“Oh, I know you.” She grinned up at him. “I know you’re smart and loyal and funny.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Not so funny. Not all the time. There’s darkness in me, Samantha. And for years, I’ve tried to hide it behind jokes and gibes and…” He trailed off, needing her to hear the truth of him, wondering how to explain it. “I learned to be charming because it made people like me. It made them want to stick around. But I’m not always the good-time guy. Sometimes I get broody and—”
She didn’t allow him to finish. She went up on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck. Her wonderful smell filled his nose, and the feel of her soft breasts against his chest provoked a familiar hunger. “I don’t want happy-go-lucky all the time, Ozzie. I just want you. All of you. Funny and sad. Light and dark. All of you.”
A shudder shook him.
“Now, say it,” she whispered in his ear, her warm breath tickling his skin and making his muscles clench with need. “I need to hear the words, Ozzie. I need you to tell me—”
“I love you.” And there it was. The greatest truth of all. “I love you. I love you,” he vowed, holding her so tight. “I’ll say it a million times if that’s what you—”
A sudden pain shot through his thigh, taking his breath away. He stumbled back, grabbing the rail beside the stairs for support. Great. Of all the times for his wound to make itself known. But he guessed he’d better get used to it. The injury was a part of him now. Just like his liver and lungs. Just like…Samantha.
“What it is?” Her brow furrowed in concern.
“My thigh.” He rubbed the fucker, willing the agony to subside. When it did, he blew out a breath. “Sorry to ruin the moment.”
She tenderly touched his wound. Her fingers were cool through the denim of his jeans. Not trusting his leg to continue to support him, he rested his weight against the railing and pulled Samantha between his thighs.
“So what really happened to your leg?” she asked quietly, running her hands through his hair.
“Remember when the president’s daughter’s security detail was taken out in Malaysia a year ago?” he asked. Damn, it feels good to hold nothing back.
“That was you?” Samantha’s eyes were wide as saucers.
He scratched his hairy chin, shifted uncomfortably. “I was…uh…I was with one of the Secret Service agents in her hotel room. We had—”
Samantha covered his mouth with her hand, making a face. “Spare me the details.”
Ozzie’s broken heart reknitted itself then and there. And it was stronger, bigger, happier than it had ever been before. “Are you jealous?” He flashed her a seductive grin.
“You bet your fine ass.” She scowled. Grabbing the lapels of his biker jacket in both hands, she jerked him forward. “You’re mine.”
He shouldn’t take such joy in her possessiveness, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted him. Me! She wants me! “I’m yours,” he assured her. “Always and forever.”
That seemed to placate her. She smiled that gap-toothed smile he loved so much. “Damned straight.”
“Anyway, she had kicked me out.” He shook his head, thinking back on Julia Ledbetter. She had been a sweet woman even if she had wanted nothing more from him than a quick slap and tickle. And he would never get over the guilt he felt that he had lived when she had died. “It’s what saved my life. I was across the room getting dressed when the incendiary device the terrorists planted under her bed detonated. But even across the room, the blast was big enough to do this.” He massaged the mangled muscles of his leg.
“So many huge stories”—Samantha shook her head and stuck out her bottom lip—“and I can’t write any of them.”
A kernel of doubt lodged in his brain. “Samantha, this life…it’s…” He searched for the right words. “It’s a burden. Keeping these secrets, especially when your job is to uncover secrets… It will weigh on you. And there’s no one you can talk to about it. You can’t tell Donny or—”
Again, she placed a cool finger against his lips. And again, he couldn’t help himself. He kissed it. “I can tell you. I can talk to you.” Then she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, and said the most amazing thing. “You’re worth any sacrifice, any burden, any secret. Oh, Ozzie, to me, you’re worth everything.”
And damnit! He was ready to bawl his eyes out again. So, again, he distracted himself the only way he knew how. He covered her mouth with his and kissed her until tenderness turned to desperation, until sweetness became desire.
His fingers found their way beneath her shirt. Her skin was so soft and smooth. Her silky tongue speared into his mouth over and over again, making him throb and—
“Bloody hell!” Christian’s deep booming voice thundered from one of the offices. “You two need to get a room!”
Samantha giggled, hiding her face next to Ozzie’s.
“I’m game,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you?” She pulled back and searched his face. He could tell something was bothering her. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I…uh…know this is soon, probably too soon, but I just want to make sure you know where my head is.”
“Okay?” He frowned at her. “Where is your head?”
“It’s in love with you.”
“Thought we’d established that. My head is in love with you too. Not to mention my heart and my soul and many of my favorite body parts.”
“And I want to be with you. Forever.” She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I want to marry you, Ozzie.” His heart started pounding for all it was worth. “Do you…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Will you marry me?”
It was a question he’d asked a hundred different women a hundred times. But this was the first time anyone had ever asked him. He was filled with so much joy that he was surprised it didn’t explode out of his ears. Voice thick with emotion, he smiled and gave Samantha just three words. He knew she would understand exactly what they meant.
“As you wish.”
Order Julie Ann Walker’s next book
in the Black Knights Inc. series
Fuel for Fire
On sale July 2017
Keep reading for a sneak peek of
the next Black Knights Inc. book!
Prologue
London, England
“Christ in a cardigan sweater, if Ace ever tries to talk me into binge-watching Ray Donovan until oh-three-hundred in the morning again, remind me to tell him to go take a flying leap, will you?”
As far as Chelsea could figure, Dagan Zoelner—or “Z” as she liked to call him—was talking to no one in particular. This was confirmed when he didn’t wait for an answer, simply stomped across the living room of their rented fourth-floor flat toward the kitchen.