Her mouth dropped open, like the admission surprised her. And then they stared at one another a long moment, Maverick swiping away her falling tears until they slowed, then stopped.
“Wanna head home?” he finally asked.
She released a halting breath, her eyes searching his. “You’re a good man, Maverick Rylan. Better than I gave you credit for. But I see you now.” She paused, and he hung on her words like they were the oxygen he needed to breathe. “I know it may be too late. But, God, I see you.”
His heart tripped into a thunderous beat, one that pounded through his veins. His cock hardened at the sentiment and the raw emotion on her face. “Not too late,” he managed, need putting him on edge. “But, Jesus, you need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to take a bite out of me.”
“Why?”
“Because my bite will be fucking bigger.”
She shifted against him, the friction of her belly turning his cock to steel. His hands tightened on her, a silent command to be still. Alexa licked her lips, and he saw his hunger reflected back at him. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Lingered there.
“Alexa,” he growled.
“You sure? Because I don’t want a bite. I want the whole meal.”
The words hit him like a blowtorch licking over his skin. Without thought, he kissed her. Hard and claiming and rough. He absolutely plundered her mouth, his lips sucking, his tongue penetrating. The whimper she unleashed shot to his cock as her fingers twisted in his hair.
In his head, he was pulling down those sexy beat-up jeans and bending her over his bike . . .
Bike.
Maverick’s eyes flashed open . . . and his gaze landed on the handlebars of Tyler’s motorcycle.
He pulled back from the kiss, his fingers going immediately to his lips. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“We’re not doing this,” he said, anger making his words come out sounding harsh. Anger at himself for thinking with his dick, for thinking of himself, for taking advantage of the emotional wreck she’d been just five goddamned minutes ago.
“Why?” she asked, a tinge of hurt in her voice.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the painfully hard ridge of his cock. “Not because I don’t want you. Understand?” He nailed her with a stare. He didn’t know all the shit Slater had filled her head with, but he’d never make her doubt his desire for her. Maverick didn’t have the patience, tolerance, or disposition for game-playing. Never had.
Finally, she nodded, but she didn’t remove her hand. “Then why?”
He shuddered out a breath and forced her touch away, but he slid his fingers through hers to try to take the sting out of the gesture. “Because you don’t need anything else that messes with your head right now. Being inside you this morning was the best fucking thing I’ve felt in five years, but it also complicates the shit out of what you’re going through. And me bending you over a bike in my garage isn’t going to help you figure things out.” He stepped away as what he was saying to her sank in to his own brain. Yeah. This was the right thing to do. Keep his damn hands off until she figured her life out. “So, yeah.” He raked at his hair.
“Oh.” She hugged herself, but nodded. “I guess, yeah. Makes sense. Sorry.”
He stepped back into her space and grasped her chin. Forced her to meet his eyes. “Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, Alexa. That’s him talking and I won’t fucking stand for it.” He arched a brow until she agreed.
She did. “Okay. Should we go home, then?”
“Yeah,” he said, his cock still rock hard. Traitorous bastard. “We should.”
“ALEXA,” GRANT SAID, walking into her office the next morning. Without knocking. He closed the door, then turned to her, his face set in a deep scowl. A shiver raced over her skin.
“Grant,” she said, pulling her attention away from checking over the furniture deliveries scheduled to arrive at the model home beginning this afternoon. She forced strength and confidence into her voice, refusing to be cowed by the anger radiating off of him. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. By coming home. Today.” He crossed his arms, his eyes set in a dark glare.
“We’ve already had this conversation,” she said, her heart racing despite herself. He was back in that scary, quiet mode again. “Will there be anything else?”
He stalked toward the desk and braced his hands against it, and then he leaned down close. Too close. “Collect your belongings and come home.”
Was that what this anger was over? He’d noticed she’d removed all her belongings? “I don’t have a home right now,” she said.
“Is that what this is still about? How many times would you like me to apologize?” he asked, no remorse in his tone whatsoever. So be it. Acting like this just confirmed that she’d made the right decision.