Page 55 of Anton

“Oh, trust me…” He settles against the seat again, a dangerous smirk pulling at his mouth. “I won’t regret a thing. In fact, I’ll take great joy in knowing he’ll no longer have eyes to look at you with.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You’re right.” He leans away just enough to pin me beneath that same intense focus. “So remember that the next time you smile at another man the way you smiled at him.”

The milkshake sits untouched, forgotten, because right now nothing exists outside of him. His knuckles skim the line of my face, my pulse skidding and tripping over itself while his eyes travel over my lips, the pull between us drawing me nearer.

“We shouldn’t be seen together,” I breathe. “My family will find out.”

He lowers his mouth until he’s close enough to kiss me, and when his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I gasp, unable to move.

His hand clamps around my thigh. “Then maybe we should get out of here.”

“Okay.” I don’t even hesitate. I’d follow him anywhere.

He slides out of the booth and tosses a twenty onto the table, then hooks his fingers through mine and brings me up beside him. I instinctively try to slip free, nerves prickling at the thought of someone seeing us together, but his grip only tightens.

“Don’t,” he mutters, shooting me a warning glare.

Heat curls in my stomach, and I bite back a smile as he leads me through the parking lot toward his bike.

“Are you taking me on a ride again?”

A trace of mischief warms his expression, but when my attention drops to the bike, I notice a second helmet resting on his seat, black with thin gold detailing along the sides. It definitely wasn’t there before.

Anton picks it up and holds it out to me. “Do you know how to shoot?”

My brows snap at the abrupt change in subject. “A gun?”

A dry laugh leaves him. “What else would I mean?” His expression hardens. “Do you know how to fight? How to defend yourself?”

I shake my head, feeling smaller beneath his stare.

“Your family never thought you should learn how to protect yourself?”

I swallow past the bitterness in my throat. “In their defense, I’ve always hated guns.”

He closes the distance between us, his thick fingers curling around the side of my neck. “Every woman should know how to protect herself, especially one who belongs to a family like yours.”

His thumb drags over my racing pulse, and every pass feeds the arousal already burning between my thighs.

“Maybe you should teach me, then.” My lips hike up.

He tilts his head like the idea has taken root, settling there until it spins in his eyes. “Maybe I should. We’ll start now.”

“What? It’s dark.”

“Exactly.”

Before I can argue, his grip leaves my throat and settles firmly at my waist as he turns me toward the bike.

“Get on.”

He lifts me as though I weigh nothing and places me on the seat. Once I’m situated, he moves between my knees, bracing one palm beside my thigh while reaching for the helmet with the other.

His fingers graze my jaw as he lowers it over my head, his stare fastened to mine the entire time. The strap clicks beneath my chin, his knuckles brushing my skin before he draws away. Silence stretches between us, charged with everything neither of us is willing to say.

Then he swings onto the bike, his broad shoulders filling my view as the engine roars to life. He pulls on his helmet, then rests a palm against my thigh and gives it a firm squeeze before gripping the handlebars.