I start laughing then, really laughing, so hard that I turn around and kneel, facing Savage while I catch my breath. “My mom even bought her own ring with the last husband just to see if that kept him from going stupid.” I’ve got tears in the corners of my eyes, and I can hardly catch my breath. “But we all know how thatturned out. Momma had a ring, a dent in her bank account, and a man who was still dumber than a box of rocks.”
Savage is grinning so huge, he’s showing all his perfect white teeth. God, he’s pretty. For a former soldier and a bad-ass biker, he’s beautiful through and through. That thought sobers me up a bit, and a question occurs to me.
“Why do you call yourself Savage?” I cock my head to one side and lazily run my fingers over the knees of his black sweatpants.
He grunts, and I wonder if I’ve hit a nerve.
“Never mind,” I say, waving my hands in the air. “You don’t have to?—”
“It’s all right.” He rubs underneath one eye and I’m wondering if he’s tearing up, but he’s not. He’s staring down at my hands. “When I was a kid, any time my dad got in one of his moods, he’d scream, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? I ain’t raising no savages.’” He lifts his chin and looks me square in the face, and my heart thuds harder. He’s so gorgeous, and the honesty and vulnerability in his voice make me feel raw inside. “My real name’s Ethan. Ethan Everett. But I left that name behind the day I chose to become the very thing my daddy never wanted me to be—a savage.”
I swallow hard and weigh my next words carefully. “Seems like the joke’s on him, then,” I say. “You are Savage if you think about it. You’re fierce and wild. Untamed. Good in every way. From what I’ve heard, he was never kind and loving, caring and considerate. Henever raised you to be any of those things, and that’s exactly what you are. At least, that’s how you’ve been to me.”
I meet his eyes, and the next thing I know, he reaches for my hand. “Come here,” he says softly.
I crawl back toward the top of the bed and kneel beside his legs, facing him.
“Is that what you think of me?” he whispers. Our heads are lowered, and I can feel the soft rasp of his callused hand against my cheek.
“I believe that about you,” I say, correcting him. “And more, Savage. So much more.”
His hand slides from my cheek to underneath my hair. He cups the back of my neck. “Claire…” My name on his lips sounds like music, like the prettiest song I’ve heard in a long, long time. “I’ve been wanting… I don’t want you to feel like you have to… I…”
I stop his stammering with a finger over his lips. “Savage, I want to kiss you more than I want to breathe.”
He swallows so hard his lips tense beneath my fingers. Then he takes the hand that’s behind my neck and pulls me close to him. I lick my lower lip, excitement flaring deep in my belly. At the same time, my heart is racing. Once I kiss this man… If I kiss this man… How will that change what he is? What he wants?
I don’t have time to worry because I feel his nose nudge mine. I lift my face, so close to his I can see the dark, rich chocolate of his brown eyes. He’s sobeautiful. Thick lashes frame his eyes, and his stubble rakes across the tender skin of my fingertips… Oh God. I’m holding his face, stroking the sharp edges of his jaw with my thumbs. My breathing catches in my chest, and I swallow.
“Claire.” My name is on his lips. The soft puffs of his breath tease my lips, and I lick them again, my eyelids fluttering shut. The heat of his large hands on the back of my neck radiates down my back, and I arch toward him, knowing that what we’re about to do will change everything. I wish my brain could process thoughts, could protect me or stop me, but something stronger than my mind and more powerful than my fear takes hold.
“Savage,” I whisper back, and then it’s me who’s making the first move. It’s my tongue that licks across his thick lower lip. It’s my gasp at the electricity that flares between us when I feel that soft, plump flesh under my tongue. He tastes…so good. So sweet. I swallow and open my eyes, my lids feeling heavy and soft all at the same time. “Savage, please…”
I want him to want this as much as I do, and he answers my plea with his lips. He’s leaning forward on the bed, my neck cupped in his firm hands, his mouth covering mine.
“Fuck…” he groans against my lips, “Fuck me, Claire, you’re so…so…”
But his words disappear when I open my mouth. The gentle press of his lips against mine transforms into something deeper, something so real, so powerful,everything in my world narrows to him. His tongue sweeping my mouth. His lips claiming mine, tasting me, exploring every part of my mouth with such hunger that our teeth clack together.
“On my lap?” His words are a question, an invitation. One that I feel able to accept or decline—he’s giving the power of what this becomes over to me.
I answer it without hesitation. He moves the laptop to the bedside table, and I climb onto his lap, my knees bent so I can run my hands along the perfectly shaped muscles of his shoulders as I kiss him. A welcoming heat pools between my legs, and my belly feels full and hungry all at once. I kiss him, tasting his mouth, working my fingers along the fabric of his T-shirt. It’s like my hands have never touched anything so perfect, so fascinating. I can’t decide what to touch and where to feel him because everything—the long waves of his hair, the rough outgrowth of stubble on his face, the arms that are so strong but hold me with perfect pressure against him…I want it all. I can’t believe how he feels and that he’s real. But he’s here and I want this. I want him.
I kiss him deeper, and I can’t help the tiny moans of pleasure, the needy, arousal-soaked gasps that slip between my lips every time we pause for air. I pull away from his mouth and tenderly kiss his chin, the still-bruised jaw that’s got to be sore. I run my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly with my nails and tugging his face closer to mine when I bring my lips back to his.
We take turns exploring each other’s mouths, but his hands seem frozen in place, while mine are touching everything—his shoulders, his arms, his head. I pull back, my nostrils flaring as I try to drink in every scent of him—his cologne, his soap, the natural scent of his skin.
“Savage, what’s wrong?” I whisper. I look down at his hands. They’re planted like statues on my hips. I can feel his arousal, thick and hard, springing up between us, so I don’t think it’s that he isn’t attracted to me.
“I want you so goddamn bad,” he grunts, his eyes flaring with sparks of honesty and something else, some emotion I can’t place. “You don’t have to do this, Claire. I…”
“Is that what you think?” I pull my hands back to myself and lean a little farther back so we can look each other in the eye. “That I’m paying you back?”
My body grows cold, and I move to get up off his lap, when his hands clamp down harder.
“No. Fuck no. That’s…well, yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of. You don’t owe me this, Claire.”
I guess we were gonna have to have this conversation eventually. I look over at the baby monitor. The white noise machine in Aurora’s room is soft and steady, and I can see in the color image that she’s sound asleep, peacefully dreaming. Her little mouth is open, and she looks healthy. Cared for. Safe.
