Page 39 of Fallen Dove
She hesitated, then nodded.Her shirt was rumpled, hair messy, and lips swollen.She looked like sin.Like my sin.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from pulling her back.
She slipped out the door without another word.
The door clicked shut behind her.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered to the empty office.
I’d just crossed every line I’d drawn.And I knew, deep in my bones, I wasn’t done breaking them.
Chapter Nineteen
Adley
The tires of my car crunched over the gravel of the driveway.I sagged against the seat, bone-deep tired from the shift and from… well, from everything Mason-related that week.
I closed my eyes, meaning to just sit there for a second before dragging myself inside, but the low growl of a motorcycle made my eyes snap open.The rumble rolled up my spine.Familiar and dangerous and comforting all at once.
My breath caught.
A single headlight glowed in my rearview mirror and pulled up close behind my car.I didn’t need to see the man riding it to know who it was.I knew the sound of that bike, the shape of his shoulders, and the way the idle purred like it belonged to him.
Mason.
I pushed my door open and stepped out with my heart pounding.I didn’t say a word.I didn’t have to.
For a second, I wondered if I should explain myself, say something clever, something to lighten the thick air between us.But I didn’t.I just walked straight to him.
No hesitation.
I climbed onto the back of his bike, slid my arms around his waist, and pressed myself against him.
He didn’t speak either.Just started the bike back up, the vibration shivering through me, and pulled us out of the driveway.
The night air was cool.A sharp contrast to the heat of his body beneath my hands.The world blurred past us.Weston’s familiar streets gave way to dark country roads.And then Mason’s hand slid down off the bar and onto my thigh.
A jolt of electricity went straight through me.
His palm was broad, and hot even through the denim of my jeans.He squeezed gently.The message was clear: I belonged here with him.That touch was more than steadying me on the bike.It was a brand.A promise that made me ache in places I’d been starving for too long.
I tightened my hold on him, leaned closer, and my cheek brushing his shoulder.The leather of his cut smelled like smoke and whiskey and Mason.My Mason.
When we slowed and turned, I knew where we were heading before I saw the sign.Point Lake again.
The bike crunched over the gravel of the boat landing lot, the moonlight glinting off the water beyond.Mason killed the engine, and silence pressed in.Just crickets and the lapping of the lake.He swung off, grabbed something from his saddlebag, and shook out a blanket.
“Come on,” he said.
I followed him to the grassy edge near the shore, where the moonlight painted silver across the ripples.He spread the blanket, then sank down onto it.I kicked off my shoes and lowered myself beside him close enough that our shoulders brushed.
The night was beautiful.Still, quiet, endless.But Mason’s presence made it electric.
“Tell me,” he said after a long moment, eyes fixed on the lake.“How does it feel being back home?”
I hugged my knees and looked out at the water.“Different than I thought it would.Quieter.Slower.I like it.”I turned my head and caught his gaze.“I like it even more being with you.”
His jaw flexed, like he was holding back a storm.“Adley…”
