My heart continued to hammer so hard I could feel it in my throat. The guys from the Black Crowns MC had taken down the three men who had broken into my barn without breaking a sweat. And now they bantered as though fights like this were an everyday occurrence.
But none of that was even why my pulse was racing. That was entirely due to the man who’d stepped between me and danger.
Even without the president patch on his black leather vest, his commanding presence would’ve made it clear he was a leader.
He was almost a full foot and a half taller than me, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His dark-brown hair was cropped short, his steel-gray eyes seemed to take in everything at once, and his square jaw was covered in neatly trimmed dark stubble. He had two visible tattoos—a skull on his left forearm and a detailed piece on his right upper arm featuring eagle wings, a compass, and coordinates set against mountains.
I couldn’t help but wonder how many more were hidden beneath his clothes…when I probably should’ve been terrified.
He had broken a man’s arm right in front of me. But I couldn’t hold his violence against him when he’d only done it for my protection. That didn’t mean I should be lusting after him, though.
Unfortunately, my body hadn’t gotten that memo. A warm flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks, and all I could focus on was him.
My grandfather had always said I was made of sterner stuff, but I just about fainted when he hooked two fingers beneath my chin and tipped my face up until I stared into his eyes. His touch was gentle, but his voice was rough when he asked, “Why are you guarding your side?”
“I backed into one of the iron stall latches when I grabbed the shotgun,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing deeper. “It stung, but it’s nothing.”
“Show me.”
“It really is?—”
“Didn’t ask whether it was nothing, Jacqueline.” He slid his hand from my chin to my nape, his thumb resting beneath my ear. “I said show me.”
I leaned toward him just the tiniest bit, but he still caught my reaction to his demand, and his lips tipped up. Then before I realized what he intended, his hands were at my waist, and he was turning me around. After he untied my grandpa’s flannel from around my hips and let it fall to the ground, he hooked his fingers beneath the hem of my shirt. I drew in a quick breath when his knuckles skimmed the warm skin above my jeans, but I didn’t move away. His touch felt too good.
One of my hands moved to his forearm to hold on as he lifted the fabric high enough to expose the spot I’d struck.
“Looks like it’s gonna bruise, but you didn’t break the skin.”
I was just about to point out that I’d been right about not really being hurt when his palm spread across my stomach, andmy breath caught in my throat. He traced my ribs, and my belly tightened beneath his touch, a small shiver moving through me when his thumb brushed over my skin.
“Breathe deep for me.”
I did as he instructed, entirely too aware of how inhaling lifted my breasts closer to his chest.
“One more.”
I took another breath while he checked each rib and followed the line of the forming bruise toward my back. The pain was minimal enough to fade in the background of the pleasure of having him touch me. Every point of contact made my pulse jump.
I had never reacted to anyone like this, my skin tingling wherever he touched. An injured man was still groaning on the ground ten feet away, yet all I could focus on was the heat of his hands on me.
He finally lowered my shirt but kept his hand wrapped around my hip. “No broken bones.”
It was more habit than argument when I murmured, “I told you it was nothing.”
“You also stood in front of three men with a shotgun and decided fear wasn’t a reason to step aside.” He turned me back toward him, his steel-gray eyes burning into mine. “Your judgment regarding nothing needs work.”
My lips pressed together, but the corners still twitched, most likely giving away how funny I found his grumbling to be.
For the first time, I was beginning to understand what my grandpa really meant when he said the Black Crowns were “good men.” They weren’t harmless, but they were good to the people they decided to protect. And now it seemed as though I was counted among those they looked after.
But I couldn’t explore how that made me feel because the crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of the police.
I turned as Bex’s dad stepped out of his cruiser, his familiar face a welcome sight amid the tension still crackling in the air.
He gave a short nod to the tall man beside me. “Stryker.”
The name hit me with a little jolt, and I mentally rolled my eyes at myself for mooning over a guy whose name I didn’t even know.
