Page 34 of Striker’s Rebel

June goes quiet.

Then her fingers settle against my chest.

Just rest there.

Warm through my shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Still sucks.”

“Yeah.”

That’s enough.

No reason to dig around in graves.

Her palm stays on me, and my hand stays on her arm.

The air changes.

I feel it before she looks at my mouth, slow like she doesn’t mean to.

Like that fucking matters.

My eyes drop to hers.

Fuck.

I’ve wanted to kiss this woman since I saw that smart mouth behind the bar.

Now she’s standing in front of me, soft from sleep, telling me things she doesn’t owe me, touching me like she wants to know what happens next.

I know what happens next.

If she lets it.

“June.”

Her eyes lift.

“Tell me no.”

A crease forms between her brows.

“To what?”

I step in until her body nearly touches mine.

“This.”

Her breath catches.

“If you don’t want my mouth on you, say it now.”

Her fingers curl into my shirt.