Page 60 of Rebel Hawke

Her apparent unease makes my shoulders tense.

“Hi…”

Wren approaches me slowly, cautiously, like I’m some sort of wild animal she’s afraid she might set off. And there’s something about the way she’s looking at me that makes my stomach twist.

“What’s wrong, Little Bird?”

She chews on the inside of her lip and leans against the metal lockers in front of me, eyeing me suspiciously. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Bullshit.” I rub the towel across the back of my neck, mopping up more sweat. “You are not very good at hiding it when you’re upset or worried about something, Wren.”

Her dark brows rise, but she fights a smile. “You think you know me so well, huh?”

That draws a grin across my lips. “I think I proved yesterday, last night, and again this morning—a dozen times, if I remember correctly—that I know a lot. And anything I don’t know…well”—I waggle my eyebrows—“I’m a very quick learner.”

Her cheeks heat that stunning bright red I’ve become addicted to, the one that means she’s thinking about every moment we spent together.

Exactly the reaction I had hoped for.

She knows the words are true.

I learned every fucking inch of her.

Know every pucker of the scars, each line and shape they make. Memorized every sound that slipped from her lips and what parts of her body elicit them. Committed the look on her face to memory as she took me so beautifully and flew off into ecstasy.

It may have only been our first night together, but I made it fucking count. Ensured it was unforgettable for us both. That blush proves it.

She presses her lips together in a firm line, almost like she’s annoyed that I brought it up, and I push to my feet, tossing the towel onto the bench.

“Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

I felt her eyes on me all morning from where she stood, watching my workout, scrutinizing me, right along with Bishop, who should have been keepinghereyes on the front of the building to ensure Satriano didn’t show his face again.

But that isn’t what’s worrying me now.

What did Wren see that has her so out of sorts?

Wren sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly, building up the courage to say what she has to.

Oh, shit.

I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up until her amber eyes meet mine. “Come on, Little Bird. Spill it. It’s time to sing.”

Her nostrils flare, her pupils dilating.

Hell.

I know that look. I saw it a dozen times last night before I took her, and my cock stirs against my shorts, hardening almost instantly. Stepping forward, I press into her so she can feel how hard I am already, and she groans, shifting her back against the hard metal behind her.

“I want the truth, Wren, about what’s bothering you. Or should I take you into the shower with me and fuck it out of you?”

A tiny moan slips from her lips, and she shudders against me.

“Mmm.” I run my thumb across the scar on the side of her jaw. “You like that idea?”

She swallows thickly. “You know I do, Atlas. That isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

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