Page 38 of Rebel Hawke

But it isn’t the place.

Not now.

I manage to tear my mouth from hers long enough to kiss my way across her cheek to her ear. “If I don’t get you out of here and under me in the next ten minutes, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” A shudder rolls through her, and she tightens her grip on my T-shirt, bunching it in her hands. “Everything else can wait, Little Bird.”

She clings to me, still trembling, though now it isn’t from fear. “Don’t you have to train?”

“Missing one fucking day of training isn’t going to kill me, but not knowing what you taste like might.”

Her eyes close, and she inhales a slow breath. “Fuck, Atlas…”

“That’s the plan.” I pull back from her and find her cheeks blazing bright red, but when her lids flutter back open, her eyes scream that she is fully on board with the plan. “Please. After that, I need…”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Fuck.

I actually don’t know what I need.

Just that it involves her.

Touching her…

Feeling her…

Being inside her…

Knowing that she’s all right and that I can protect her…

And the only thing I can think to do is get her the fuck out of here, away from where she’s so exposed, where Damon could walk in again at any minute.

She releases a long, slow breath, tightening her grip on my arms, like she’s trying to calm herself, find some center, like maybe I’m not the only one reeling and attempting to find firm footing on some sort of solid ground.

Her lips tremble over mine softly. “Okay.”

7

ATLAS

The ten-minute drive to the condo from the gym has allowed Wren to think—far too much time to stew in her thoughts and drown in the insecurities she tries so hard to hide. An opportunity to second-guess what she’s doing by coming home with me and questioning why I want her with me.

Despite clutching her hand in mine and brushing my thumb over it, keeping that constant contact with her during the tense silence weaving through the streets, her anxiety only rises the closer we get.

Calm down, Little Bird…

She’s practically vibrating with it by the time I help her out of the car in the underground structure. Clutching her hand tightly, I lead her to the elevator and smash my fist to the call button.

The move makes her jump slightly, and I slide my palm over the exposed skin on her back, between the bottom of her sports bra and the waistband of her yoga pants—half scarred, raised and puckered, half smooth and flawless.

Wren stiffens at the touch, and I press my lips to the back of her neck.

“Relax, Little Bird…”

She sags into my touch, her warm skin brushing against my hand as she shifts closer. The doors glide open, and I immediately urge her forward with a gentle nudge.

Her unease tugs at something deep inside my chest, the intense need to protect her, to make her understand how I feel about her, how what happened today flipped some switch inside me that I can’t turn off now.

It courses through my veins as we step in, and I use my free hand to punch in the code that’ll bring us up to the penthouse floor. Wren slides from my hold and turns to lean back against the wall, her knee bouncing rapidly while the doors glide closed behind me.

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