Savage Burn (Savage Trilogy 2)

“I love you, too, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a masculine seduction. His mouth closes down on mine, and then he’s kissing me in that way only Rick Savage has ever kissed me: like I’m the reason he can breathe like I’m the reason he exists. The kiss is a perfect drink of a perfect man, one that is over too soon and when his lips part mine, leaving my knees weak and my body hot. The only thing that keeps me standing is his arm around my waist. “The idea of another man touching you kills me,” he confesses. “That thought is what made me and vodka such good fucking friends to start with. He doesn’t touch you again.”

I don’t argue that point, but we both know that protecting my father may come down to me spending at least a little more time with Gabriel’s ring on my finger. I don’t want to think about what that means about who is or is not, in my bed. “No,” Rick says tightly, catching my face in his hands. “I know what you’re thinking, and you will not fuck him again. Not even to save your father. Gabriel won’t live through it.”

I’d laugh if I heard those extreme, guttural words from anyone else, but this is Rick, and he’s not joking. “I have to save my father.”

“That’s why you have me. I will save your father. I’ll fuck up anyone who even thinks about hurting him. I’ll do that for you and I will not let you down. But you will not fuck Gabriel again. End of discussion. Agreed?”

I could push him. I could argue, but I don’t. I don’t fight him over what comes next with Gabriel. It’s not like I want any outcome but the one he wants, too. If anyone can save my father, I believe it’s Rick. And the truth is that this man demanding I be only his melts me like butter on a hot Texas sidewalk. “Agreed.”

“Good.” He strokes my hair, his touch possessive and yet tender. “Let’s get out of here. We both could use that firing practice right about now.”

“Yes,” I say, wholeheartedly. “Please.”

“Grab your purse. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

I nod and he kisses me again before setting me away from him. “Hurry.” He turns away and then suddenly his hands are on my arms again and he pulls me to him. “You’re mine now, even if you don’t know it yet.”

“I never stopped being yours, Rick Savage. You just don’t know it yet.”

“You can prove that to me later. Naked.”

My lips curve and I turn away, walking toward the bathroom, the burn of his stare following me as I disappear through the door. Once I’m there, I peek around the corner and watch him exit the bedroom. I’m smiling all over again, all those volcanic emotions—at least for the moment—transformed, into lust, when my cellphone buzzes with a text message. I jolt ridiculously with the sound. Some silly part of me hopes it’s my father. I yank my phone from my pocket and read a message from Gabriel: Send me a sexy photo to remember you by while I’m gone.

Disbelief hits me seconds before my temper flares hot and fast. This man believes that I’m sick and this is the message he’s sending me? I think incredulously. While banging another woman? I walk into the bathroom, set my phone down and press my hands to the sink. Fuming. Clearly, he wants to show my photo to Pocher or some sick story like that, perhaps as a way to prove he’s got me under his thumb. Or as a way hold me captive, to blackmail me. Thank God, I’ve never done such a thing with this man. My cellphone rings and it’s him, of course. I don’t even consider who might be listening in. I answer with a repeat of my thoughts. “Are you serious right now, Gabriel? I’m sick and that’s the message you send me?”

“Are you actually mad that I wanted to flirt with my fiancée?”

“Your sick fiancée, Gabriel.”

“You don’t sound sick right now,” he snaps.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I do. I sound like someone sick and riding an adrenaline rush of anger. You’re such a fucktard.” It’s Rick’s word and it’s out before I can stop it but I don’t care. Rick makes sense a lot more often than not.

“Did you just call me a fucktard?” he demands, his tone indignant.

“Yes, Gabriel,” I say. “I did. I called you a fucktard.”

“You’re the future first lady and that’s how you’re talking?”

“I can send you naked photos, but I can’t call you what you are? I’m a military brat. I know that word, but what’s sad is that a man who wants to be president is the one who inspired me to use that word. Act like a man who deserves to be president and actually cares about the people around him.”