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That finger taps me again, right over the heart, like that blood-pumping organ is beating outside my chest.
“Why, Dixon?”
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me I deserve better than to be called a cunt by a drunk asshole. That’s a cop-out, and you know it. You heard him say something hurtful to me, and you wanted to go out there and punish him. Why?”
No matter how strong my resistance is, it’s not strong enough to resist the force behind the look in her eyes.
“Why, Dixon?” She says again.
Another tap, a plaintive look, and my resistance breaks. The words spill out of me.
"Because I care about you, Alexandra. More than I should, more than I ever planned to. There's something about you that gets under my skin, something that has from the moment we met. And I can't stand the thought of anyone making you feel less than what you are."
Her expression softens further.
The intensity in her eyes doesn't wane, but it transforms into something less accusatory and more open, more searching.
"That feeling scares the hell out of me," I whisper.
She doesn’t understand how much I mean that. Years of experience have taught me I always hurt the ones I love. With my old club, the Road Kings, who were broken and destroyed soon after that meeting that ended in Lucas Reyes’s death; with Striker’s sister, Natalie, a woman too kind for her own good, who put up with me when I was at my worst; with my closest friend, Striker, who saw the chaos I put his sister through, and who I nearly lost as a friend because of it. Everyone I’ve gotten close to, I’ve hurt.
And hurt deeply.
Now, there’s Alexandra.
What happens if I hurt her again?
How deep will that wound go? What I did to her already ruined her life. The next wound may take it.
I can’t bear the thought of that happening.
Yet I can’t fight how I feel about her, either.
She steps closer until there’s no space for anything between us except the raw truth.
"Scared can be good," she whispers. "It means it's real, Dixon. It means it matters." Her eyes hold mine captive, daring me to look away, but I can't. “I need to tell you something: I’m scared, too. Scared by the way I feel about you. It’s intense, it’s raw, it’s wrong. But I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think there’s only one thing we can do about it.”
“Which is?” I say. Hope rises in my chest. Maybe there’s a way out. A way to stop this runaway relationship in its tracks before it ruins everything.
“Give in to it.”
Then her lips meet mine.
And I give in.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alexandra
Something snaps inside me like a rubber band stretched too far; I only have time to gasp, “I can’t fight how much I care about you,” before my lips crash into his; before my hands slip under the back of his shirt, seeking every tattooed, muscled inch; before I put them where I really want them — on his ass, his firm, muscular, delicious ass — and I moan as he pulses his hips against me.
He’s hard already.
Thick and insistent, his desire mirroring my own.
I pull him closer, deepening the kiss, losing myself in the sensation of his body pressed against mine.
