Page 7 of York

Nor his wife. Or kids.

This guy was tall and on the thinner side with black hair and a matching beard, dark eyes, gauged ears, and a hoop nose ring. Hot in an alternative way.

My first feeling was, oddly, relief. Because if this wasn’t York’s house, I was saved from one very awkward conversation.

But then the rocker guy stepped aside.

And there he was.

Looking just as good as I remembered. He was tall, broad, and fit, with brown hair and a full beard that he took good care of. He still had that serious, slightly intimidating air about him, too.

Good, I tried to tell myself, that was what I wanted.

Only, I suddenly couldn’t think. Or breathe. Let alone tell him why I was there.

“Runa.” He sighed out my name, and I was reminded of how he’d done something similar when he’d been buried deep inside me, when I’d been trembling from one orgasm as he drove me toward another.

But his gaze slid from me to the car in the driveway, then back.

I saw the wide-eyed realization.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t know the man well enough to know if that was simply surprise, worry, or anger.

“I think we need to talk.”

That was putting it mildly. But I’d forgotten my carefully rehearsed speech I’d come up with to say to him when I finally found him.

CHAPTER THREE

Runa

“She’s mine?”

I drew in a deep breath, my chest shaking with the effort.

“Yes, she’s yours.”

“Jesus,” the other man whispered, looking between the two of us with wide eyes.

“Not now, Velle,” York hissed under his breath.

“Look, I know this is a lot,” I said, voice calm despite the panic in my chest. “If you need to think about this and have me come back, I can—”

“What’s her name?”

“Denali,” I said. “I call her Denny a lot of the time, though.”

“Denali,” he repeated, his whole body going tight. “Like the national park?”

“Yes.”

“Like the shirt you had on when we met.”

“Yes.”

“Does she—” he started, but he had to pause to clear his throat. “Does she know who I am?”