled as we clumsily found our way to the bed, slamming into the nightstand. I giggled as he stuck his hand out to steady it. When he turned to look at me again, he pushed my chest, sending me onto the bed with another laugh.
He pulled his cut off, his eyes looking me over. He draped it over the decorative orb on the edge of my wooden headboard, then quickly worked off his boots. Not wanting to waste time, I sat up, unzipping my booties and tossing them to the floor. When I started to work my jeans off, he stopped me.
“I’ll do that. Arms up,” he said as he raised them over my head. Obeying, I left them up as he pulled my shirt over my head. His warm and rough palms ran down my bare arms before stopping at my chest. “Your heart’s racing.”
I glanced at the artery in his neck. “Yours is too.”
His gaze was hard as he stood, leaving me on the bed, arms still raised. Pulling his shirt from behind, he tugged it over his head, held it at his chest for a moment, then dropped it fromhis arms.
My mouth dropped open and I sat up. Not just from the sight of his perfectly sculpted body, but from the artwork over his heart. Looking down at my wrist then back up, I said, “When did you get that?”
He gently grabbed my wrist as he pulled my hand to the black sparrow tattoo on his chest. “Not long after the last time I saw you. I knew I hurt you. I was hurting. I wanted a reminder every day. I didn’t know how bad it was for you. I figured you’d move on and realize I was nobody. But I never wanted to move on.”
