Page 10 of My Reluctant Valentine

She's shaking now, and something in mesnaps.I slide around to her side of the booth, pulling her againstme.She stiffens for a moment, then melts into mychest.

"Mom died two months later." The words are muffled against myshirt."I couldn't even grieve properly because I was too busy looking over myshoulder.Running."

"Leslie." I tilt her chin up, needing her to see the truth in myeyes."You're not running anymore. You're under my protectionnow."

"You don't understand. His money, hisreach--"

"I understand perfectly." I wipe a tear from hercheek."And I'm telling you, he's never touchingyou.I'll kill himfirst."

"You can't just--"

"I can. I will." I hold hertighter."You're mine now. And I protect what'smine."

Something flashes in hereyes."I'm not actually yours. This is pretend,remember?"

The words hit harder than they should, especially with her still in myarms.

Because nothing about this feels pretendanymore.I don't admit that though, instead I meet hereyes."What do you say we get outtahere?"

Leslie nods, and I guide her to the door making a quick stop to overpay Rosa for the amazing meal, before heading out to theclubhouse.

The clubhouse parking lot is full when we pull in, but Leslie doesn't hesitate.She climbs off my bike with the same grace she showed getting on, and I have to remind myself this is all for show.

"Ready to meet the family?" I guide her toward the door, hand low on her back.

"Are they ready to meet me?"

Before I can answer, Tank throws open the door."Well, well. If it isn't the teacher who's got our prez wrapped around her finger."

"That would imply he listens to me." Leslie's smile is pure sass."So far all I've gotten is ordered around."

Tank roars with laughter. "Oh, I like her.Come on in, darlin'. Meet the crew."

The next hour is... interesting.Leslie handles every introduction perfectly.She's respectful but not intimidated, charming but genuine.She talks bikes with Reaper, swapsteaching stories with Doc's old lady, and somehow gets crusty old Timer to crack a real smile.

"She's something else," Tank says low, joining me at the bar."Nothing like your usual type."

"Don't have a type."

"Bullshit. You got a thing for high-maintenance blondes who treat the club like their personal ATM." He nods toward Leslie, deep in conversation with Maria, the host of the Rusty Nail, about some book."She's different. Real."

"It's not like that."

"No?" Tank grins. "Then why haven't you taken your eyes off her since you walked in?"

Before I can tell him to fuck off, Leslie appears at my side."Reaper, says your daughter's babysitter called.Something about dinner plans?"

Right. Emma. "We should head out."

"Already?" Timer calls from his corner."But Miss Leslie was about to tell us more stories about little Emma in class."

"Another time," Leslie promises, and I don't miss how she's already using we and us like we're really together.

"Bring her back soon," Maria insists, hugging Leslie goodbye."We need more class around here."

In the parking lot, Leslie's quiet."They're not what I expected."

"No?" I ask, intrigued.

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