Page 58 of Lone Star

“I’m terrified,” he admitted. His fingers shifted on her arm, a soft caress. “Maybe we can be scared together?” Hopeful, cautious.

“Yeah.”

Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe her tiredness; the late hour after a long drive, or the low light, or – probably mostly – the way he was looking at her now. But something clicked into place. An understanding dawned, one that made all the difference.

She could be afraid of the club; be afraid of what siding with it meant to her father’s memory. She could dislike their code; she could wish things were different…so many things.

But she wasn’t afraid of Albie, personally. She never had been.

And which was scarier? Being with him? Or being without?

There wasn’t much of a decision to make when she looked at it like that.

“You didn’t kiss me,” she said.

“I didn’t what?”

“On our date,” she clarified. “It was our first date, and when you left, you didn’t kiss me goodbye.”

His eyes widened. “Oh.” He swallowed. “I’m a bit out of touch with all the – dating rules.” He said it like they were very official and scary.

“There aren’t rules.”

“Aren’t there?” His turn to be uncertain, she thought. Hesitant. Backpedaling.

“If you–”

He tugged on her wrist. Not with any force – it was a request.Come here.

She sank down so she sat beside him again, and when she was settled, his momentary worry had become determination.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t want to,” he said. He reached up, slow, like he was afraid he’d startle her – or maybe like she would bite him. There was a horse metaphor in there either way. He set the pad of his thumb lightly on the point of her chin. His eyes dilated; his breathing audible. “Okay?”

Shecouldn’tbreathe, for her own part. “Okay.”

His hand moved to cup her jaw, thumb sweeping up over her cheek, the skin rough, the touch gentle.

She’d always thought – in those rare moments that she thought about it at all, maybe wondering what women wanted with them – that bikers must do more biting than kissing. If they kissed at all. She’d thought of pawing, of being put face-down in the pillow and told to take it.

But Albie did kiss her, and softly.

Everything stopped for a moment. Her racing thoughts, her racing pulse; all her doubt, and worry about whether this was right, her fears that she was hurtling toward something insubstantial and treacherous. His lips gentle against hers, she existed a moment in perfect suspension.

Awareness filtered back in waves: the heat of his hand against her face; the flicker of his lashes against her cheek; the brush of his nose alongside hers. It was so little contact, but it felt like so much, and heat roared to life inside her, sudden and unexpected. If just this had the power to stop time, what would a deeper kiss be like? His hands on her body? What would it feel like if she lied back and pulled him on top of her?

She didn’t find out, then. He pulled back, his hand on her face keeping her from chasing forward; her eyes opening slowly. Her head was spinning.

Come on!she wanted to say.

But she saw the soft look he was giving her, his gaze heavy-lidded with want, but his smile tender, and she thought,no, wait.

Because maybe good things didn’t have to happen all at once.

Twenty-One

Eden woke to the gentle murmur of morning in a clubhouse. The rattle and creak of pipes; shuffle of footfalls; muted hum of the kitchen firing up beneath Darla’s deft hands. Voices, faint, the idea of them without any distinct words. Dawn came pink and silver beyond the curtain.

Fox lay beside her, his face buried in the pillow, one arm flung casually over her stomach, but she knew he wasn’t asleep: his breathing was too controlled and quiet for that.

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