Page 66 of Wicked

“Violence is in my blood. My father used his fists, then his gun. My uncle did the same, but he got tired of the boxing ring and became a cop. My mother . . . my mother was beat by her father. I’ve seen and been around nothing but violence. Stay and that’s all you’ll know too. It’s best you never make any promises, written or otherwise.”

I rip the paper and shove the pieces inside my pocket to later toss in the trash, making my message loud and clear. I will not burden anyone with the task of protecting me from Sam and his friends. The silence stretches on. I don’t dare look at Ryker, afraid of what I’ll see on his face.

“What if I want to? Protect you for life?”

“‘For life is never a guarantee. The only absolute is death.”

He makes a rude noise under his breath. “Is anything in life a slam dunk?”

“Your career in the NFL.”

“That’s not a given either, babe.”

“It can and will be.” I’ll make certain of it. “I can never ask someone to give up their dreams or put their life on hold for me.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. There’s free will involved here, remember?”

I shake my head. My tears fall. “I don’t want you to die. He’ll kill you.”

“Desire. Compassion. Laughter. Beauty. Strength. You are mine. I am yours. Stay and I will stand by you. Fight and I will have your back. Let me go and I will honor your free will to choose a life without me. There will be no violence on my part, Harper. I refuse to be a part of the circle of violence that stains your life.”

Such wise words, and I . . . A weight lifts off my shoulders. Smiling, I lift my face for his scorching kiss. He holds me tight, and we must look ridiculous. Big, scruffy guy and small woman kissing in the middle of the cemetery.

He deepens the kiss, and I moan in his mouth. My body slackens, and I relax into his warmth, enjoying this momentary peace. I’ll take any semblance and ounce of peace I can get.

Sam and his friends are coming for me, and they won’t stop until I’m under his control, or he is six feet under the ground.

23

Harper

The week goes by fast. After we landed in Portland and returned to Prescott, I spent the night at Ryker’s place.

It was nice waking up cocooned in his arms and kept warm with his body heat. He’s a human heating blanket. And to be able to fall asleep with the window cracked and the breeze brushing over my face . . . priceless.

It’d take someone with superhuman strength to scale the side of the house to get to the cozy attic bedroom.

Monday morning, he introduced me to the teammates he runs with. Shephard was a no-show along our newly adopted route. But he kept to our sparring sessions, giving me a tough time for “ditching” him.

Ditching him, my butt. With Ryker’s okay, I invited Shephard, but he has too much pride and didn’t accept though he apologized for being a jerk. Ryker graciously accepted Shephard’s apology. I’d looked on with a silly grin.

“Mmm, you look mighty fine, babe.” Ryker’s mouth and warm breath on my neck pulls me out of my thoughts.

And when he drags his nose down the column, his beard crushing over my sensitive skin . . .

“Do we have time?” Breathless, I meet his gaze in the mirrored closet doors of his bedroom.

“Yeah, but you’ll look like you were thoroughly made love to.”

I hold back my smile. He’s not dropping the f-bomb or saying something to the effect of doing me good and hard. “Made love to” is good. Real good.

“I’d like that,” I say.

“To have the time? Or to look thoroughly fucked?”

I sputter laughter. “And just when I thought you were reformed, you go and say shit like that.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and tugs me against his hard body. His teeth nip and pull at my earlobe. His erection is big and thick against my back. A moan slips from me, and I close my eyes, giving into the heat washing over me from my hairline to the tips of my toes.

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