Page 97 of Wade’s Wrath

“Keep laughing,” he whispered.

“Is that a threat?” she asked.

“Promise.” His teeth grazed lightly over the place where her neck met her shoulder, and Harlow's laughter disappeared. Wade pulled back, and the satisfaction on his face made her narrow her eyes.

“Don't look so smug,” she said.

“Can't help it,” he admitted.

“Asshole,” she breathed.

“Yep.” Harlow pushed her hands beneath the hem of his shirt. Wade's stomach tightened beneath her palms. She slowly moved them higher over his warm skin and hard muscle. The familiar roughness of scars she hadn't had nearly enough time to memorize yet. Wade went very still, and Harlow smiled.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Keep touching me and find out,” he growled.

“That sounded like encouragement,” she teased.

“It fucking was.” She pushed his shirt higher, and Wade caught the back of it and pulled it over his head. Harlow's mouth went dry. She'd seen him like this before and touched him before. She had slept beside him and made love with him, but none of that mattered. Three weeks apart had apparently reset her ability to handle a shirtless Wade. His tattoos stretched over muscle. Dark hair covered part of his chest. His beard made him look dangerous, and the way he was staring at her made him look hungrier. Harlow put her palm flat against his chest, and his heartbeat pounded beneath it—fast.

She looked up. “You're nervous.”

“Nope,” he said.

“Your heart says otherwise,” she pointed out.

“Not nervous,” he insisted.

“What then?” Wade caught her hand and pressed it harder against his chest.

“It’s you.” Those two words stole every smart remark she had. Harlow stared at him, and Wade's expression softened. “You do this to me.”

Her chest tightened. “Wade.”

“I spent three weeks pretending I could stand across that fucking bar and act like you were just somebody who worked for me.” His hand slid into her hair. “I couldn't.”

Her throat tightened. “I thought you did a good job of it.”

“I was going crazy seeing you every day and not being able to touch you,” he said.

“I thought maybe you stopped wanting me,” she said.

His face hardened. “Never.” Harlow searched his eyes, and Wade leaned closer. “I wanted you every fucking day.” His mouth brushed hers. “Every time you walked into the bar.” Another soft kiss. “Every time you argued with me.” Another. “Every time you bent over to grab a bottle and made me forget what the fuck I was doing.”

Harlow laughed against his lips. “I knew you were looking at my ass.”

“Then you did that shit on purpose,” he said.

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“Evil woman,” he hissed. She kissed him, and Wade's hands moved over her back. He wasn’t rushing or taking anything that she wasn’t ready to give him. He was exploring and remembering her every curve. His palms traveled down her sides and settled at her hips again. Harlow leaned into him. She loved the contrast of his rough beard against her skin, his hard body beneath her hands, and the gentleness he never seemed to realize he possessed. Her fingers traced one of the tattoos across his chest, and Wade watched her.

“You missed me?” he asked.

She looked up. “Terribly.” His expression changed, and Harlow's hand slid around the back of his neck. “I hated going home with Princess every night.”

“You could've come back earlier,” he said.