Anya laughed. “I want out of work. I’ll go tell him to follow Reaper around and make certain he doesn’t get into any trouble. The man was born for trouble.” Her soft laughter faded as she walked away.
Breezy liked them. She liked the way they interacted with one another. The way they all pitched in to help. She didn’t want to like anything about them. They belonged to Steele, and even if the club was everything he’d said they were—and she counted on that to be fact—she wouldn’t take the man back. She just couldn’t. There was no living through another heartbreak.
She kept her head down and finished taking the peel off the last of the potatoes while talk swirled around her. She was conscious of every breath Steele took. Of the masculine way he smelled. Of his colors worn so perfectly on his body. It fit him to be MC. He was hot enough and masculine enough to need three women, not one . . .
“Stop it, Bree, or I’m going to put my mouth on yours, and then I’m not responsible for what happens.” His teeth tugged at her earlobe as his voice whispered in her ear.
She turned her head, smiled up at him, circling his neck with one arm to bring his head down so she could reach his ear. “You never are responsible for what happens when it comes to women, are you?” She kept her voice sweet, trying her best not to allow him to see how much that had hurt.
She went to turn her head, keeping her lashes lowered so he couldn’t read her expression, but his hand was there, under her chin, preventing movement. His mouth came down on hers and then he was just possessing her. Taking her over. Leaving her with nothing of herself because she’d burned up in the fire he generated.
The sounds of men’s voices and laughter faded away. The noises of the kitchen receded. There was only Steele and the heat of his mouth, the commanding way he kissed, demanding her surrender in the way it always had. If he had put her on the counter and ripped her clothes off right there, she would have let him. Nothing mattered but him. It was Steele. Her man. It didn’t seem to matter how many roadblocks she threw up—and rightfully so. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself she had to protect her heart from him. She gave herself to him.
His mouth was a flame, pouring down her throat, spreading through her body, rushing through her veins like a wildfire. Every cell, every nerve ending, came to life, out of control, so that need pulsed through her and roared in her mind. She kissed him because she was helpless to do anything else. She kissed him because she loved him, and she could only pray he didn’t taste that love on her tongue or in the flames rushing back through him.
He lifted his head first, his eyes so dark her heart pounded wildly. She’d seen that look before he’d all but thrown her up against a wall and taken her hard. She tried to step back, shaking her head, desperate to save herself. One hand covered her mouth as she pressed herself against the aisle.
“You can’t do that. Not ever again. Kissing is off-limits, Steele.” Her voice was a thread of sound. She was oblivious to anything and everyone but him. He filled up her vision until she could see only him. It had always been that way. “I mean it. We’re done. Over.”
“Damn it, Bree, we’re not. Why do you keep saying that? I explained why I sent you away. You know I’m not lying about it. That should be enough.”
“Should it? God help me, but I might have been weak enough to take you back if you hadn’t crawled out from under those women. Three, Steele. Not one. Three. Even for you, you have to admit, that was excessive. No way am I getting involved with a man who needs that.”
Somewhere far off, she heard Blythe gasp. She might have turned her head, embarrassed that she’d said something so private aloud, in front of others, but then she remembered there had been nothing private about Steele in the common room of the club. She tried to step away from him, but he caught her firmly against him, locking her there.
“Are we finally going to talk about that, then?”
“No. Not ever. There’s no need, because I don’t care what you do. I’m not your woman, your old lady or anything else to you. Have at it, Steele. Why stop at three women? Why not take on more. You can handle it.” Now her voice was belligerent, and maybe hurt; that was there too, but she didn’t care. “Stop touching me. Stop telling people we’re together. I’m not with you and I’m not going to be.”
The worst was, she was certain he could handle any number of women. He had more stamina than she had imagined possible, and she’d certainly seen the men in the Swords’ club with women. They didn’t last anywhere near as long as Steele, nor were they able to go multiple times as he could. She hated that it was the truth, that he probably could handle several women.
“I hate to tell you, baby, but you are with me and you’re going to be for the rest of your fuckin’ life, so get used to the idea. The only way we’re going to work out our issues is by talking. So, yeah, we’re going to talk about this.”
“Don’t you dare use that tone of voice on me.” The one that made her freeze. The one that shook her right to her deepest core and shredded every bit of hard-won self-confidence she had. She couldn’t bear for him to be angry with her. Worse, she was programmed to freeze if anyone raised their voice to her. “I didn’t do anything wrong. That was you. Oh. Wait. You don’t consider that wrong.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
“Maybe it isn’t wrong, Bree, but it isn’t something a man with a commitment would do, especially a man like me. You were gone. Three years, woman, and I didn’t think you were ever coming back. Three fucking years, Breezy, and you had my son. You could have written . . .”
“Really? Written to where? I had no idea where you were. When you threw me out, you wore Swords colors and you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me and you had no intentions of having a family. I wasn’t coming back. I didn’t come back to you. So, have at it. Next party, drown yourself in as many women as you like, and I’ll do the same with men. We can celebrate the fact that you’re an asshole.”
There was a long silence. Her heart pounded when she dared to look at his face. She’d never seen him look like that before and his expression shook her.
“If you never hear another word I say, Bree, you hear this.” Steele framed her face with both hands and stared straight into her eyes. “Another man touches you and I’ll kill him. He won’t die easy, baby, but he’ll die.” His voice was pitched very low. Each word was annunciated clearly so there was no way to misunderstand what he said. “You think long and hard about that before you ever let another man put his hands on you.”
There was no way one sliver of doubt could creep in. He meant what he said. A frisson of fear crept down her spine because he wasn’t finished. He kept staring into her eyes, and it was more than intense. He was taking her somewhere terrifying. For the first time, she could see the killer in him.
“I know more ways to take a man apart than you can imagine. I kill easily, sweetheart, and not many can say that. Call me a psychopath, call me whatever the hell you want, but don’t you ever be stupid enough to allow another man to touch you if you don’t want that man dead. Are we clear?”
She couldn’t take a breath. There was no air. He had always had the ability to scare her. He was a big man and clearly dangerous. He was also MC. But not like this. He was different, and that difference wasn’t exciting or thrilling—it was just plain scary.
“Have I made myself clear, Breezy?” His voice had dropped another octave, dropped lower so he was nearly whispering, but that felt more compelling, more menacing, than if he had yelled at her. “Because if I haven’t, we need to go over the rules again. Do you understand the rules?”
She nodded mutely. His thumbs slid over her cheeks, barely there, but she felt his touch winding through her body slowly, leaving behind a flutter of wings, a need that just wouldn’t leave her no matter how hard she tried to get over him. Even now, seeing this other side of him, the one that scared her to death, she still responded to his touc
h.
“We’re going to talk through every issue we have. You have to be willing to at least talk about things, Breezy. You can’t just shut the door on us. Whatever we had between us is stronger than ever. Now we have Zane.”
Zane was the reason she didn’t want to take any chances, but she couldn’t say that to him. She was too afraid of him getting angry with her again. He’d never done that before—as in never. She didn’t know how to respond to him when he was like this, so she remained that frozen little mouse she hated, the one that went still when she was threatened.
Steele sighed and stepped back, giving her space, allowing her to breathe. Her mind was still shut down, and she didn’t move, but at least he couldn’t feel the tremors wracking her body.
“Would you take the platters of eggs and bacon into the dining room, please, Steele?” Blythe asked.
Her voice startled Breezy. She’d forgotten anyone else was in the kitchen with them. Steele, still looking at her, nodded. Blythe put the platters into his hands and waited until he was out of the room. The women gave a collective sigh.
“I had no idea Steele could get so intense,” Blythe said. “Are you all right, honey?”
Breezy shook her head. “I don’t know him at all. And he doesn’t know me, not the way I am, or at least the way I can be when he isn’t around. I’m not going back to him.” She lifted her chin and met Blythe’s eyes. “I’m not.”
“It’s clear,” Alena said, “that you’re in love with him. Why don’t you want him back?”
“I’ve had my fill of club life and coming in second. Being treated like trash. I’m not going back to that life or raising my son in it.”