But the lingering heat in my core and the heavy, claimed feeling of my body argue a different case.
"Yes," I breathe.
Chase grins, a wicked, triumphant expression that promised trouble. He scoops me up into his arms, bridal style, as if I weigh nothing.
"Where are we going?" I wrap my arms around his neck instinctively.
"Bedroom," he says, striding toward the hallway. "Table was just the appetizer. I haven't even taken my boots off yet."
My heart skips a beat, a mix of thrill and terror. I am in the lion's den, and I have just agreed to be the meal. As he kicks the bedroom door open, revealing a massive bed covered in furs, the realization hits. I am not just losing the legal battle for the mountain. I am losing myself.
And God help me, I don't want to be found.
6
CHASE
Sunlight slices through the gaps in the heavy blackout curtains, dust motes dancing in the beams like suspended gold. I refuse to look at the window. My gaze remains locked on the woman tangled in my sheets.
Cassandra.
Pressure builds behind my ribs, a tightness unrelated to her arm draped over my sternum or her leg hooked possessively over my hip. Logan calls it the Thunderbolt. That instant, gut-punch realization that the universe has shifted on its axis. Gravity no longer pulls me down to the earth; it pulls me toward her.
I lie perfectly still. Numbness creeps into my left shoulder where her head rests. I would let the limb rot off before risking the end of this stillness. Morning light transforms her. The sharp, high-powered attorney who marched into Town Hall ready to eviscerate my family’s business has vanished. In her place lies a soft, disheveled creature with lips swollen and bruised from the way I devoured her, her neck marked with my brand, andher pussy likely still aching from the sheer mass of my cock stretching her wide until dawn.
My eyes trace the curve of her shoulder, the pale expanse of skin marred by the faint, reddish abrasion of my beard stubble. Heat flares in my gut, heavy and molten. I did that. I marked her. The environmental lawyer intent on shutting down the Peak Wilderness Outfitters expansion currently bears the brand of the club’s Enforcer. Irony usually makes me laugh. Today, it leaves me terrifyingly sober.
We designed this as a game. A strategy. Fake it ‘til you make it. We planned to pretend for the zoning commission, proving the scary bikers and respectable legal counsel could coexist. A simple play for public opinion.
Last night shattered the strategy. I claimed her.
Cassandra shifts, a soft murmur vibrating against my skin as she burrows deeper into my side. Her hand flexes on my chest, fingers curling into the hair there, nails scraping lightly against my skin. Electricity jolts straight to my groin.
"Chase," she whispers, voice thick with sleep. Her tone holds no question, only the heavy weight of acknowledgment.
"I’m here," I rumble. "Got you."
She stiffens. Her muscles tense against me. I hate that rigidity. I need to smooth it away until she turns boneless and pliable again, melting into me like she did three hours ago. She lifts her head, squinting against the stray sunbeam. Hazel eyes blink rapidly, foggy with sleep. Then, the memories land. I see them hit—the table, the praise, her screams. A flush rises from her neck, staining her cheeks a guilty pink.
"Oh God," she breathes, dropping her forehead back onto my shoulder. "What time is it?"
"Early," I say. My hand moves of its own accord to stroke the length of her spine beneath the sheet. Her skin feels impossibly soft against my calloused palm. "Does it matter?"
"Yes." Her voice comes muffled against my skin. She pushes herself up, the sheet pooling at her waist, exposing the creamy curve of her breasts. My breath hits a snag. Magnificent. Lush, real, and absolutely devastating. "I have a briefing at ten. I have to go over the environmental impact reports."
"The reports you’re using to bury my club?" I ask. No bite sharpens my tone. Hostility fails to manifest when her nipples harden in the cool mountain air and she looks at me with that potent mix of desire and terror.
She flinches, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. The action strikes me harder than a fist. I want no barriers.
"Chase, this… last night," she starts. Her lawyer brain kicks into gear, categorizing and mitigating damage. "We agreed this was fake. A performance."
I reach out, wrapping my hand around her wrist. My grip is firm, unbreakable. I tug her forward until she leans over me again, her hair creating a curtain around us, shutting out the room.
"Does this feel fake, Counselor?" My voice drops to the deep growl she responds to. Her pupils dilate, swallowing the hazel. "When I was inside you last night, when you begged me not to stop… did that count as a performance for the zoning board? I saw no council members in the bedroom."
She swallows hard. Her pulse flutters frantically against my thumb. "That’s not fair. You know the chemistry is real. That doesn't mean the situation is simple."
"Complicated is just a word people use when they’re scared." I release her wrist to cup her jaw. I run my thumb over her bottom lip, dragging it down. "The simple truth involves you being mine now."
