Page 37 of Savage Devotion
He settles back in his chair and looks relaxed. “After that, I think I must have read five hundred romances in the span of a summer.”
He cocks a grin that drips with memories of good times and some hell-raising. There’s not a dry eye at the table, including mine. Damn him. I lean in until I know it’s only me he can hear. He does the same as if hearing what I have to say is the most important thing to him.
And my heart falls for him just like in a book. It’s imperceptible at first. I mistake it for lust or desire. But the more I think about it the more I realize it’s neither. The whirl of emotions and fluttering of my heart when he is near is because of something deeper and more connected to a part of my soul. A part no one has control over. Not even me.
Mierda.
Everyone continues talking around me, unaware of my tiny life epiphany.
The spike of heat and the rapid heartbeats aren’t only because I want him to shove me up against the nearest wall or shelf. It’s because I’m falling in love with a Savage. Untamed, raw. Uncontrollable. A man I can’t save.
Am I coming at this all wrong? Could it be me who is on the wrong side of all this chaos?
I gather the inside of my lips between my teeth and gnaw at it lightly. What if he doesn’t need saving? Am I standing at the cusp of the abyss, the flames of change and choices licking at my feet with nowhere to go but through the fire?
Would I burn myself for him?
He’s already proven he will for me.
I try to hate the motorcycle life and everyone in it, but the more time I spend with the Savage Reign crew, the more I see the disaster my stepdad and the Vultures bring to the people around them is worlds apart from Reaper’s. What Reaper and his family built for their crew and the people of Harlon is meant to help those in need. To give a family to anyone willing to have their backs.
Reaper settles a hand on my knee as he recounts a few road stories to the ladies. Why he feels the need to lay a possessive hand on me as he talks I don’t know, but it feels good.
I wrap my fingers around his for the rest of the hour. When the club candy starts to bicker about a name for the book club, I pull Reaper to his feet.
“I kinda like the Naughty Riders,” I quip teasingly as he leads me from the old, cozy barn.
He grabs the bridge of his nose and pinches. “Please, God, no.”
I press my lips to the back of his hand and kiss him lightly before looking up at him. Instead of watching where we are walking, his eyes are on me.
“Take me somewhere private,” I whisper in his ear seductively.
14
ARABELLE
The night took an unexpected turn. I thought I was preparing for a night of girl talk, book love, and too many cookies at my place. Then Reaper showed up and demanded I move the book club meeting to his place. The note he handed over from Charli, sealed the deal.
With the first book club night now a success and officially over, I let Reaper pull me onto the back of his bike. Moments later we leave his place and ride along the back roads of Harlon.
Yesterday’s rain has cleared for the moment, and the beams of moonlight spilling down to Earth are mesmerizing.
The power of the motor between my legs vibrates up my body. It’s a new sensation to add to all the others I’m feeling. Happiness is at the top of that list.
I don’t know how long we ride. It feels like forever, yet not long enough when Reaper throttles down and points his motorcycle off the pavement.
“Have you brought me parking?” I tease, winding my arms around his middle. The night air clings to him and I love howit melds with his body heat to create this unique aura of wild masculinity around him.
We’ve come to a lookout ridge, where the parish glitters beneath us. Up here there’s not a thing in the world I can’t conquer.
I expect something smartass and cocky, but he surprises me yet again. He runs his hands up my legs and leans back into my arms. He raises my legs to hook over his thighs and we just be for several heartbeats. I have my arms wrapped around him, my hands resting on his chest. I reach for the ring and turn it around and around.
Silence has never been my friend. It begs me to fill it with something, anything.
“When I was twelve my father left my mother with a thirty-thousand-dollar debt and two kids who needed more than she could provide as a single mother.”
“Not all men are created equal, baby. I mean that, on a level of morality.”
