Page 67 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

“I know,” he says. “ I won’t do it again and I would never wager my own daughter.”

“Or a son?”

“I don’t have a son,” he says, but he smirks. “Unless that was a hint about the future.”

“Calm down,” I reply harshly because I don’t want Owen using sex to wriggle his way out of accountability for this. I don’t care how good his chest feels beneath my palm. Or how it makes me feel that just talking to me causes his heart to race. You never think of men as having those subtle feelings like a racing heart or flushed skin, but with Owen it’s obvious and it makes me so damn weak for this man.

Because at the end of the day, as crazy as he might be, I believe when he looks at me and when he holds me that he really loves me. He might have even loved me the first night he saw me, which would explain what scared me so bad. Big emotions makeyou vulnerable and after what I’ve been through, they’re not just scary. They’re life threatening.

“I know I did the most fucked up thing I could do,” Owen says. “But I want you by my side here, Vickie. I want you to rule Las Vegas with me.”

I laugh. “What? You want me working poker tables again. Because, no way.”

Owen explains everything that happened. Hakeem’s death. The Rebel Barbarians takeover. I feel like he swept me up in a tornado of action and now, with his arms around me, we are slowly coming down to Earth. This patch of Earth in… Las Vegas. My head spins. I can’t believe what Owen wants from me but then again, I met him hunched over a poker table about to lose his life savings in an instant.

“No,” he says. “I want you to live here with me, with Waverly… and with our kids.”

I try to pull away from him again, but Owen’s hands move to my hips and he traps me right in place where he wants me. Bastard. He makes another low chuckle in the back of his throat that makes me want to smack Owen across the face. He loves that he has me trapped. And again, under his control.

“You’re staying,” he says.

“Don’t you think the fact that you gambled me like a poker chip is enough reason for me to distrust you?”

“That does paint me in an unfortunate light,” Owen says, his face getting suspiciously closer, like he really thinks sex can fix this. I move my head back as much as I can, which isn’t much. He smells so damn good that I’m already losing my resistance to him.

I could have beaten him again with my hands and I didn’t. He already knows what this means. Owen is too damn good at chipping away at my walls. The same strange patience andobsession that keeps him gambling seems to mirror the way he feels about me.

“I love you more than I love games,” he says. “If I ever take it too far, I’ll quit.”

“I’m not holding you hostage.”

Owen laughs. “Damn right. I’m holding your sexy ass hostage.”

“Is this still your apology?”

“No,” he says. Then, he kisses me. That’s the apology right there. Owen has always been an incredible kisser. His lips are so soft and they always have a slightly minty taste to them. He tastes so good that I can fool myself into thinking that I am meant to be kissing Owen and nothing should stop me.

He sinks his fingers into my hips the instant our lips meet, making it clear that he has no plans of letting me get away from him. My heart thumps like crazy. So hard that I can’t hear anything happening around us. For the first time in my life, I experience one of those kisses that blocks out the rest of the world.

It’s intentional. Owen’s hands roam over my body appreciatively and just the way he kisses and touches me is more than enough to get me soaked. I have to pull away. I need to breathe and think of a new plan since I no longer have to escape from Hakeem.He’s dead. And Owen killed him for me.My eyes flicker back to Owen’s. I still think it’s unfair how attractive he is, but that just makes me more vulnerable to ignoring the red flags. Like murder. Our eyes meet and for a moment, I wonder ifmaybeI need to escape someone else.

One look, and this man can read my fucking mind.

“You’re not running away,” he growls. “I’m sorry about the gambling. I mean it.”

“Mean it again,” I whisper back. He won’t let me pull away, so I have to keep my hands pressed to his chest. I have to allow myself to feel all the places his body touches mine and accept him getting closer.

Owen keeps his hands clasped around my ass as he kisses me again. He means it. I can feel that he means it. This kiss sends a thrill of excitement straight between my legs. I can’t let him get away with this, can I? But Owen pulls away and smirks. “I’m sorry.”

“Mean it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, pulling away from our kiss and dropping to his knees. I look down at Owen, trying to calm my fucking heart down. The intense feeling grips my chest so tightly that I feel like I can’t fight him anymore. I don’t want to fight him. I just want him to be sorry and I want us to both move on.

“Hakeem is dead,” he reminds me. “And nobody will ever hurt you again.”

He rolls my sweatpants over my ass. I don’t know how the hell I got into sweatpants, but I notice them when Owen begins the slow process of removal. My bare legs and butt immediately break out into gooseflesh once they are exposed to the crisp air. Owen grabs the back of my legs and pulls me close to him so he can kiss the top of my mound through my underwear.

Now those underwear, I remember. Owen kisses my panties like they’re not the same panties I got kidnapped with. Shouldn’t I be a little fresher?

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