Page 2 of Jace

I take my jacket off. It’s hot as hell in here—and could be about to get hotter too…

Up close, he’s even better—soft skin, a faint flush on his cheeks, and a scent like vanilla and something floral that cuts through the bar’s grit.

I lean forward, resting my tattooed forearms on the table, the ink of wolves and flames curling across my skin…

“Gotta say, boy’,” I drawl, voice low, “You’re the last thing I expected to find in a place like this.”

His eyes flick up, and there’s that spark I knew was hiding. He pushes his glasses up his nose, all prim and proper, but the way his lips twitch tells me he’s not as shy as he seems.

“And you’reexactlywhat I expected,” he shoots back, his voice soft but sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet. “Leather, tattoos, and a corny line ready to go.”

I laugh, a low rumble in my chest.

Fuck, I like him already.

“You got me there,” I chuckle. “But a guy’s gotta try when he sees a boy like you. What’s your name, bookworm?”

He hesitates, like he’s weighing whether I’m worth the trouble.

Then, with a small smile that’s equal parts sweet and defiant, he says, “Caleb.”

“Caleb,” I repeat, letting it roll off my tongue like it’s mine to keep. “I’m Jace. And I’m guessing you’re not here for the ambiance or peace and quiet. Unless of course you were looking for the library and got lost…”

He glances around, his nose wrinkling at the haze of smoke and the biker sprawled asleep at the next table.

“Not exactly,” Caleb answer. “Meeting a friend. He’s late.” His eyes meet mine again, bolder now. “And you? Just here to… intimidate the furniture?”

I grin, leaning closer, letting my voice drop to that rough, commanding tone that always gets a reaction.

“Oh, I’ve got better things to intimidate, Caleb,” I say, my voice low but my eyes lighting up. “Like boys who read books in bars and think they can handle a place like this.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t back down. “Maybe I can handle more than you think.”

Well, damn.

That’s a gauntlet if I ever heard one.

My pulse kicks up, and I’m half-tempted to drag him out of here right now, throw him on the back of my bike, and see just how much he can handle.

But there’s something about Caleb—something that makes me want to savor this, not just conquer it. He’s not some club boy chasing a thrill. He’s…different.

And I want to know why…

“Careful, boy,” I say, my gaze locked on his, letting a hint of my Daddy Dom edge slip through. “You keep talking like that, and I might take it as an invitation to warm that ass of yours up with a firm hand on it.”

He bites his lip, and fuck, it’s like a match to gasoline.

I’m imagining that lip between my teeth, him pressed against me, all that quiet fire unraveling under my hands.

But before I can push further, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, but it buzzes again—insistent, like the club’s got a leash on me even here.

Caleb notices, his brow furrowing…

“Someone important?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice, but there’s curiosity there too.

“Someone who thinks they are,” I mutter, glancing at the screen.

It’s Tank, probably bitching about the Vipers or some other crisis. I shove the phone back in my pocket. Club business can wait. For once, I’m not itching to dive into the chaos. Not when I’ve got him in front of me.

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