Page 111 of Final Drive

That gets her attention faster than anything else I’ve said. Her head turns, and I can practically see her deciding whether to be pissed.

“I’m not saying I think I will,” I add. “I’m saying I don’t know what happens when instinct gets that loud again. I’ve never trusted anybody who tells me they’re absolutely sure what they’re capable of.”

“That’s comforting.”

“I thought you’d appreciate the honesty.”

“I’d appreciate the honesty more if we weren’t discussing whether you might go feral and murder me during sex.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “I’m pretty confident about the murder part.”

“Oh, good.”

“The rest I’ve been working on.”

She bumps her knee against mine. “By standing three feet away from me.”

“Exactly.”

“Very scientific.”

“I had a control group.”

That gets the corner of her mouth. I let it sit there for a second before I go on, because this is the part I’ve actually been trying to work out.

“I watched Jackson walk out of the kitchen when you told us about the stairwell. He wanted to put a hole in something and he didn’t. He came back and stood in the doorway with his arms crossed until you were finished. Bo knows what you want before you ask half the time, but I’ve never seen him use that to corner you. Gray had every reason in the world to make that call for you from his father’s terrace, and he called you instead.” I drag my thumb through the sand, making a trench between my boots. “Beckett’s Beckett, and somehow he’s shown more restraint than anybody.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about him.”

“Don’t tell him.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I look at her. “My point is, every one of them has had a moment where wanting you gave them an excuse to decide something for you. None of them took it.”

She understands where I’m going before I get there. I can tell because the humor leaves her face.

“That tells you who they are,” she says. “Not who you are.”

“No. It doesn’t.” I lean back on my hands and look up at the strip of sky above us. There’s no good answer after that, so I give her the true one. “I still don’t know.”

She stays quiet.

“I’ve spent two months trying to make sure I knew before I touched you again. Turns out I can’t. Not completely.” I look over at her. “At some point, keeping my distance stopped being careful and started being me making the decision for both of us.”

Reese’s fingers stop worrying at the thread on her jeans.

“So I’m done doing that,” I say. “I’d rather find out with you than about you.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“If you tell me to stop, I stop.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I know. She wants the answer underneath it, and she’s not going to let me hand her the clean version.

I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “If I ever put my hands on you and see my father in them, I’m gone.”