But my hands are already in his shirt, already flattening against his sides, already feeling the flex of muscle under skin and the hard scab under my name and all I can think is that this man is impossible.
Cruel and careful.
Terrifying and tender.
Possessive in ways that make me want to scream and then shivering under my touch like I can still get to him where nobody else can.
When he finally breaks the kiss, both of us are breathing too hard.
His forehead drops to mine.
My lips sting. My knees feel less reliable than they should.
“I know what you want,” he whispers against my lips. “Choice.So choose Ayla. Will you be part of this with me?”
“Yes.”
Chapter 44
Maksim
She doesn’t ask questions when I tell her we’re going out, just hops on my bike and holds on.
Her face is healing, but the rage hasn’t simmered for what that fucker did.
Santo’s voice is still in my ear from this morning, low and devastating with facts I asked for. Her mother. Her father. Kaya. The whole rotten line of it. Enough pieces filled in that the shape of her life sits in my head now like broken glass.
So today my girl needs something she never gets.
Something I’m not built for.
Somethingsoft.
I take her out past the edge of the city.
Past warehouses and fenced lots and the places men like me usually live in. Past the roads that smell like gasoline and hot concrete. Out where the buildings thin and the sky opens up wide enough to feel almost freeing.
I pull off onto a smaller road, then smaller again until the pavement gives way to packed dirt and wild grass on both sides. The bike growls beneath us and dust kicks up behind.
When I finally stop, the engine ticks hot in the silence. Ayla loosens her hold but doesn’t get off right away.
I cut the engine fully, pull off my helmet and glance back over my shoulder.
“Off.”
She slides off the bike and pulls her helmet free. Her hair spills out a little messy from under it, brown and soft in the sunlight. She blinks at the field in front of us.
It’s nothing special if you don’t know what you’re looking at.
Just land gone half wild. Tall green grass. A sweep of yellow-white heads nodding in the breeze. Dandelions gone full and soft, some still gold, some already ready to break apart and fly.
She goes very still. I watch her face instead of the field.
Recognition hits first.
Then something quieter. Smaller. More dangerous.
“You remembered,” she says.
