Page 37 of Gunner

She bends and picks up the backpack. She walks it over to the bed and sets it down gently. She even caresses out the creases that getting in the middle of our war gave it.

Her expression is so intense that I can’t look at her when she turns around. “You’re allowed the same decency as everyone else. Humanity. Respect. You’re allowed to pursue goodness and happiness and feel it. If you didn’t have a shred of light inside of you, we wouldn’t be here now. None of this would have happened. You wouldn’t have saved me, followed me, spent years silently watching even though it hurt you. You wouldn’t have come inside my house that night, and we wouldn’t be talking now. Instead of burying that, you can give it a chance.”

I watch her boots get closer and only when she touches my hand do I dare look up. She’s fiercely determined, and I’m half afraid that it’s all for me. That she could spend a lifetime trying to convince me that what she just said is true.

That she’ll follow me if I leave. Hound me. Redeem me. Stalk me.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that my woman is a spitfire beneath that sweet kindergarten teacher. She’s tough,she’s smart, she’s everything that anyone on this earth would ever wish they could be.

“I see your torment and I raise you one ride home, a cup of coffee, and your choice of anything. I’ll bake it for you. Then, if you still want to go, you can go.”

There’s some catch here. Something I’m missing. Maybe she thinks that another few hours will change my mind.

I need to let her. Let her talk, let her get it out of her system, let her try and save something that’s never going to be worth saving so she can say that she truly tried, and go on with her life knowing that the debt that exists only in her eyes is paid. I’ll lie to her, promise her something I can’t ever mean, swear it in blood if I have to, and then I’ll leave. I’ll cover my tracks so she can’t follow and so that if she ever tried, she’d never find me.

I’ll do what I should have done years ago.

I’ll erase myself so far so that even I won’t be able to bring me back.

Chapter 13

Diletta

Bikes have never been my jam but this bike, with my arms wrapped around Gunner’s huge chest, I like this one. My front is pressed to his back, leather on leather. I’m in his jacket. He set it on my shoulders and zipped me into it himself. It’s worn, heavy, and faded. Imperfect. It smells like him and that makes it feel familiar.

The growl of the bike between my legs is doing nothing for the smoldering between my thighs. All the power of the engine goes straight there. The wind tugs at my hair and whistles cold around my neck, hands, and bare legs. The night sky feels larger than it ever has as the streetlights and the few other vehicles on the road at this hour turn into blurs.

By the time Gunner pulls the bike up in front of my house, he might have woken up everyone in the neighborhood, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m so hot with uncontrollable lust that my whole body is charged and overheated.

I know that this night is a loaded proposition.

Gunner never saw me coming. Not like this. He never thought I’d fight for him. I know that whatever happens tonight, that gauntlet I laid down is only going to last so long. There are far too few hours until dawn and the odds aren’t in my favor. I stole the power of choice from this man. He’s no longer in control of the situation. He’s not used to that, and he’ll try and wrestle it back. He thinks he knows what’s best for me.

We go through the front door. Gunner does up all the locks and then double checks them. He has his back to me but turns sharply with a frown at the sound of me unzipping his jacket and peeling it off my shoulders.

I still have his t-shirt on, but I tug it over my head. I want to keep it as badly as I want to keep this man.

Mine, mine, mine.

Dumb, insane, stupid.

My head is at war with itself, so I go with my gut. My gut tells me that I can trust him. We might not be in our right minds, and this might not be about love, we might not have the luxury of time, but it is about a connection that’s been building unseen, binding us together for years.

Maybe it’s destiny, or maybe we both just need a hard, dirty fuck. I know that Gunner isn’t going to listen to anything else I have to say. He shut down, thinking he could outsmart me. I might be playing dirty but fuck it. Sometimes dirty is the only way and fucked up is the only state of being.

I toss his t-shirt to the floor and strip off the fishnet thing. I hate it. It’s not me. But standing here in a black lace pushup bra that makes my boobs like twice the size they actually are, a miniskirt, and boots that go past my knees and have wicked heels, I feel hot.

“What are you doing?” Gunner grinds. He slams over to the wall by the door and kills the lights even though no one would be able to see through the blinds.

“I’m going to cook you something. What would you like? Chocolate chip cookies? Cake? You can’t say cheesecake because that has to set overnight and—”

He rushes across the room, as feral as he was at his club, but now it’s just the two of us in here. I’ve trapped myself with him, with his raw violence and his scorching looks that could strip the skin right from my body. He stops half a foot away, practically snarling. It’s a second before I can swallow properly and realize that it’s not anger on his face. It’s desire. Confusion. He’s still fighting himself. He won’t have to. He thinks he can save me, but I’m going to be the one who saves him from himself.

I watch him struggling with his control. He believes all that shit about tainting me. It’s so fucking sad. I hate this for him.

I’m the one who reaches for his face.

The helmet flattened his hair. I push it back from his forehead and cradle his beautiful, tragic face between my palms. He freezes, unblinking. I kiss his cheek, right above my fingertips. He jerks back, but I’m relentless. I kiss his other cheek, and then brush my lips over his. He groans, hands encircling my waist and crushing me up against him. He bangs his hips against mine, the height difference between us trapping the iron bulge in his jeans against my belly.

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