Page 12 of Striker’s Rebel

“Why?”

“So I know which one needs another lesson.”

Those blue eyes widen.

Then she looks past me toward the men on the pavement.

“I think they got the message.”

I’m not convinced.

One of the bastards groans.

My attention moves to him.

Her hand closes around my forearm before I can take a step.

Fuck me.

Small fingers against my skin shouldn’t do anything.

They do everything.

Heat moves straight through me, so immediate I go still.

She feels it too. I know because her breath catches, and those blue eyes drop to where she’s touching me before slowly coming back up.

There it is.

The pull I feel isn’t one-sided.

Good.

Very fucking good.

She releases me.

I don’t like that nearly as much as I should.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?”

“Hit him again.”

“I was thinking about it.”

“I noticed.”

That mouth.

I’m going to have trouble with that mouth.

“What’s your name?”

She blinks at the change of subject. “June.”

June.