Except…
He pushed her away and stood from the bed. "We can't do this." He fought to catch his breath and his mind.
"Don't you wanna fuck me?"
His body jerked in shock. What a stupid question. If she was right in her mind, she would never ask that question again.
Soft, gorgeous woman with the best damn lips he'd ever felt. Fuck yeah he wanted to fuck her. Thank Christ he still had a little control left.
"Doesn't matter what I want," he answered. "Only what we're gonna do. And that is me leaving you here to sleep off those drugs."
She pouted up at him. "This isn't fair."
"Trust me. In the morning you'll be glad nothing happened. In the meantime, the club has assigned someone to stand guard tonight so there won't be any more trouble. You have nothing to fear."
She rolled away from him and tucked her knees up to her chest. "Perfect. Just what I need. More guards."
Houston did a sweep of the small room, looking for anything that might mean trouble. There wasn't a whole lot to see. No personal items beyond a bottle of aspirin and a box of tissues on the nightstand and a pair of leopard tennis shoes lying haphazard next to it as if she'd removed them in a hurry and left them behind. Satisfied that she was safe and well enough here in her little cabin, he headed for the door.
He turned back before he slid through the partially opened door and disappeared again from her life. She was still curled up on her side with her long, curly hair cascading behind her. Every inch of her was fucking gorgeous. And he still remembered exactly how good she tasted as if they'd been together only yesterday.
He should have known that day on the foggy dock when they met that she was the kind of woman who crawled so far under your skin you had no hope of getting her out. This had to be the last time or he was going to break down and do something they'd both regret. Like kidnap her and never let her go.
"Goodbye, princess."
He slipped through the door and closed it behind him. As much as he wanted to stay it was time to go. It was TIME to go.
Chapter Nine
JD
JD Monroe watched Houston walk down the hill toward the clubhouse. He had a bad feeling about that boy's future. He hadn't always thought that. When he first met Houston as a small child, he'd been fierce and protective of his mother—an admirable quality in a boy so young. Whether his young mind comprehended it or not back then, he was trying to take on the role of his father while he was deployed.
He'd been rightfully cautious when a strange man started hanging around his mother. JD had been lost from the moment he met her and fell in love with her not long after. He took a drag on his cigarette. The rest of her too short life she inspired him while he and Pop, (that's what everyone called Houston's father, even him) built up their club from a group of rag-tag riders to a force to be reckoned with despite the negative turn into heavy drug use and a heaping helping of violence.
After her death he spiraled down the dark pit Pop had started, pulling himself free only after Houston walked away without looking back. Not that he blamed the boy. His mother had died, his father was in jail and he'd, well, he'd checked out on him. JD's saving grace had been that boy's mother when she came to him in a dream, angry that he wasn't watching out for her son and his future.
Dream. Vision. Drunken hallucination. Whatever the hell it was, it had worked. Six long years later the club finally got free from all of their criminal ties, but it took another three before the club got cash healthy again. No, it wasn't all legal. But it came with a purpose now.
Fuck, he hated getting old. It made him sentimental.
Shoving that shit aside, he lifted his head and faced Houston as he stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the clubhouse, looking ready to explode. They had a lot to discuss, but first the boy would need to get the shit about Izzy off his chest. He didn't exactly understand how she managed to get her claws so deep in him so fast but she did.
He paused.
Actually, he did. When the right woman came along a man couldn't hold out for long. For Houston it seemed this one was the right woman. If not for all the complications involved, he'd be happy for the man he considered a son. His mother would love her. If she were alive she would shove Patty aside and take over the care and feeding of little Isabella Mazzeo and not give one shit about who her father was.
He did not have that luxury. With Houston's inability to be objective about the woman it fell to him to read between the lines and make sure there were no ulterior motives in play here. There was a question of trust he couldn't quite shake.
"How's the girl?"
"She's fucked up. How do you think? I wanna kill that bitch who fucking roofied her in a casino filled with men."
"Already handled. Her and her shit are being cleared from club property as we speak. She will no longer be an issue."
"It never should have happened. What's Izzy doing working there anyway? She ain't ready for that kind of heavy shit. She's still traumatized."
JD lifted his brow. "Your girl is pretty stubborn and apparently bored. Do you know what she does when she's fucking bored?" He didn't wait for an answer. "She sneaks into the mother fucking clubhouse and starts snooping through shit she has no business looking at. And since I can't keep her busy bouncing on cock, it was either lock her ass down or give her something else to do. So I gave her a job that would keep her far away from the clubhouse."