Page 26 of Eight Second Hearts

I furrow my brows. “What?”

“Here, I’ll pack them for you then,” he says, grabbing my clothes laid out on the console and stacking them up.

I shoot up and take my clothes from him. “Stop touching my things,” I growl. “Why would I pack? We still have another four days left at this event.”

“Because you’re not staying here,” he growls. “Not anymore.”

“And where the hell would I stay instead?” I demand. “I can’t exactly afford five-star hotels right now?—”

“You’re staying with us,” he says, cutting me off.

I stop, staring at him like he’s lost his damned mind. “I’m what?”

“We have an extra bed. It’s fine. Come on.” His tone leaves no room for argument. When I don’t move, he starts snapping his fingers.

“Hey! That’s fucking unnecessary! Really, Ram. I’m fine here. I appreciate it but?—”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Indie,” he growls. “Pack your shit or I’m going to pack it for you.” His eyes meet mine. “Hurry up. We don’t have time to argue.”

“I don’t?—”

His fingers grab my chin, and he tilts it up as he steps close to me. “Indie,” he breathes, the sound nearly a growl, and fuck ifI don’t hang on his every word. “Unless you want my hands all over your spare underwear, I suggest you fucking move.”

Fuck. I melt. Because I kind of do want his hands in my underwear. But I can’t exactly say that.

My face flushes. “I. . . okay.”

Because what the fuck else am I going to say? Holy shit.

Chapter 18

Indie

Idon’t travel with much stuff. Just a few pairs of clothes, one nice set of clothes, toiletries, and my laptop. That’s pretty much all I have to pack up in the room. It takes me five embarrassing minutes. Five long minutes of imagining Ram’s hands in my underwear. Damn, I’m supposed to be writing an article about them, not fantasizing about what they could do to me. And Ram, when he gets commanding, holy shit. My feminism flies right out the window. He could have asked me to drop to my knees right then and I might have done it.

Maybe.

I don’t think a man has ever spoken to me in that way before, not like that, not with the thinly veiled sensual threat. Was it even a threat? Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe this is all just a game.

He doesn’t let me carry my duffel bag. He picks it up and makes sure I have everything before we leave the motel room and head for the Chevy dually idling in the faded parking spot outside. Tripp is behind the wheel, Beau in the backseat as usual, and when we come storming over to the truck, Tripp rolls down his window and scowls.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands, his eyes hard.

Ram opens the back door and tosses my duffel bag in the backseat. He sets my computer bag in more gently. “She can’t stay here. She’s coming with us.”

“And where is she staying instead?” Beau asks curiously, his brows quirked.

“With us,” Ram says confidently as I stand behind him, my arms crossed because I don’t know what else to do.

“Yes!” Beau says excitedly at the same time as Tripp growls, “Like hell she is!”

“This place is a shithole,” Ram points out.

“Not our business,” Tripp spits. “Put her back.”

“See,” I say, gesturing to Tripp. “It’s fine. I’ll stay here. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone just like I said. Really?—”

“I’m not asking permission,” Ram argues, completely ignoring me.

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