Blood & Bones: Rook (Blood Fury MC 7)

She really wanted him to try her.

She really wanted him to touch her.

Maybe he should give her what she wanted. Just not the way she wanted it.

In two long strides, his hand was curled around her long neck, like a trap snapping shut on its victim. A soft gasp escaped her as he swung her around and shoved her against the cruiser where he pinned her with his hips.

Starting at the base of her neck, he slowly slid his hand up her throat, keeping his grip firm, until it hit her jaw and forced her head to tip up and her delicate throat to be stretched tight.

He stared down directly into her eyes and her throat rolled under the press of his palm.

Crushable.

He could take her life instantly.

She should be scared.

Very fucking scared.

Those blue eyes held no fear.

No. They now held the challenge her words hadn’t. A dare.

Tempting him.

Alarming him.

A slow breath slipped softly from between her lips. “Decide what you’re going to do. Kill me or kiss me.”

He wanted to do both.

Through flared nostrils, he sucked in much-needed oxygen to prevent himself from doing either since he didn’t know which one would be worse.

He felt the slow roll of her throat again.

“You should be fightin’ me,” he murmured. Tasing him. Shooting him. Trying to break free. At least showing some resistance.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Her husky words swirled through him, got swept up in his veins and landed heavily in his dick.

No, no fear at all.

“You shouldn’t want this,” he growled, his fingers tightening on her throat.

“But I do,” she answered, her voice now strained from the pressure of his grip.

“I hate you, Jet,” he whispered.

“I hate you, too,” she whispered back.

He dipped his head and dragged his lips across hers. Not a kiss, but a reminder.

That he could easily steal her breath. Suck her soul from deep within her and keep it for his very own.

Keep her for himself.

Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He abruptly released her at the same time he stepped back. Creating space between them. Giving them both room to breathe, and a much-needed opportunity to clear his thoughts.

He also needed to see her clearly. Who she was. What she wore. What she was currently leaning against.

A glaring reminder of what she was.

What family she belonged to.

He abruptly spun on his boot heel and began to walk.

“Where are you going?” she called from behind him.

He didn’t answer her.

He couldn’t answer her.

He needed to get the fuck away from her.

Away from that remote spot on a quiet country road.

Away from the temptation whose name was Jet Bryson.

Because a few feet wasn’t far enough. Miles weren’t far enough. A fucking ocean between them might not be far enough.

For fuck’s sake.

“I can drive you back,” she shouted.

No. She couldn’t.

He didn’t want anything to do with her. He didn’t want to be near her.

Behind him, he heard the cruiser’s hood drop into place, the door slam shut and the Ford’s Police Interceptor engine roar to life. The tires chirped as she rushed to pull out onto the road.

He kept his eyes straight ahead and walked faster, lengthening his stride. He was tempted to run, but he didn’t run from anything.

Not even his own weaknesses.

Within seconds, she pulled up next to him with the passenger-side window rolled down. “Rook, get in. I’ll take you back.”

He continued to ignore her.

“We’re miles from town.”

He didn’t give a fuck.

“Rook!”

He stopped dead in his tracks and so did the vehicle. He twisted his head to look at her. “Fuck off, Officer Bryson.”

“Rook...”

“Fuck. Off.”

He was done.

With her. With this “talk.” With the whole situation. And definitely with his fucked-up thoughts about Jet Bryson.

He began to walk again along the edge of the desolate road in the direction of town. He didn’t care how far he was from the garage, the walk would do his stupid ass some good.

He heard the crunch of the tires on the asphalt as the vehicle rolled up next to him again. “I’ll tell Cage to come get you.”

When he didn’t answer her, the window powered back up and the black-and-white shot past him.

A few seconds later, it disappeared over a rise in the road ahead.

If she wasn’t a fucking pig...

If her last name wasn’t Bryson...

He would have taken her alongside the road. Then worked hard on getting her in his bed.

But because she was, he would work harder to keep her out.

He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life and he’d make a lot more.

One thing was for sure, he’d make damn sure Jet Bryson wouldn’t be one of them.

Chapter Seven

What happened on the side of the road two days ago bugged the shit out of her.

Not because Rook hadn’t agreed to work with her—okay, that might be a small part of it—but because of her reaction to him.