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Walker’s lips curl. “You walked out on me, toy. You don’t get to act shy now.” His eyes linger on the wet patch spreading across my collarbone. “Not when you look like that.”

I blink. “How did you...?”

He shrugs, a lazy tilt of his mouth. “GPS tracker on my bike. You didn’t think you could lose me, did you, toy?”

“What do you want, Walker?” I glare at him. “I really just need to crawl into my bed and not deal with any of the masculine, male bullshit floating around me right now.”

He leans back, still tracking every inch of skin I show. “Go put something on that’ll actually work on the bike. Unless you want the whole goddamn world to get the same show. We need to talk, but first, I want a steak. Medium-rare. And you’re coming with me.”

I raise a brow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. “What, leather and denim? Or is this your way of telling me you want to see me naked again?”

He shrugs, but his eyes are molten. “Just don’t show up in a fucking towel. Unless you want to see what happens if I lose my patience.”

Challenge accepted. I turn on my heel, my heart hammering.

I stalk down the hall, ignoring the way his gaze burns holes in my back. In my bedroom, I yank open drawers, searching for something that’ll piss him off just enough. Leather miniskirt—perfect. Black lace bralette. Heels sharp enough to kill a man. I pull them on, every motion deliberate, letting the feeling of rebellion settle over me like armor.

I do my makeup dark and twist my hair up into a messy bun. Why bother when I know I’ll be wearing a helmet soon enough?

When I stride back out, Walker’s jaw actually drops for a second. His eyes rake over me, hungry, predatory.

“Seriously?” he grunts, voice rougher than before. “You planning on riding like that?”

I smirk, twisting on one heel. “You told me to wear something that works for the bike. This works for me.”

He hands me a helmet, but his hand lingers, fingers brushing my wrist, thumb pressing against my pulse. The tension between us is thick enough to choke on. “You know you’re driving me fucking crazy, right?”

I grin, reckless. “Good. Maybe you’ll do something about it.”

He growls, low and dangerous, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Get on the bike before I change my mind and fuck you right here.”

My skin flushes, every nerve ending raw and alive.

I follow him out, the cool night air biting at my bare legs as I swing onto the back of his motorcycle, pressed tight against his back. The world narrows to the thrum of the engine, the heat of him, the wild, reckless freedom in my chest.

“Is this a date?” I ask beside his ear.

He grins, wicked and sure. “No. This is a warning. I’m not done with you yet.”

And just like that, we drive into the night. I know I should end this, but I also know I won’t. Not until I figure out how to kill the part of me that wants him to stay.

****

The restaurant Walker chooses is nothing like the greasy dives I expect from him. This place is all exposed brick and polished wood, heavy chandeliers dripping golden light over tables dressed in white. It smells like old money and older whiskey, the kind of place where everyone pretends not to see the violence hiding behind a nice suit.

We walk in together ... Well, he walks, I stalk, hips swinging in my leather mini and heels that click with every step. People glance up and then away, uncertain whether to stare or run. Walker just grins like he owns the fucking place, and the hostess nearly trips over her own feet getting to us.

“Evening,” she chirps, eyes glued to Walker’s chest, her voice syrupy-sweet. “Table for two?”

He nods, doesn’t bother to introduce me. I don’t need it. I’m already burning holes through her perfect little smile. She leads us to a booth near the window, brushing her shoulder against Walker’s arm as she slides the menus onto the table. I’m ready to break her wrist. Walker’s hand lands on my thigh under the table, warm and possessive. He squeezes, a warning or a promise, I can’t tell.

We barely have a second alone before the waitress appears, a blonde with lips like a porn star and tits poured into a shirt two sizes too small.

“Hey there,” she purrs, leaning so far over the table I’m surprised her nipples don’t fall out. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Walker smirks, not even pretending not to notice. I glare, my jaw clenched so tight it hurts. She keeps her eyes on him, ignoring me entirely.

“I’ll have the rye, neat,” he says, not even glancing her way. “And a steak. Medium-rare.”