Page 29 of I Should Hate You-but I Don't

"Now, slowly open your mouth and blow just enough to let the smoke escape."

She parted her lips and tilted her chin.

Zane tapped her cheek. The act created a small ring that floated out of her. The rest of the smoke came out in a rush.

"Did you see it?" She laughed.

His gaze locked onto her. "Yeah, sweetheart, prettiest thing I've ever seen."

He set the cigar in the ashtray on his desk and picked her up, letting her straddle his thighs. Bringing her forward, he captured her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, molding herself to him.

His tongue removed all remnants of the smoke she'd held in her mouth and replaced it with pure Zane. She latched onto the excitement of him kissing her in his world, in his territory, in his motorcycle club.

He dug his fingers into the flare of her hips, drawing her closer. She pressed her breasts to his chest, wanting to rub her body against his.

Drunk on his kiss, she whined in protest when he pulled his mouth off her.

"Someone's banging on the door." He kissed her hard and picked her up from his lap, holding her until she found her balance.

He grabbed his cock through his jeans and rearranged himself. She ran her hands through her hair, not understanding what it meant when someone banged on a door or what it meant that she couldn't draw air into her lungs.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Breath." Zane cupped her face, kissing her lightly. "I have to answer that."

She nodded, understanding that he had a club to run but hating the interruption and wishing she could have him back because she had no idea when she'd be able to have a piece of him again.

Right now, she'd even take sharing him with his club, but he was all or nothing, and the club owned his soul. She wasn't jealous of the MC. They were what made him happy.

Okay, she was a little jealous. To have the kind of dedication, loyalty, and attention he gave the club would send her over the moon.

He crossed the room and opened the door. She stayed in the back of the room. The very things she admired in him—his leadership, strength, and respect—kept him from loving her completely.

He never gave her a reason why he pulled away from her.

She never wanted to press for answers because she feared losing him.

Chapter Twelve

River

—Three years ago—

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River held her dress up and ran across the school parking lot. The hairstyle she'd worked hours on so that she looked like the other girls no longer stayed pinned on top of her head but hung in disarray around her shoulders. She should never have gone to the Father-Daughter Dance.

Two weeks of dance lessons and manners were drilled into her for one mandatory dance that every female attending Rockwell High School had to attend, even if their father wasn't in the picture.

Her teacher used her situation as an example for the whole class, announcing that she could bring her foster father to the dance. He would be the last person she asked.

Tears blinded her, and she gulped air into tight lungs, trying to escape the reminder that her dad was dead. It'd been six years since her dad died, but tonight brought the raw pain she'd held on to so tightly to the surface.

She'd flunk the class for skipping the dance. If it were up to her, she'd quit school. What did the state think would happen when she graduated? That she'd become a doctor, lawyer, or teacher? She had no way to go to college, no way to support herself.

In less than nine months, she'd turn eighteen. When she graduated, she'd need to find somewhere to live. The state would no longer support her.

The only reason her latest foster parents allowed her to live with them was because they took the money the state gave them. There were six of them living there, and neither Kim or Bruce Reeves ever did anything similar to parenting—or working.

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