He nips my earlobe, a quick, sharp bite that makes me gasp. "I am an upstanding citizen. I pay my taxes. I rescue lost tourists from ravines. And I take very good care of my woman."
His possessive tone triggers a violent, heavy throb in my pussy. He speaks, and I can already feel my thong soaking through, my body prepping itself for his thickness before he even touches me. It is a biological surrender I no longer fight.
"Chase," I warn, though my voice is breathless.
"Cassandra," he mocks, his hand squeezing my hip.
A flash ofhairinterrupts the tension. Savannah Gunnar joins us on stage, a sleeping baby nestled in a sling against her chest. She looks radiant, a complete contrast to the woman I first met.
"God, look at you two," she grins, her eyes dancing. "Stand any closer and you'll merge into one person. It’s indecent. I love it."
I laugh, finally finding the strength to step an inch away from Chase’s magnetic pull. "Hey, Savannah. Where’s Logan?"
"Pacing the perimeter like he’s expecting a siege," she rolls her eyes toward the back of the crowd. "He hates public events. Thinks someone is going to try to assassinate the ribbon before we can cut it."
I spot Logan near the edge of the gathering. His arms are crossed over his massive chest, and his glare is effectively clearing a five-foot radius around him. Austin stands next to him, looking profoundly bored and checking his watch, while Shane is a few feet away, glaring with murderous intent at a young man who made the mistake of eyeing his daughter.
My eyes catch on someone else. Blake.
The quietest of the Gunnar cousins stands near the back, positioned by the side entrance of the Sweet Pine Bakery. He isn't watching the ceremony. He isn't watching the crowd. He is staring at the bakery’s front window with a rigid, predatory stillness that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
"What is he looking at?" I murmur to Chase.
Chase follows my gaze toward the bakery, his jaw tightening as he observes his cousin. "Blake’s been a ghost for weeks," Chase growls, his gaze sharpening on the Prospect standing in the shadows of the bakery. "He’s been watching Tiffany Royce from the darkness since the night she rolled into town. He’s memorized her routines, reinforced her back door with steel while she slept, and marked her as his property without her ever saying a word.
"He’s a predator waiting for the monster from her past to show its face just so he can be the one to tear its throat out. He’s going to be a problem, Cass."
"The baker?" I ask, my eyebrows rising. "Tiffany? She’s the sweetest woman in town."
Chase’s hand returns to my waist, squeezing with a strength that promises a long night. "Gunnar men don’t make sense when we find the one, Cass. We pick a target and lock on. It’s genetic. She’s already his; she just doesn't know she’s been caught yet."
The Mayor finally calls our names, and a round of applause pulls me back to the present. We step forward to the center of the stage. Chase’s hand is firm and unyielding on my back. We are handed the giant ceremonial scissors. I look out at the people of Pine Valley. I see the shopkeepers who once whispered aboutme, the council members I systematically defeated, and the club members who have become the only family I actually trust.
I grip one handle of the heavy blades. Chase’s large, calloused hand covers mine, his heat enveloping my fingers.
"On three," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "One. Two. Three."
We slice through the thick red ribbon. The crowd erupts into cheers. Cameras flash, capturing the "Power Couple" of the Grizzly District. I don't look at the photographers or the Mayor. I look up atChase. He looks down at me with a heat that scorches everything else away.
"Done," he growls, dropping the scissors onto the wood. He ignores the Mayor’s outstretched hand and the reporters trying to crowd the stage. "We’re leaving. Now."
"Chase, we can't just?—"
"Watch me."
He grabs my hand and pulls me off the stage, cutting through the crowd like a shark through water. No one dares to stop him.
The ride up the mountain is fast and aggressive. Chase drives the Harley like he lives—with calculated recklessness and total, dominant control. I press my body against his back, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in the familiar scent of his leather. The engine vibrations rattle my bones, shaking loose the last of the professional tension I’ve carried all day.
The air changes the moment we hit the gravel road leading to the cabin. It’s thinner, sharper, and carries the scent of upcoming snow. This is Gunnar territory. This is home.
He doesn't even kill the engine beforegetting off. He kicks the stand down and drags me off the seat, his hands spanning my waist and lifting me clear of the ground. Myheelshit the dirt, but before I can even catch my breath, he pins me against the rough log wall of the cabin exterior.
"Finally," he groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck. He inhales deeply, a jagged, needy sound. "You smell like expensive perfume and politicians. I hate it."
"I had to look the part for the opening, Chase."
"You looked beautiful," he mutters against my skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck where his brand already lingers. "But you looked too accessible. Too many eyes on you. I spent the last two hours calculating the bail money I’d need if I punched the zoning commissioner for staring at your legs."
