Page 29 of My Reckless Biker

The honesty surprises me. I expected him to say he's fine, to deflect or perform the control he's been maintaining all day.

"What do you need?" I ask.

He's quiet for a long moment and I watch his back, watch the way he's holding himself like he's about to break and is using pure will to hold the pieces together.

"I don't know," he says finally. "I need Ray not to be in the hospital. I need Dutch already handled so I can stop thinking about what I'm going to do to him. I need to stop feeling like every decision I make gets people hurt."

I move closer until I'm standing beside him at the window. "Ray's alive. The doctor said he'll survive. And tonight you're going to make sure Dutch pays for what he did. That's not nothing."

"It's not enough."

"It's what you can do. That has to be enough."

He turns to look at me and I can see the strain in his face, can see how much the control is costing him.

"I told you this morning that wanting you and wanting to believe you are getting tangled up," he says. "And I meant it. I don't know if I'm making good decisions about you or if I'm compromising everything because I want you badly enough that logic doesn't matter anymore."

"Does it have to be one or the other? Can't you trust me because I've earned it and want me because you do?"

"I don't know. I've never wanted someone like this before. I don't have a framework for it."

I reach up and put my hand on his chest, palm flat over his heart the way I did in the yard this morning, and I can feel it racing under my palm.

"I don't have a framework for any of this either," I say quietly. "I've spent my whole life being strategic about everything. Every relationship I've ever had was calculated. Every decision was made three moves ahead. And then I met you and you asked me what I think instead of what I know, and that broke something open in me that I can't close back up. So no, I don't know if you're making good decisions about me. But I know I'm here and I'm not lying and I want you in ways I've never wanted anyone."

His hand comes up and covers mine on his chest, holding it there.

"If we do this," he says, and his voice is rough, strained, "if we cross this line, I need to know it's real. I need to know you're not just scared or grateful or trying to secure your position here. I need to know you want this because you want me, not because it's strategic."

"It's not strategic. I stopped being strategic about you the moment you kissed me last night."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

His other hand comes up to my face, palm against my cheek, thumb brushing my jaw, and I lean into the touch because I've been wanting him to touch me again since last night, wanting his hands on me, wanting to feel wanted the way I felt wanted when he kissed me.

"This doesn't change what's happening tonight," he says. "I'm still going after Dutch. I'm still going to do things that are violent and permanent. And if something goes wrong—"

"Don't," I interrupt. "Don't say that. You're coming back."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do. You're coming back because you're good at what you do and you have backup and you're not going to do anything stupid enough to get yourself killed. You're coming back."

He studies my face like he's trying to decide if I actually believe that or if I'm just saying it.

"I want you," I say, because I need him to know this before he leaves, before he goes to that warehouse and risks everything. "Not strategically. Not because I'm scared or grateful. I want you because you see me as something other than Victor Crane's daughter. Because you asked what I think. Because you make me feel like I'm allowed to want things for myself instead of just surviving. Because when you kiss me I forget to calculate and that's the first time I've forgotten in my entire life."

His control shatters.

I see it happen. See the exact moment he stops holding himself back. See the tension in his jaw release and something darker and hungrier take its place.

His mouth crashes into mine.

Not testing or tentative. Just raw need translated into teeth and tongue and his hand fisting in my hair hard enough to sting.

I open for him immediately, tasting the desperation in the way he kisses me, the way his other hand grips my hip like he needs to hold on to something solid or he'll come apart.