“Savannah,” I warned.
Her shoulders stiffened at my tone and she slid down the sofa, putting two full cushions of space between us.
“Right. Got it.” She stood, shaking her head in what could have been disappointment or embarrassment. “Of course.”
“Savannah, wait. Please.” My words fell on deaf ears. Before I could stop her, she was halfway to the staircase, headed up to her room where she could lick her wounds in peace. “Savannah. Stop!”
She stopped and turned slowly, meeting me with a distant gaze. “It’s all right, Charlie. I don’t need you to explain, I get it. I do.”
“You do? Then explain it to me because I sure as shit don’t get it.”
She fisted her hands at her hips, making it impossible to ignore the hard peaks of her nipples that pressed against the white cotton shirt she wore.
“You want me; I can see that in the heat in your eyes. And that impressive erection you’re sporting.” She looked down at my cock for a brief second. He jerked in response, beckoning her closer.
But Savannah kept her distance.
“Clearly.”
“But I’m gross. Used up and dirty. You don’t want that, and I can’t say I blame you.” She shook her head again and took a step back. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Can we just forget it?” Her blue eyes pleaded with me to drop it.
“No. I’m not sure I can, Savannah.” How could I forget the heat in her gaze when she looked at me? The way she licked her lips as if she could already taste my kisses and my cock. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
My words weren’t getting through. She shook her head. “You’re gorgeous, and you’ve been good to me. Really good. I shouldn’t repay you with unwanted advances.” The words rushed out of her and that plump bottom lip trembled with emotions she refused to show. Especially to me. Especially now. “I’m sorry,” she said and turned on her heels, rushing into the guestroom where she locked the door behind her.
“It’s not like that,” I said quietly, too long after she shut herself into the room to hear me. It was probably for the best, right now. Things were too goddamn complicated, no matter how much I wanted her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Savannah
What a fucking idiot, I am! What the hell was I thinking, coming on to Charlie Ellison, President of the Reckless Bastards MC? Of course he didn’t want me. Not only was I Savannah Rhymer, though that meant fuck all to me these days, but I was also a used up junkie whore.
Former junkie whore, but that doesn’t matter. I knew that the former would never matter, not to anyone who knew what I’d been through, what I’d done to survive long enough for a second chance at life.
Not even Charlie, who dealt in the sex business, wanted anything to do with me. And goddammit, he was a man who slept with hookers! He just didn’t want me.
And that was fine. Hell, it was more than fine. Now that I knew, it meant I didn’t have to worry that one night he’d expect payment in the form of pussy. It meant that we could help each other without the tension of sex or attraction. When we’d finished our business, we could go our separate ways.
A knock sounded on the door and startled me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?”
“Pizza is here.” Charlie’s deep voice was tight with tension, and I glanced at the clock with a heavy sigh.
Seven-thirty on a Sunday evening, and I’d spent most of the day sulking in my room, deep in humiliation.
“I’ll be down in a second.”
Grateful for the private bathroom, I washed my face and pinned my hair up into a bun, throwing a UNLV hoodie over my t-shirt just so he understood I got his message, loud and clear.
I walked into the kitchen and glanced at Charlie hunched over the utility drawer, probably looking for the pizza cutter.
“What kind of pizza did you get?”
He looked up at me with a wary glance and, finding what he’d been searching for, walked over to the pizza on the countertop in the middle of the kitchen. He started cutting through the slices already scored, just to make them easier to dish up. He was a gentleman like that, even though he had yet to smile at me.
“Canadian bacon and pineapple with roasted red peppers,” he said, pushing the perfectly cut pizza toward me. “Help yourself.”
I did just that, grabbing two slices and water from the fridge before I took a seat as far away from him as I could while still sitting at the kitchen table. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he grunted and shoved another slice of hot, cheesy pizza in his mouth without so much as a wince. He was angry and uncomfortable, and I hated that I had made it awkward between us.