Page 2 of Untamed Crow

"Emma Clark! Is that you?"

I turn to find Sarah Wilson - now Peterson according to her name tag - approaching with a wide smile. We shared AP English senior year but haven't spoken since graduation.

"Sarah, hi," I manage, trying to keep one eye on the entrance while making polite conversation.

"You look amazing! I heard you opened your own bookstore downtown. That's so brave in this economy!"

I nod, automatically falling into my usual spiel about Page & Pen, but my attention is divided. A deep rumble echoes from outside - the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle. My pulse quickens.

"Actually, Sarah, would you excuse me? I need to..." I gesture vaguely toward the entrance, already moving away.

The rumble grows louder, then cuts off. Through the glass doors, I can see a familiar silhouette dismounting his bike. Even from here, I can tell he's wearing a suit under his leather cut. The sight of Crow - my rough, tattooed biker - dressed up for me weakens my knees.

I grip my wine glass tighter, watching as he removes his helmet and runs a hand through his dark hair. Even from this distance, I can see the way his suit stretches across his broad shoulders as he shrugs off his cut. My throat goes dry when he tucks it into his saddlebag - he's leaving his club identity behind for me tonight.

"Oh my," Sarah whispers beside me - I hadn't realized she followed me. "Is that your date?"

Before I can answer, Jessica materializes at my other side. "That's Crow Harrison," she announces proudly, as if she had something to do with it. "Emma's man."

"He's not my-" I start to protest, but the words die in my throat as Crow turns toward the entrance.

Even through the glass, I can feel the intensity of his gaze as it locks onto me.

"Girl," Sarah breathes, "the way he's looking at you right now? He's definitely your man."

I barely hear her. The world has narrowed to just this moment, just him walking toward the doors with that confident stride that's always made my heart race. The suit is black, perfectly tailored to his muscular frame, with a deep burgundy shirt underneath. No tie - thank god. I don't think I could handle Crow in a tie.

"We'll just..." Jessica's voice seems to come from far away. "...leave you to it."

I feel them retreat more than see them, unable to tear my eyes away from him. The doors open, and suddenly, there's nothing between us but twenty feet of polished floor and years of unspoken attraction.

He pauses just inside, his eyes traveling slowly down my body and back up. The heat in his gaze makes me feel like I'm burning from the inside out. I watch as he takes in the dress I spent three hours picking out, the heels that make my legs look endless, the way I've styled my usually wild curls into something elegant.

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth - that dangerous smile that's always made me wonder what it would feel likepressed against my lips. He starts walking again, each step deliberate, predatory. My pulse pounds in my ears.

"Doll," he says when he reaches me, his voice even deeper than usual. "You look..."

He trails off, shaking his head slightly as if words aren't enough. Up close, I can see the fresh cut above his eyebrow - probably from the ongoing club war - and the shadow of stubble along his jaw. The contrast between the dangerous biker I know and this suited version before me is dizzying.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," I manage to say, proud that my voice only shakes a little.

His smile widens, showing a hint of dimple. "Had to make sure I didn't embarrass my date."

Date. The word sends a thrill through me. "Thank you for coming. I know with everything going on with the club..."

"Emma." He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be tonight."

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight.

Maybe it's the way he's looking at me, like I'm something precious and wild all at once. Maybe it's the confidence the wine has given me, or the romance of the setting, or simply that we've finally run out of reasons to pretend.

"Crow," I start, not sure what I'm going to say but knowing I need to say something.

"Later," he promises, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back. The heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric of my dress. "Right now, I believe I owe my date a proper hello."

He leans down, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think he's going to kiss me. Instead, his lips brush my cheek, lingering just a fraction longer than strictly necessary.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing toward the ballroom where my past awaits.

---