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“Shane!” Harloe squirms, and I grip her thighs tighter.
“You want to argue about this? Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.” I’m better with actions than words anyway.
Eyes are on us as I carry her through the room, and I don’t give a fuck. Maybe I should let this go—let it be what Harloe says—fake. But that pisses me off, and I’m done pretending it doesn’t.
When I reach my room, I carry her inside and kick the door closed. Dropping her down onto the edge of the bed, I stand between her legs and grip her chin again. She’s panting, her pupils blown wide as she looks up at me. Blood turns her cheeks bright pink, and the color deepens as I drag my thumb over the spot of ash on her face.
“Why did you do that?” she asks, out of breath.
“We need to talk, and I’m not doing it in that room. This is between us.”
“Really? Because I thought the whole point of what we’re doing is that it’s a show for the town. It’s not like you bothered to so much as text me while you were gone, and that’s fine. I’m not actually your girlfriend. I told you to have your fun.” Her voice is almost a whisper by the last part.
I drag my thumb over her cheek again. “Is that what you’re worried about? You think I was out there fucking around while I was gone? I wasn’t. It was torture being away.”
Harloe’s eyebrows pinch. “Why?”
“Why do you think? Because you were here.” I sigh, tipping my face to the ceiling. “Nothing happened while I was gone, Harloe. Not a damn thing. And not because there weren’t options, but because the thought of looking at another woman, much less touching one, made me sick to my stomach.”
“Really?”
I look down at her, vulnerability in her tone—her face.
“Yes, really. And that’s not something I’ve ever said before. But you’re deep under my skin, and that’s becoming a real problem.”
She skims her teeth over her lower lip, biting back a smile because, of course, this Texas tornado loves the idea of being my problem. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, cowgirl.” I drag my thumb over her jaw. “And just because you didn’t hear from me doesn’t mean I didn’t check on you five hundred times a day. The guys are already giving me crap for it.”
“Why didn’t you just text me yourself, then?”
“I didn’t text you because I was trying to give you your space to decide how you feel about this. Because I knew the second I got back, I wasn’t going to be able to keep lying to myself. And if I heard your voice while I was gone, I was going to get on my bike and leave the mission behind because I had a hard enough time riding away from you in the first place with how things stood. I wasn’t going to be able to hear it in your voice and not do anything about it again. Nothing comes before my club. Nothing. But then I met you, and that’s fucking terrifying.”
“This is supposed to be temporary,” she says like she’s trying to convince herself. “Our lives are opposites. We’re opposites. We don’t work.”
“I don’t care if we work or not.” I grab her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “Go ahead, list all the reasons we don’t make sense. Tell me all the ways we’re wrong for each other. Argue with me. Say things just to piss me off. I can handle it. I’m a patient man. But you’re not pushing me away again. Not anymore. I’m done lying about what you are.”
“And what’s that?” She lifts her chin higher, and I bend until my mouth brushes hers.
“Mine.”
25
HARLOE
Shane presses his lips to mine in a kiss that is more than physical. It’s a confession. A taste of salvation. An admission, when we’ve been lying to this entire town. Worse, we’ve been lying to ourselves.
He claims my mouth but marks me so much deeper.
I thread my hands up into his messy black hair and pull him to me until he’s climbing over me on the bed. God, I missed his warmth. His touch. That look in his eyes that flares when I’m being difficult. He isn’t afraid of my wild side; he isn’t put off by my sharp edges. He craves every part of me as I am.
“Shane.” I moan as he angles his hips between my legs. “This is such a bad idea.”
“Are you saying you want me to stop?” He kisses down my jaw, nipping at my neck until my back arches.
“If you stop, I’m going to actually lose my shit on you,” I warn him, and he chuckles against my throat. “I’m just stating facts. Everything about this is a really bad idea. There, it’s been said.”
My hands drag down his sides. Tracing lean, solid muscle. I tease his stomach, brushing those hard lines that form a V where his shirt has ridden up. He shivers, and I love that I have that effect on him. That it feels like this is different, even if nothing changes the inevitable outcome.
