Page 6 of Her Possessive Biker
But she wasn’t a photograph anymore. And that photograph was a few years old. She was twenty-two now, all fire and softness poured into a diner uniform that didn’t do a damn thing to hide those curves.
One look and I knew I was done.
The photo hadn’t lied—she was an angel. But no picture could’ve warned me what it’d feel like to see her in the flesh. Sweet smile. Sharp tongue. A softness I’d never be able to touch without ruining it.
I told myself I’d stay in the shadows.
Told myself she deservedbetter.
Someone who didn’t sleep with a gun under his pillow.
Someone who hadn’t killed for money.
I told myself a lot of things.
And then I heard her scream.
The sound split the night and shattered everything I thought I was strong enough to do.
I didn’t even hesitate.
That drunk had his hand on her, and something inside me snapped.
Rage hit like a trigger pull.
She was mine.
No one touches what’s mine and walks away whole.
I stepped out of the dark, ready to break bones. Ready to bleed him on the concrete.
And when he shoved her, I caught her.
She crashed into me—soft curves, warm skin, leather and sugar and the kind of trouble a man doesn’t walk away from.
She didn’t even realize it, but she already fit against me like she wasmadeto.
And when she looked up at me, really looked, I wasgone.
Inside, I let Jim talk, but my focus never left her. Every move she made pulled at me like a chain.
Thatmouth. That sass. That body wrapped in fabric too thin to hide what I already knew wouldundome.
I broke my silence more than once tonight. Couldn’t help it.
Told her about the charity ride. Told her she should come.
Stupid.
I don’t invite people into my world.
But I want her there.
I want her close.
Cassie Jean is mine to protect.
Mineto guard.
