Page 21 of Contracted to the Bikers

I meet his eyes, wincing internally at the hurt he’s hiding in them. “But I don’t.” The words sit there between us. Ugly. Real. “She’s not like anyone else we’ve had here,” I say, more controlled now. “You know that.”

“I know she’s mine.”

“There it is,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. For someone who likes to share, Rook sure as shit gets possessive.

He steps closer again, dangerously close. His voice is low and threatening. “Say that again.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “You’re acting like you already own something you haven’t even claimed.”

That does it. The control slips, just a fraction. “You think I haven’t claimed her?” he says, voice dropping lower. He doesn’t want everyone to hear this part.

“I think you’ve been circling her for a week like she’s going to just—what—fall into place because you decided she’s yours?”

His expression darkens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

I step forward now, too. Matching Rook’s energy. “You’re holding back,” I say. “And she sees it.”

“You don’t know what she sees.”

“No,” I say. “But I heard what Sloane told me.”

That immediately gets his attention. His head snaps toward me sharply. “What?”

I hesitate for a second, because this part I really shouldn’t say. It’s only gonna make this worse, but I say it anyway. “Sloane’s not fighting this, Rook,” I say. “Not the way you think she is.” I clear my throat, unsure about how to broach this without getting my head knocked off. “During… She mentioned fantasizing about you, about us, all of us,” I clarify, looking at Boone too.

For the first time since I walked in here, Rook looks surprised. As does Boone, it’s clear he’s been smitten with Sloane from day one, but Boone’s a better man than I am. He’d never have made a move.

Rook doesn’t respond, still trying to process what I mean, I push before I lose the opening.

His jaw tightens again. “Sloane’s still my old lady.”

“Yeah,” I say. “And she knows what that means.”

His eyes flick, something calculating behind them now. The anger is still there, but there’s something else too.

“She knows what this place is,” I say. “What we are.”

“You think that gives you a pass?” he snaps.

“No,” I say immediately. “It doesn’t.” I shake my head once. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

I meet his eyes again.

“I’m saying you’ve been blowing your chance.” The words hang there, uncomfortable yet true. “And maybe,” I add, quieter now, “me crossing that line pushed things forward instead of screwing them up.”

His stare could cut steel. “You’re real good at justifying your shitty behavior.”

“I’m not justifying anything.” I pause before I say the part that matters, what he needs to hear, even though it’s not clever or kind, just honest. “I’m telling you I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t resist her. Sloane’s…” I trail off, searching for the word, then shake my head. “She’s different.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “I noticed.” He doesn’t state the obvious; that’s why he made her sign the agreement to be his old lady in the first place.

“And you still haven’t made a move.”

He glowers at me, lip curling in a sneer. “I don’t need your advice.”