“I’m not here out of obligation, Ripley.” His hand disappears farther up my skirt, his knuckle driving softly into my folds to rub my clit gently. “I’m here because I can’t live without you. Not for one fucking day.”
Moisture rushes to the apex of my thighs, the noise from the restaurant nothing more than a muffled din around us. “Take me somewhere.”
“Not until you let me back into the sunshine.” His mouth skates up the slope of my neck. “I want my chance. I want us. You and me. A family.”
His touch is almost overwhelming me, but still, I hesitate. Everything is going so fast…
“Mase?” says a raspy male voice. “Is that you?”
My uncle goes very still against me, his hand going from seductive to unmoving between my thighs. He takes two centering breaths, then straightens. No longer is his hand under my skirt, but he tucks me even more protectively to his side than before. Blinking our surroundings back into focus, I notice two men standing beside our table. They’re wearing leather vests with their names stitched into patches over their hearts. Chavez. Clint.
“You’re a long way from home,” one of them drawls, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“I could say the same about you,” Mase responds with a chill in his voice. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh come on,” says the other one. “We couldn’t pass up a chance to meet your famous niece. Think of the bragging rights this is going to give us back at the club.”
Mase’s steel hold flexes around me dangerously.
Famous niece? What does that mean?
“Walk away,” Mase warns the men.
Chavez holds up his hands, palms out. “We don’t mean any harm.” His eyes glint wickedly. “But I guess the mystery is solved why you left the club for her. She’s a little more than just a niece to you, isn’t she, man?” He elbows Clint in the ribs. “Unless that hand up her skirt was an optical illusion.”
My uncle’s fist slams down on the table with enough force to knock his beer over and upset the silverware. I’ve never seen him like this. There is murder in his eyes and it’s centered on these two men. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life than I am that Mase is about to commit a double homicide.
Which means he’ll be taken away from me.
For life?
Chills wrack me. The idea of him back behind bars is so terrifying, I whimper in my throat and his gaze flies to my face, incorrectly interpreting where my fear stems from. He thinks I’m scared of the men and it fuels his rage even more, his nostrils flaring, his body vibrating with barely leashed violence. This is the man my father tells stories about. The force to be reckoned with who, at one time, ruled the streets from the seat of his bike. His head whips back around and whatever look he pins on the men sends them back a step. Then another. “Mase,” Clint laughs nervously. “We were just joking around. Whatever you do is your business.”
“Stay put.” Mase growls the order at me, moving to leave the booth. But I know I can’t let that happen. If he gets his hands on those men, he’s going to pound their bones to dust.
“No, please. Wait.” I sling my leg across his lap and haul myself up until I’m straddling him, my arms wrapping around his neck. “Don’t. Please. I need you here with me and the baby. Please don’t do something that’ll get you taken away from me.”
“They scared you,” he shouts, his murderous gaze fixed over my shoulder.
“No. Only the thought of you leaving scares me.”
His barrel chest heaves. “They disrespected you, too.” He tries to leave the booth again, but I clamp my legs around his waist, so when he stands, I’m clinging to him like a monkey. “I have to handle this, Ripley.”
“No, you don’t.” My near-paralyzing fear of Mase being taken away has made me realize how stupid I was to think I could send him away. To think I could be without him. To think I could raise this baby alone when having him near me is a necessity. “I love you,” I say truthfully, dropping kisses on his face. “I love you and I need you to take me home. I-I need you to pick me up from class every day and make sure I’m eating for the baby.”
The anger starts to clear from his eyes as he looks at me, leaving wonder in its wake. “You love me, Ripley?”
I nod enthusiastically, tears forming in my eyes. And for the first time, it occurs to me what the men said when they approached our table. It really sinks in. “You left the club for me?”
“Of course I did.” He leans in and whispers the rest beside my ear. “You were the purest light I’d ever seen. You baptized me. Made me new. Made me want to be worthy of five minutes in the same room as you. I love you.”