Page 24 of Lock Up the Darkness

I shrugged. “A little. I ride.”

“What do you have?”

I pocketed my keys. “An Iron 883.”

“Hmm.”

“Did you do this work yourself?”

“Jonah made it happen.”

“You know, riding is great therapy.”

“Well aware.”

“Especially for you.”

“What?” he ground out, and I could feel him right behind me.

“All that seething anger you’re struggling to keep at bay,” I responded, matter of fact.

I ran my hand over his bike, the sleek chrome that was almost glittering with how well he’d taken care of it.

It was a real shame, given what needed to happen.

His little stunt had left me no choice.

Letting it stand would be a costly mistake from so many angles, and it would set a very dangerous precedent.

I felt his movement, the air shifting, a moment before he snagged my arm and wrenched me around to face him. “Stop,” he seethed, yanking hard so that I smacked into his chest.

“Stop what?” I asked, staring up at him, that seething anger right there, threatening to explode all over me.

“Touching what’s not yours.”

I met his steely gaze. “Pot. Kettle.”

He squeezed my arm. “Enough!”

“Right back at you.”

A growl escaped him and then he was slamming me up against the side of my car, both his hands clamping down on my arms, pinning me there.

He was so worked up and knocked off-kilter from my responses that he hadn’t even thought to disarm me. I still had my keys in my pocket.

And those weren’t the only weapons I had on my person.

“Bend. The. Knee,” he ground out, his minty cologne wafting over me, the heady scent of him infusing the air between us.

His breathing was choppy, his eyes aflame.

I could feel his intensity rolling through me.

Or maybe it was a combination of us both.

Either way, the air had become so thick with it that I could barely breathe through it.

“Never,” I rasped.

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