Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
But that night was different.
That night, he spread his leather jacket on the wooden planks. That night, his hands shook when they touched my face.
"You sure?" he asked, his voice rough at the edges.
I answered by taking his hand and placing it over my heart. Over the lace of my bra. My skin burning everywhere he touched.
He eased me down on his jacket, the leather still warm from his body. His calloused hands moved over me like I was something sacred. Something he'd been starving for.
His lips traced a path from my throat to my breasts until I couldn't breathe right.
Couldn't think right.
Could only feel right.
"I've been dyin’ for you," he whispered against my inner thigh, his breath hot and desperate. Then his mouth claimed me, tasting places no one had ever touched, and I practically sobbed his name into the darkness as I begged him to never stop.
When he finally pushed inside me, he went slow and careful despite the trembling in his arms. His eyes never left mine as he angled deeper, filling an emptiness I'd never acknowledged until that moment.
He moved inside me like a man both worshipping and drowning. Like he'd found religion in the arch of my back. Like salvation lived in the space between my legs.
I lean forward, gripping the marble countertop, my engagement ring catching the light as I try to steady my breathing. The memory is too vivid. Too close. I can almost feel the splinters from the wooden platform digging into my shoulders, the weight of him pressing me down, the way my body stretched to accommodate him.
The knock on the door startles me back to the present.
"Savannah? Are you all right in there?" Senator White's voice, my future father-in-law, concerned but practiced. The kind of concern that's performative, meant to be overheard and noted.
"Just a minute," I call back, running cold water over my wrists.
I check my reflection. Flushed cheeks. Bright eyes. A woman remembering things she shouldn't.
I open the door to find Marcus's father waiting, his political smile firmly in place. "The Daleworths were asking after you. They're considering a substantial donation to Marcus's exploratory committee."
Of course they are. That's what this party is really about. Not my engagement. Not love. Campaign contributions and strategic alliances.
"I'll be right there," I say, smoothing my skirt.
His eyes sparkle, as if to say, Of course, you will. Then they flick to my hand. "Beautiful ring. My wife had one similar. Though I believe yours has better clarity."
He offers his arm like we're at a cotillion, even though I gave a subtle hint that I’d follow along after he left. I place my hand on his arm because that's what Eleanor Ashby's daughter does. She performs. She pleases. She plays the game.
I rejoin the party with my spine straight and my smile fixed as Marcus slides his arm around my waist, pulling me close. "There you are," he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "I was beginning to think you'd escaped on a pony."
He means it as a joke, but it lands like a warning.
"The champagne," I explain, letting him think alcohol has brought the color to my cheeks. Not memories of Legion's hands. Not the phantom feel of his mouth on my pussy.
Marcus laughs, satisfied with my answer. His hand settles against the small of my back, fingers splayed possessively across silk.
If only different hands were there. Larger. Rougher. Hands with tattoos across the knuckles. Hands that have broken bones, and built fires, and traced every inch of my body in the dark.
The string quartet plays something classical and forgettable in the corner. The notes float above conversation, above laughter, above the clink of crystal against crystal.
I catch my reflection in a gilded mirror across the tent. Who is she? Would Legion even recognize me now?
Or would he only see the ghost of the girl who once climbed an old ladder in the dark just to feel alive in his arms?
The girl who kissed him with dirt on her knees and grass in her hair. The girl who sang for him when no one else was listening.
Suddenly, the crystal glasses begin to tremble on the tables, the string quartet falters, violin bows hovering mid-stroke as the musicians exchange wide-eyed glances of uncertainty.
And, as if God himself was listening to my earlier thoughts, the unmistakable thunder of motorcycles breaks the night air.
Every head turns toward the long, winding driveway, whispering…
Then the whisper swells into a primal roar that vibrates in my chest.
Familiar and terrifying all at once.
A heartbeat I thought I'd forgotten.
He’s here.
He came.
CHAPTER 5
For years, I’ve dreamed of this rumble. I’ve pictured a grand entrance that comes with a grand gesture. The kind of thing that only happens in movies.
But that’s all it was. A dream.
Never—ever—did I imagine Legion Kane might rock my world by showing up on his bike at the Ashby Ranch during my engagement party.