"I know." I reach across the center console and wrap my hand around her thigh. She stiffens but doesn't pull away. My fingers nearly circle her entire leg. "Beck Marie Monroe robbed three banks in Tennessee. You're Beck Maria Monroe, who's never even had a speeding ticket."
Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. "You know? Then why?—"
"Because others don't." I squeeze her thigh once before releasing it to shift gears. "And they won't stop coming."
The cabin appears through the trees, dark wood and stone against the night sky. Nothing fancy—two bedrooms, one bath, open kitchen and living space. Defensible. Remote. Mine. And now hers, whether she wants it or not.
I kill the engine and turn to look at her properly. Rain has plastered her chestnut hair to her cheeks. Her cardigan clings to curves that have been haunting my dreams for weeks. She's shivering, but not just from cold.
"Inside." Not a request.
She doesn't move. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're mine." The words come out before I can stop them, raw truth that should scare her away. Instead, her pupils dilate, her lips parting on a silent exhale.
Interesting.
I climb out, circle to her door, and yank it open. When she still doesn't move, I reach in and lift her out, setting her feet on the muddy ground. She stumbles against me, her soft curves pressing against my chest for one glorious second before she catches herself.
My hand on the small of her back, I guide her up the porch steps and unlock the heavy wooden door. The moment we're inside, I throw the deadbolt, then another, then engage the security system. She watches my movements with wide eyes.
"You're locking me in."
"I'm locking others out." I shrug off my wet jacket and hang it on the hook. The cabin is dark except for the small light I leave on above the stove. "Take off that wet cardigan before you catch cold."
She doesn't move, defiance flashing in her eyes. "I need answers. Now."
I take a step toward her, and she takes one back. Another step, another retreat, until her back hits the wall. I cage her in with my arms, bringing my face close to hers. She smells like rain and diner grease and something sweet underneath that's all her.
"I've been watching you for weeks, baby girl," I growl, my voice dropping an octave. My cock is rock hard just being thisclose to her, breathing her air. "Knew you were mine the second I saw you. That picture in the file? I burned it. Told everyone I was taking another job. Then I found you, and I've been keeping you safe ever since."
"That's—that's stalking," she whispers, but there's no real heat behind the accusation.
"That's protection." I bring one hand up to cup her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. So fucking soft. "You've been running for months. Looking over your shoulder. Jumping at shadows. But you never saw me, did you? The shadow that was there to keep you safe."
Her breath hitches. "How do I know you're not lying? How do I know you won't turn me in tomorrow for the bounty?"
I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "Because I'm not built to share, little girl. And turning you in means giving you up. That's not happening."
Something changes in her eyes—fear giving way to a different kind of tension. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, inadvertently licking my thumb in the process. My control slips another notch.
"You've been so brave," I murmur, my hand sliding from her face to her throat, feeling her pulse race under my palm. "Moving from town to town. Keeping your head down. Such a good girl."
The praise affects her instantly—a flush spreading across her cheeks, her eyes growing hazy. My hand tightens slightly on her throat, and her lips part on a gasp.
"But you don't have to run anymore. You're mine now. I'll kill anyone who tries to take you."
And then I'm kissing her, claiming that soft mouth I've been dreaming about. She makes a startled sound that melts into a whimper as I lick into her, tasting her, devouring her. My hands find her waist, lifting her against the wall so our faces are level.Her legs wrap around me instinctively, and I groan at the feel of her heat pressed against my cock, even through our wet clothes.
"Gray," she gasps when I finally let her breathe, my mouth moving to her neck. "This is crazy. We just met. You can't just?—"
"Been watching you for weeks," I remind her, nipping at her earlobe. "Know how you take your coffee. Know you read paperbacks on your breaks. Know you sleep with the light on because you're afraid of the dark." I roll my hips against her, and her head falls back with a thud against the wall. "Not strangers, baby girl. I know everything about you."
"That's not better," she protests weakly, even as her hands fist in my shirt.
I carry her to the couch, lowering her onto the worn leather. She looks up at me, hair spread out like a dark halo, cheeks flushed, eyes uncertain but wanting. I strip off my shirt, watching her eyes widen at the sight of my scarred torso, the tattoos that map my violent history.
"Tell me to stop," I challenge her, knowing she won't. She can't. The chemistry between us is a live wire, has been since I first laid eyes on her photo.
