Page 22 of Grave Games

His brows rose. “Are you serious?”

I shrugged and focused on brushing the snow off instead of the outlandish words coming out of my mouth. “Why not? If you’ve got a problem with scheduling things like when to have sex, welcome to the 21stcentury. Everyone’s busy. That’s why we’ve got calendars on our phones.”

“Five minutes ago you weren’t talking to me.”

“That was five minutes ago. And you’re a great kisser.” When in doubt, stick with the truth.

“Uh-huh.” Once again he had that look in his eyes, like he was playing chess while I was playing checkers. Then he roped an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the diner. “Let’s get you inside before your boss calls the cops on us. And don’t worry about your truck. I’ll have it dug out by the time you’re ready to head home tonight.”

Chapter Eight

Stop Talking

Working an eight-hour shift while waiting on pins and needles for Romeo to show up made time drip by with excruciating slowness. True to his word, I watched Romeo through the diner’s windows as he worked on digging my pickup out, then tried playing it cool when he came in to ask for the keys to see if the battery needed a jump. It did, and again I kept half an eye on him as he pulled his truck up to mine and hooked up the jumper cables.

When he at last got it started, a plume of vapor burst out of the pickup’s exhaust pipe to signal its resurrection. Across the diner, Heather and several customers watching out the window let out a cheer.

“That’s your knight in shining armor right there,” Heather announced smugly for all to hear.

Shining armor? No way. Tarnished armor, maybe, And he certainly wasn’tmine.

But still…

It was nice he’d gone to so much trouble to help me out.

Romeo usually showed up for dinner between six and seven, but when I went on my break just after eight, he still hadn’t made an appearance. I refused to believe I was disappointed, so I ignored the fretful gnawing in the pit of my stomach as I worked the remaining hours of my shift that stayed completely Romeo-less.

The temperature had plunged to almost zero by the time I walked out of Buzzby’s just past midnight. Gratefully I pulled on the gloves Romeo had bought for me as I headed for my pickup, the night sky above me clear and completely cloudless. The gloves made me think of the man who’d bought them, so when I heard his voice call out to me, I thought for a fleeting moment that I was imagining things. Quickly I glanced around and saw Romeo in his truck parked a couple slots away from mine, his window rolled down so I could hear him.

“I’m going to follow you home to make sure your battery doesn’t decide to up and die on the way there, so don’t freak out if you see me following you.”

“Okay, thanks,” I heard my mouth say before I could check it. Damn it. What I should have offered was a polite no thank you, then sent him on his way. After waiting hours for him to show up only to be disappointed, I was exhausted from all that pointless anticipation. Now I just wanted to crawl into bed and put this weird day behind me. Tomorrow we’d have a reset; I’d nail him down on a time that he, well… wanted to nail me down. Then that would be that. I wasn’t in the mood for this bout of sweet chivalry he was putting on display now.

If I wasn’t careful, it just might wear me down into believing he was one of the good guys.

It was a strange sensation, knowing Romeo was following right behind me as I drove home, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I at last pulled up to my apartment building. It didn’t surprise me that by the time I’d gathered my purse and keys, Romeo was already opening the pickup’s door, his gaze scanning the area as if expecting a Mongol Horde to come rampaging through.

“Okay, then.” I led the way to the building’s security door and opened it with a rattle of keys. “Thank you for seeing me home. For a biker, you make a surprisingly excellent gentleman.”

“Way to throw insults at me, woman. The last thing I am is a gentleman.” Taking my keys from me, he pushed his way into the building, snagging my hand in his as he went. “All I’m doing is taking care of what’s mine.”

“What’syours…?” I was so stunned by his statement—and the matter-of-fact way he said it—that it didn’t fully register that he’d brought me to my front door and opened it with my keys. “Wait. You’re not referring tome, are you?”

“’Course I am.”

“You’re delusional.” It came out with more force than necessary. Not surprising, really. After all, I was trying to convince not just him, but myself as well. “I’m not yours.”

“Wrong.”

My brain couldn’t figure out if he’d actually growled that word, or if it was just shouted at me through the intensity of his gaze as he pulled me into my apartment. The slamming of the door echoed in my ears as he pushed me up against it and crushed my mouth with his.

Shock reverberated through me, freezing my limbs in place. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. In my mind, this was supposed to be scheduled for tomorrow. I had plans of mentally building up my defenses from now until then, so that I could sex it up with this overwhelming man without feeling anything other than lust. Not romantic feelings, or any PTSD panic, which I half-feared would shut me down. This wasn't supposed to be happeningnow. What if I freaked out? I wasn't ready for him.

The wet surge between my thighs told me otherwise.

“You think you can schedule me, Shy? Control me? Controlthis?” Romeo kissed me again, this time grinding his hips against mine so that I could feel the powerful thrust of his hard-on. I waited for the panic to set in and was stunned when it didn’t.“I don't think you understand what kind of man I am.I’m not someone you can fuckingschedule. I’m not a chore. I’m not something you’d forget about if you didn't write it down. But I promise you, you will understand who and what I am come morning. I’ll make damn sure of it.”

Was that a threat or a promise?

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