His teeth graze the tendon of my neck, sending electricity straight to my core. His hand slides down from my waist, splaying wide over my stomach. His thumb rubs circles there. "Come back to bed."
"We have to go to town. Austin needs you at the Outfitters, and I promised Mike I’d drop off the new social media drafts."
Logan grunts, pure annoyance. "Austin can wait. Mike can wait. I set the schedule."
"And I have to make sure you look like a legitimate businessman occasionally."
I turn in his arms. Facing him always shocks my system, even after months of waking up next to him. He is a wall of scarred flesh and brute force. Dark eyes scan my face with an intensity that hasn't faded since he pulled me out of the snowstorm. He looks at me like I’m the only source of oxygen on this mountain.
He lifts a hand. His calloused thumb traces my lower lip, tugging it down to expose the wet pink inside.
"You look pale." His tone shifts instantly from amorous to alert. "You didn't eat enough dinner last night."
I swallow down the wave of nausea that’s been my constant companion for the last week. "I'm fine. Just morning grogginess."
His eyes narrow. Logan notices everything—snapped twigs, wind shifts, hesitations in my breath. "If you're sick, you stay here. I’ll lock the door."
"I am not sick." I smooth my hands over the leather of his cut, right over the President patch. "I need coffee. And a bacon sandwich."
He watches me, gaze stripping me bare, searching for truth. Finally, a nod comes, though the tension in his shoulders remains. "Fine. But you ride with me. No driving today."
"I always ride with you."
"Good."
He leans down, crushing his mouth to mine.
The kiss is a claiming. Hard, wet, tasting of toothpaste and dominance. He presses forward, his tongue seeking mine as if to map my surrender. I rise on my tiptoes, gripping his biceps, melting into his heat. When he pulls back, air is a necessity we both lack.
"Get dressed. Before I decide to keep you here and make us both late."
Main Street in Pine Valley bustles with the morning rush. Tourists flock here for the 'authentic' mountain experience, unaware of the currents running beneath the surface. Peak Wilderness Outfitters sits in the heart of it, flanked by Sweet Pine Bakery and Harrison’s Hardware. To tourists, it’s a high-end camping store. To the Broken Halos MC, it’s the front line.
Logan parks his massive black Harley at the curb. He kills the engine and dismounts with fluid grace, then lifts me off the back.
He doesn't let me climb down. He grabs my waist and lifts me effortlessly, sliding my body down the length of his until my boots touch pavement. He keeps his hands on me, adjusting my jacket, eyes scanning the street.
"Stay close."
"I'm just going inside."
The possessiveness thrills me. It validates the primal part of my brain craving his protection.
We walk into the store. The smell of leather, canvas, and gun oil greets us. Austin Gunnar leans over a spread of invoices behind the counter.
"About time," Austin mutters. "Supplier from the coast is jerking us around on the ammo shipment. Says the price went up ten percent."
Logan releases me and leans his hip against the counter. "Tell him the price is what we agreed on, or I drive down there and renegotiate with a tire iron."
Austin snorts, finally looking up. His eyes flicker to me. "Morning, Savannah. You look... green."
I freeze. "I'm fine."
Logan whips his head around, focus snapping back to me. "Green? She said she was tired."
"She looks like she’s gonna hurl."
"I need water," I say, moving toward the back office before Logan starts an interrogation. "It's the heat."
