“Wanna head home?” he finally asked.
She released a halting breath, her eyes searching his. “You’re a good man, Maverick Rylan. Better than I gave you credit for. But I see you now.” She paused, and he hung on her words like they were the oxygen he needed to breathe. “I know it may be too late. But, God, I see you.”
His heart tripped into a thunderous beat, one that pounded through his veins. His cock hardened at the sentiment and the raw emotion on her face. “Not too late,” he managed, need putting him on edge. “But, Jesus, you need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to take a bite out of me.”
“Why?”
“Because my bite will be fucking bigger.”
She shifted against him, the friction of her belly turning his cock to steel. His hands tightened on her, a silent command to be still. Alexa licked her lips, and he saw his hunger reflected back at him. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Lingered there.
“Alexa,” he growled.
“You sure? Because I don’t want a bite. I want the whole meal.”
The words hit him like a blowtorch licking over his skin. Without thought, he kissed her. Hard and claiming and rough. He absolutely plundered her mouth, his lips sucking, his tongue penetrating. The whimper she unleashed shot to his cock as her fingers twisted in his hair.
In his head, he was pulling down those sexy beat-up jeans and bending her over his bike . . .
Bike.
Maverick’s eyes flashed open . . . and his gaze landed on the handlebars of Tyler’s motorcycle.
He pulled back from the kiss, his fingers going immediately to his lips. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“We’re not doing this,” he said, anger making his words come out sounding harsh. Anger at himself for thinking with his dick, for thinking of himself, for taking advantage of the emotional wreck she’d been just five goddamned minutes ago.
“Why?” she asked, a tinge of hurt in her voice.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the painfully hard ridge of his cock. “Not because I don’t want you. Understand?” He nailed her with a stare. He didn’t know all the shit Slater had filled her head with, but he’d never make her doubt his desire for her. Maverick didn’t have the patience, tolerance, or disposition for game-playing. Never had.
Finally, she nodded, but she didn’t remove her hand. “Then why?”
He shuddered out a breath and forced her touch away, but he slid his fingers through hers to try to take the sting out of the gesture. “Because you don’t need anything else that messes with your head right now. Being inside you this morning was the best fucking thing I’ve felt in five years, but it also complicates the shit out of what you’re going through. And me bending you over a bike in my garage isn’t going to help you figure things out.” He stepped away as what he was saying to her sank in to his own brain. Yeah. This was the right thing to do. Keep his damn hands off until she figured her life out. “So, yeah.” He raked at his hair.
“Oh.” She hugged herself, but nodded. “I guess, yeah. Makes sense. Sorry.”
He stepped back into her space and grasped her chin. Forced her to meet his eyes. “Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, Alexa. That’s him talking and I won’t fucking stand for it.” He arched a brow until she agreed.
She did. “Okay. Should we go home, then?”
“Yeah,” he said, his cock still rock hard. Traitorous bastard. “We should.”
“ALEXA,” GRANT SAID, walking into her office the next morning. Without knocking. He closed the door, then turned to her, his face set in a deep scowl. A shiver raced over her skin.
“Grant,” she said, pulling her attention away from checking over the furniture deliveries scheduled to arrive at the model home beginning this afternoon. She forced strength and confidence into her voice, refusing to be cowed by the anger radiating off of him. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. By coming home. Today.” He crossed his arms, his eyes set in a dark glare.
“We’ve already had this conversation,” she said, her heart racing despite herself. He was back in that scary, quiet mode again. “Will there be anything else?”
He stalked toward the desk and braced his hands against it, and then he leaned down close. Too close. “Collect your belongings and come home.”
Was that what this anger was over? He’d noticed she’d removed all her belongings? “I don’t have a home right now,” she said.
“Is that what this is still about? How many times would you like me to apologize?” he asked, no remorse in his tone whatsoever. So be it. Acting like this just confirmed that she’d made the right decision.
In fact, half of her wanted him to keep talking, to break into a full-out tirade, even. Because both of those were likely to further validate her choice to leave him. “One genuine apology would be nice. But there’s a difference between apologies and forgiveness and forgetting or overlooking. I have no intention of doing the latter. So I won’t be coming home. Or getting back together with you. Or marrying you. Which is why I returned your ring and packed my stuff.” She clasped her hands on the desktop to hide how much they were shaking. “Perhaps we should talk about who is calling to cancel what. I could take care of the venue, the photographer, and the band if you’ll cancel the honeymoon reservations, the florist, and the cake maker. And I assume you’d prefer to send out the email notifying the guests.” At least they didn’t have a slew of in-laws coming into town that they had to worry about disappointing. For once, neither of them having much in the way of family was an advantage.
His expression transformed, like he was confused and angry in equal measure. “Cancel the wedding? We’ll do no such thing.”
She blinked, because she’d been very clear on this already, yet he was acting almost surprised to hear it. “Grant, you’re not listening to me. We’re over.”
The rolling changes to his expression were almost comical. She couldn’t decide if he was trying to figure out how to play this or was actually this . . . emotionally out of control. It was so unlike him that all she could do was stare and wait for his reaction. Like watching to see which number the ball landed on in roulette.
“We are adults, Alexa. We will talk this out like adults,” he finally said.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, trying very hard to keep her frustration in check. But talking to him right now was a lot like talking to a brick wall.
“There’s everything to talk about. There’s forever to talk about.”