Page 62 of Rage's Heart

Rage extended his forearm, showing her the intricate sleeve that covered his skin from wrist to shoulder. “This one’s a dragon, and there’s a koi fish here.”

Emma edged closer, her curiosity beating out her shyness. “Did it hurt?”

“A little,” Rage admitted. “But only for a minute.”

“Can I touch them?” Brooklyn asked, already reaching out.

I started to tell the girls to give him some space, but Rage was already extending his arm closer. “Sure, kid.”

Brooklyn’s tiny fingers traced the outline of the dragon, her eyes wide with wonder. “Whoa. You’re like a coloring book!”

The surprised laugh that burst from Rage made my heart swell three sizes. At that moment, watching him interact so gently with my nieces, I fell in love with him even more.

I was so enchanted by Rage’s interaction with the girls, I hadn’t noticed Chelsea come through the doorway, holding a dish towel in her hands. “Girls, give the poor man some space to breathe.”

“It’s okay,” Rage assured her, standing to his full height. “I don’t mind.”

I made the introductions, and Chelsea, bless her heart, didn’t even bat an eyelash at Rage’s appearance. Instead, she smiled warmly, like she did with everyone, and welcomed him like he was already part of the family.

“Jack’s running late,” she informed us as we moved into the living room. “Some paperwork issue at the station.”

I felt both relieved and anxious at this news.

On one hand, it gave us time to settle in and get the rest of my family used to Rage’s presence. On the other, it prolonged the inevitable—Jack going nuclear.

Rage must have sensed my thoughts because his hand found the small of my back and like it always did, his touch put me at ease.

“Can I get you something to drink, Bryce?”“ Mom asked, ever the perfect hostess. “Water? Beer? Sweet tea?”

“Sweet tea would be great, ma’am,” he answered

My brows went up. In all our time together, I’d never seen him drink sweet tea.

Lips twitching, he leaned down to whispered in my ear, “Everyone knows you don’t turn down a Southern woman when she offers you sweet tea, baby.”

I stifled a laugh, squeezing his hand in silent thanks. He was really trying.

For the next half hour, we sat in the living room, making easy conversation. Mom asked Rage about his shop, genuinely interested in his work. He spoke about it with pride, talking about his artists and how he’d built the business from the ground up after his friend died, and how they’d grown so much in the last couple of years that he was fixing to have to start looking for an office manager.

Brooklyn and Emma remained fascinated by him, especially after he showed them pictures on his phone of some of the tattoos he’d done. When Brooklyn climbed up in his lap and declared she was going to get a unicorn tattoo when she was older, I almost lost it. And the horrified look on Chelsea’s face? That had us all laughing.

Even Mom seemed to warm to him, her initial wariness fading as she saw how respectful he was, how his eyes constantly sought me out, how he made me laugh.

Everything was going well. Much better than I’d imagined in fact.

And then the front door opened.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. My man didn’t miss it either. His body language changed from relaxed to ready to react. Chelsea didn’t even flinch. Probably because she was the only person on the planet able to soothe the savage beast that was Jack Davis.

The man himself, still wearing his uniform, stepped into the living room, his expression darkening the moment he spotted Rage seated beside me on the couch.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his eyes never leaving Rage. “Got held up at the station.”

Shit.

Rising from the couch, I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress.

“Jack, this is Rage,” I said, refusing to use his real name in this moment. It felt important, somehow, to own who my man was. “Rage, my brother Jack.”

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