I stare up at him and grin, heart hammering as adrenaline screams through my veins.
Lip split and bleeding, he looks down at me, returning my grin.
I should be scared, but instead? I’mwreckedfor him.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough.
Speechless, I can only nod.
He cups my face in one big, warm hand, thumb brushing gently along my jaw.
Without another thought, I rise onto my toes and kiss him. Hard.
He freezes for only half a second before he kisses me back like he’s been waiting his whole damn life to do it. Mouth hot and demanding, he tastes like whiskey and danger.
I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as he backs me up against the brick wall of the bar.
The kiss is everything—desperate and consuming. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming and coaxing as he slides a hand up to tangle in my hair. My body arches against his, seeking more of that delicious friction as he presses against me.
I jerk back first, gasping, the taste of whiskey, blood, and adrenaline on my tongue.
Stunned, Ryder blinks down at me. The look on his face says I’ve hit him with a two-by-four and he’s not sure what to do about it.
Dragging his knuckles across his split lip, he smirks. “If that’s how you say thank you, I’ll have to save your sexy ass more often,” he says, voice hoarse.
I shove him hard in the chest. “Don’t push your luck, Roadhouse.”
Backing up a step, his laugh is a low, rough sound that rumbles through my body, straight to my core.
The cool night breeze nips at my bare shoulder, slapping me back to reality. Turning on my heel, I stalk through the parking lot, my heels clicking against the cracked pavement.
Ryder follows at a leisurely pace, acting like we didn’t just start a full on bar fight.
Typical.
I yank open the passenger door of my beat-up SUV for him, but he ignores me. Instead, he walks around the front of the car and makes himself at home in the driver’s seat.
Glaring at him, I climb in.
Cocky as hell, he throws me side-eye, tapping the steering wheel with two bruised knuckles. “What? You’re shaking, so I’m driving.”
I’m not shaking, I’m still effing buzzing from that kiss.
I slam the door closed, yank my seatbelt across my lap and cross my arms, stewing as he fires up the engine.
We peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing, silence stretching tight in the air as he drives.
Finally, mouth twitching, he cuts me a glance. “You gonna thank me for saving you, kitten?”
“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, staring hard out the window. “Wasn’t the kiss enough?”
He just laughs.
We drive the next few miles in silence, streetlights flashing in staccato bursts. My heart is still hammering against my ribs. My lips are still tingling, my body way too aware of every damn bruised, bloodied inch of him sitting across from me, grinning like the devil himself.
God, he’s beautiful. Andinfuriating.
I hate how good he looks, all bruised up—like he could tear the world apart with his bare hands, then laugh in its face when all is said and done as we ride into the sunset.
