”Thanks,” she murmured, letting her gaze linger on his mouth.
“You sleep okay on the couch?”
”Fine.” Short.
Clipped.
He stepped back, putting the counter between them again, and took a long drink from his own mug.
His knuckles were white around the handle.
Rebekah leaned against the counter opposite him, crossing her arms under her breasts in a way that lifted them slightly, the thin fabric outlining her nipples—which had pebbled the second she stepped into the room.
She took a sip, watching him over the rim.
“I keep thinking about last night.
The ride.
How safe I felt with you.
Even with everything going on… you make me feel protected, Ryker.”
His dark eyes met hers for a beat, then dropped to her chest before he forced them back up.
“That’s the job.”
”Is it?” She set her mug down and moved around the counter, closer.
Not touching, but near enough that she could smell his soap and the faint trace of leather that always clung to him.
“Because it felt like more.
The way you looked at me in the kitchen.
Like you wanted to do a lot more than just protect me.”
”Rebekah.” Her name came out as a warning growl.
He didn’t move away, but his whole body went rigid.
“Don’t.”
”Don’t what?” She tilted her head, letting her hair fall over the bare shoulder.
One hand rested lightly on the counter near his hip.
“Talk about it?
Or admit that there’s something here?
I’m not a kid anymore.
Haven’t been for a long time.
And I know you see it.
I saw how you looked at me last night.”
Ryker exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his mug down with a deliberate clink.
He turned to face her fully, arms crossed over his chest like a shield.
Up close, the scar through his eyebrow stood out, and the lines around his eyes deepened as he frowned.
“What I see is Tank’s daughter standing in my kitchen wearing next to nothing, trying to push buttons she shouldn’t be pushing.
You think I don’t want to bend you over this counter and fuck the attitude right out of you?
I do.
Been fighting that thought since you were old enough to make me notice.”
Her breath hitched.
Heat flooded her core at the blunt words.
She stepped even closer, until her breasts nearly brushed his folded arms.
“Then why fight it?
My dad doesn’t have to know.
And after last night… I can’t stop thinking about you.
About what it would feel like if you stopped holding back.”
For one suspended moment, his control wavered.
His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, tracing the curve of her body with raw hunger.
His hands flexed at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.
The air between them crackled, thick and electric.
Then he moved.
Not toward her—away.
Ryker sidestepped, putting the full width of the kitchen between them again.
He dragged a hand through his damp hair, pacing two steps before stopping, back to her once more.
“Because it’s not that simple,” he said, voice rough as gravel.
“Your father trusts me.
The club trusts me.
I’ve got a patch on my back that means something.
If I touch you, it doesn’t end with a quick fuck in my kitchen.
It ends with blood—mine or his or both.
You’re not some club whore I can have and walk away from.
You’re Rebekah.
And that makes you dangerous as hell.”
She swallowed, the rejection stinging even as his words sent another pulse of arousal through her.
“So you’re just going to keep pretending?
Keep sleeping on the couch while I’m down the hall thinking about you?
I heard you last night, Ryker.
In the hallway.
You were there, weren’t you?
Listening while I…”
He spun around, eyes blazing.
“Stop.”
But she didn’t.
She pressed on, voice dropping to a whisper.
“While I came with your name on my lips.
Twice, if you count the shower fantasy before bed.
I was so wet, imagining your hands instead of mine.
Your mouth.
Your cock.
And you stood there and listened.
You wanted it too.”
Ryker’s chest rose and fell heavily.
His cock was visibly hard now, straining against the front of his jeans.
For a heartbeat she thought he might finally snap, cross the room and take what they both wanted.
Instead, he closed his eyes, breathing deep and controlled.
When he opened them again, the fire was banked, replaced by iron resolve.
“I heard you,” he admitted, voice low and strained.
“And it took every goddamn ounce of willpower I have not to kick that door down and finish what you started.
But I didn’t.
And I won’t.
You’re staying here until the Devils are handled.
I’ll keep you safe.
Feed you.
Make sure no one touches you.
But this—” he gestured between them “—ends here.
No more games.
No more walking around half-naked trying to break me.
You push again, and I’ll call your father myself and tell him to find someone else to babysit.”
The words landed like a slap, but underneath them she heard the tremor—the way his voice cracked just slightly on “break me.” He was fighting.
Hard.
And that only made her want him more.
Rebekah held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once, stepping back.
“Fine.
Message received.” She turned toward the hallway, pausing at the entrance.
“But for the record, Ryker… I’m not the one who’s going to break first.”
She disappeared down the hall without another word, leaving him standing there, breathing like he’d run a marathon, cock still throbbing and hands shaking with the effort of restraint.
Ryker waited until her door clicked shut before he let out a string of curses that would’ve made the club prospects blush.
He gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white, willing his body to calm down.
The image of her—soft curves, hard nipples, that defiant spark in her eyes—burned behind his eyelids.
He wanted her.
Badly enough that his teeth ached from clenching.
But he was the VP.
He had rules.
Honor.
A brother in Tank who’d bled beside him for fifteen years.
He poured the rest of his coffee down the sink, the bitter taste matching the frustration churning in his gut.
The day ahead stretched long and dangerous: club business, scouting the Devils’ movements, keeping Rebekah locked down without losing his mind.
And tonight, another night on the couch with her just down the hall, whispering his name in the dark.