I swallow a couple of times, take a sip of my wine as if it’s going to have an immediate effect, then summon up the courage. “What exactly do you mean when you said you’d claim me?”
“Come and sit down. We need to have this conversation, and we might as well take the weight off our feet as we do so.” This time, he doesn’t turn back as he makes his way through to the next room.
Knowing I’ll get no explanation waiting on my own, I trail after him.
I’m in time to see him sit back on the recliner, letting out a satisfied sigh as he plonks his ass down, leans back, and kicks up his feet. He then takes a sip of whisky, half pulls himself up, and then rolls his eyes and groans. With the way he’s holding his glass, he was obviously looking for somewhere to place it down, but beside him is only air. “Fuckin’ prospects,” he comments under his breath. “Leaving a job half done.”
“Were they supposed to get end tables?” I sit on the couch. It’s worn but serviceable. The broken springs, as I’ve already learned, are at the other end from where I’m sitting. I realise I’ve got the same problem as him, so bending forward, I place my glass on the floor.
Leaning back again and cradling his glass in his hands, Short shakes his head. “They got all I told them to. My fault for not thinking it through. Though I’d hoped they’d show some forward thinking.”
“I think they’ve done a good job.” I look around, remembering how the place looked when I’d first walked in. “At least we’ve a place to sit. And hell, that’s one giant TV.”
“You want it on?” he offers.
Moving my head side to side, I remind him, “I’d rather have an answer to my question.”
“About being claimed?” I nod.
He takes another sip of whisky, then leans back his head, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them. “You know what being claimed means?”
“Saint claimed Pippa. I know that much. I also saw the patch on the back of the cut she was wearing tonight. It denoted that she’s Saint’s property. I have to admit I’m shy of the term, as I know I don’t want to be held prisoner or be beholden to any man. I’ve already suffered a controlling father.”
“Point taken.” Short sets his eyes on me. “I don’t want, desire, or need to control either you or your son.” Something warms inside me as he so easily acknowledges the relationship I’ve always had to deny. Suddenly, he bursts out laughing. “You really think Saint controls Pippa? If anything, theirs is a mutual arrangement. They balance each other.” He sits forward again, twisting his glass between his hands. “Being club, or a man’s property, is a term we don’t take lightly. It’s old-fashioned, I know, but it denotes something we care for. More than that, something we’d die for. And when a property claim is made, the whole club steps up and offers protection.”
I consider for a moment, then ask, “How would that look?”
“You’ve got your studies to complete, yes?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “So, you need to stay close by. And your father needs to be kept away from you. The Kings of Anarchy can guarantee you safety from him, but you’re not club. So, unless I make a claim on you, that protection isn’t automatically forthcoming. You mentioned Pippa? She gets our protection whenever it’swarranted by virtue of being claimed by Saint.” He snorts a laugh. “Not that you’d think she needs help protecting herself.” He sobers quickly. “But you’d be surprised. She’s probably still got enemies out there. And if they find her and resurface, well, they’ll have to get through the Kings before they can touch her.”
My eyes widen. I didn’t know that. I go to comment, then I notice there’s something about the way he takes more whisky into his mouth, and swirls it around before swallowing, which makes me think he’s got more to say, and is just gathering his thoughts.
I’m proved right when he starts speaking again. “I didn’t want an ol’ lady, never thought about being tied down. But you, Bronwyn.” Now his dark eyes pierce into mine. “You, I think I could tolerate being around all the time.” He barks a laugh. “Fuck of a compliment, eh? But we don’t know enough about each other to say we could have something permanent, but maybe for the here and now. I am willing to make a commitment to keep my dick away from the club girls, so I wouldn’t embarrass you.”
The club girls. Yeah, I’m not blind. I know their purpose around the men, and would object except they seem happy doing things that would turn my stomach. But there’s something I need to make clear to him.
“Dad hurt me, Short. I don’t want him, or anyone else, to ever touch me again. I can’t be a substitute for your club women.”
“Fuck, Bron. I’m not stupid. I already told you. You’re going to need therapy and time, but hell, girl, I hope you get there in the end. There’s a lot of pleasure to be had between a woman and a man, and no pain when it’s done right.” He drains his whisky glass. “I’ve got a right hand and will just have to get more familiar with it. Ain’t going to be pressuring you into anything. To be totally honest, I’m not even sure if I could be the one to teach you how to find pleasure. We spend time getting used toeach other, seeing if it’s something we like. If it ends up with us parting ways sooner rather than later, well, so be it.”
“You don’t get much out of this,” I observe.
“Don’t I?” His gaze comes to me again. “I get the satisfaction of rescuing you from a bad life, just like the Kings did for me. Paying it forward, if you like.”
Still not understanding how he could give up his freedom like that, probably against my better instincts, I remind him I’m a package deal. “I won’t leave Trip.”
“I’ll claim the boy, too,” he says fast. “That goes without saying. Already made that clear to the VP.”
“It isn’t too much to ask of you?”
“Nah. Perhaps I’d like to do something good in my life. Even if I end up with blue balls.”
“Not a medical term.” As the inappropriate comment slips out, I slap my hand over my mouth, but he just chuckles.
“Sure can feel like it, Nurse Bronwyn,” he retorts. Then he pulls himself out of his recliner and waves his empty glass. “I’m getting a refill. You want one?”
Bemused, I realise, while we’ve been talking, I’ve actually drained my glass. More confident now that he’s not going to pressure me into something I don’t want to do, I nod shyly. “Just a…”
“Smidgeon,” he finishes for me with a grin. “Sweetheart, if you’re my ol’ lady, then it’s my job to look after you. And I happen to like you tipsy, but relatively sober.”
