We finally pull back into my driveway, and when the bike rolls to a stop, Drew squeezes me from behind one more time. No one ever hugs me. I’m too much of a damn porcupine. But he slides up behind me, and I feel his slim arms around my shoulders, and fuck if it doesn’t feel good.
Drew. Not Mack’s kid. Mack’s far in the past, but Drew is right here.
I kill the engine, and Drew loosens his arms. He hops off the bike first and removes his helmet, and I swing my legs around. He’s dazed, a sloppy smile on his face from the ride. I know the good feeling, like the motor is still humming inside you, and his expression is damn adorable.
Too adorable.
Irresistible.
I’m trying to fight back the forces he’s awakened in me, the urges and demands that had lain dormant for years, but I’m caving quick.
I set my helmet on my hip and stand. Before Drew can say anything, I reach out and take his face in my hand. My thumb grazes over his soft stubble, and Drew sucks in a shaky breath.
“Caesar,” he says. His voice aches with need, and the sound of it stirs something too strong for me to deny.
“Drew.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
DREW
My body is vibratingfrom the motorcycle as Caesar lays his hand on my face. His name spills out of me, like a need I’m asking him to meet, and he says my name back like an order.
“Drew.”
Caesar’s hand doesn’t move. He cups my face, then drags his thumb across my cheek, staring me right in the eye. We’re so close I can see the tiny creases when he tightens his gaze, and his musky, smoky scent is rich beneath the leather and motorcycle exhaust.
He’s taller than me and so much stronger, and just like on the bike, that strength is comforting. I want to cling to him. Then I want to stroke him until his rough shell melts away, knowing what’s inside.
Caesar is a good man. My heart trusts him. I feel safe here, safe enough to flirt and tease him, and safe enough for more, too.
“Come inside,” he finally says, breaking the loaded silence, and I nod softly.
Caesar leads me to the rear porch, and I follow obediently, my heart in my throat. I’m scared to admit what it is we’re doing because I still don’t know how to square the fact that Caesar slept with my father with the reality that he’s looking at me that way.
He pulls open the back door to the house, and his dark chocolate dog jumps out. “Grace,” I say with a laugh, and she licks my hand, hops on Caesar, then runs into the yard.
Caesar pushes a hand through his scraggly gray hair. My eyes dance across his broad shoulders, colorful ink, and hairy arms.
Fuck, he’s hot.
Caesar considers me, and his attention feels good because I can tell how much he approves. He thinks I’m cute or something, even when I’m acting like a dork, or maybe especially then.
I’m not used to this kind of attention, but I like it.
“If you come in this house, kid, you know what’s going to happen?”
His deep voice rolls out, easy and steady, and I can feel the rumble on my skin.
I take one step forward, then another. Lust compels me, pushing me through my doubts and insecurities. Caesar is looking at me like he wants to devour me, and I want nothing more than to give myself to him.
“I’m going to come into your house,” I answer. “And I’m going to find out.”
I bite down on my lip, eyeing him. I’m not quite sure where I’m getting this from, but the improvisation seems to be working because Caesar is looking at me with just as much hunger as I feel.
His brow tightens. “Mack,” he says simply.
Shit. I was trying to just not think about it, but I guess that’s not Caesar’s style.
