“Nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t strike me as a woman stingy with her opinions.”
A warm, wry chuckle filled the cabin. “And you don’t strike me as a man who is delusional or blind—or both—so why waste my breath explaining what you already know?”
And he did. He knew all too well what she referred to. Restraining orders were notoriously ineffective when it came to domestic situations.
“Daisy has a lot to lose if she fucks up again. Her parents bailed her out of that mess. They can write one crazy incident off in their social circle, but not two. If she steps out of line again, they’ll cut her off. Not financially, but socially, and that would be a death knell for someone like her.”
Daphne swung the SUV smoothly onto the drive leading to the Falcons’ clubhouse. He didn’t ask how she knew its location.
“You have thoughts,” he said. Towering pines, their branches heavy with snow, lined the half-mile drive, like sentries.
“I always have thoughts, mon chéri. Right now, I’m a little caught up in the fact that you married a woman named Daisy. It’s a cute name and all. One of my good friends is named Daisy. But you and ‘cute’ don’t belong in the same book, let alone on the same page of a wedding invite.”
“That’s relevant how?”
She lifted a shoulder, making the dismissive move elegant. “I didn’t think we were sticking to only what’s relevant. If we are, how do the excellent pancakes at Maggie’s fit in?”
He grunted. She chuckled again. A sound that went straight to parts of his body it shouldn’t. Especially not while encased in running tights.
“You can park there,” he said, pointing to an opening between Juan’s and Hawkeye’s trucks close to the front door.Judging by the other vehicles in the lot, about half of his fourteen brothers-by-choice were on the grounds. The others were off taking care of the businesses the club operated.
She pulled the SUV to a stop, killed the engine, and they both climbed out. A cold wind whipped around his body, the damp from the snow he’d planted himself in making it even more freezing than it was. The clubhouse would be warmer, and he had a spare set of clothes in the room he kept there.
“Sorry about your car,” he said, gesturing to the damaged bumper as they met at the front of the SUV. “We can fix it for you.”
Again, she shrugged. “Sorry someone is trying to kill you, and don’t worry about the car, that’s what rental insurance is for.”
He didn’t know a person could rent a Bentley, and it was a stark reminder that Daphne Parks lived a very different life from him. Not better or worse, just different. Okay, maybe a little better. He wouldn’t mind being able to rent a Bentley for a road trip.
He held the door open for her, and as she passed in a gentle swirl of some scent that shouldn’t be legal, he considered what he’d say to his family. None of them underestimated Daisy, and they’d all anticipated this day would come when they got the news of her release. But showing up with Callie’s sister wasn’t on any of their bingo cards. Neither was the fact that she’d saved him. His family was already inclined to love her—after all, shewasCallie’s sister. Now she’d be the object of their admiration and appreciation, too.
A long claw of something fierce and possessive scratched within him, a warning that it could release itself if it chose to do so. With a deep breath, he told himself thatfamilyoccupied the space on the other side of the door. That it would be hard for anyonenotto be intrigued by Daphne. That he had no rights to her other than being grateful for her courage and quick thinking.
But when she flashed a grin at him over her shoulder, all that logic vaporized.
Fuck.
CHAPTER THREE
Daphne walked into the main room of the clubhouse, already knowing every inch of it. Not from the maps she studied or the random bits of information she learned during her research. Not even from her gaggle of friends who occupied interesting, sometimes-legal, sometimes-not jobs. No, she knew it the old-fashioned way: Her sister had told her.
Callie had described the massive beams that stretched across the vaulted ceiling, the wide-plank floors, the spaces for games like pool and darts, and the gorgeous river stone fireplace. A room that invoked nostalgia for a time that none of the Falcons, or their partners, were old enough to have experienced the first time around.
The heavy door clicked shut behind them, and she felt the heat of Lovell’s body as he came to stand behind her, even though he had to be cold. His running gear was made for running, not for lounging. Not to mention he’d spent a good minute sprawled on his ass in a snowbank. Her car heater would have warmed him, but the lodge room, though cozy, wasn’t nearly as toasty.
“It’s just like my sister described,” she said, turning toward him. She blinked at the wall of chest in front of her. She wasn’tused to having to look up to anyone. Well, not entirely true—there was that professional basketball player she dated in her late twenties. But Lovell didn’t only top her by five inches; his broad shoulders, heavily muscled limbs, and mere presencesurroundedher.
A ripple of unwanted awareness traveled through her body. It was one thing to admire him from an emotional and physical distance—and there was muchmuchto admire—but she had no room in her life for attraction. She had no major relationship traumas to blame or point to, just a deep knowledge that she liked the life she had and had little to no interest in changing it. And it wasn’t fair to ask someone to take on the burden of fitting into that.
Lovell lifted his eyes as the shuffle of feet sounded behind her. On a quiet exhale, she turned, stared, then startled.
“Amber?”
The woman paused and looked up from the notebook she carried. Her head tipped before she drew back, her already big eyes widening.
“Daphne?”
