Page 54 of Off-Limits Bad Boy

“Better?” he asks, his voice warm in the quiet.

“Much,” I say, sinking into the sofa as we curl into one another. Our bodies mold together naturally, like puzzle pieces finding their rightful place.

“I wonder if we should open the door,” I say, wanting to hear the rain better. But I decide not to, because I want to hear him, too.

We sit there, sharing stories, as if planning for a future neither of us can be sure we’ll have. He talks about his dream of a house in the country, a huge oak with a tire swing for the kids he wants to have, A safe haven to escape the world to with people he loves.

I love the sound of his dreams, and I confess my wishes, the joy found in the everyday—the club, the people, the life I'm building here, even though I sometimes question if the club is my forever path in life.

“Your passion for what you do...it's...” Kade searches for the word, his dark eyes locked on mine, “infectious.”

I laugh softly, feeling a rush of pleasure at his words. “And your dreams are inspiring.”

The conversation between us flows. With each word, I learn more about him—the man who's always been right beside me, but who I didn’t know thanks to him being hidden behind a reputation that didn't tell his whole story.

And when it feels like we have nothing more to say, we sit in silence. His thumb idly strokes my skin, his breath warms my skin, and his slow and steady heartbeat relaxes me even more.

It's then, in that quiet moment that chases our confessions, our secrets, our words, that I realize something terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

I'm falling in love with him.

I’m falling in love with Kade. My brother's best friend, the man I thought I hated but now can't imagine being without. My heart swells with the weight of the emotion, a sweet ache that fills my chest.

And as the rain outside softens to a gentle patter once more, I lean into him, letting the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart, and the comfort of the moment fill my being and recharge the exhausted parts of me.

Chapter Twenty-two

Kade

We’re lying close now, and she’s tangled up in my arms. We’d napped a bit, talked more, and now I’m just enjoying how soft her skin is and how the delicate morning light illuminates her features.

Every detail we’ve shared has tightened the bond between us and for the first time, I have real faith that maybe, just maybe, we have a chance at... whatever this is.

A knock jolts us from our relaxation. The sharp sound is urgent, loud, and catapults my heart into my throat. Who could possibly be at the door this early in the morning? “You are so unlucky,” I mouth as she glances at me, startled up from my arms and looking anxious. My teasing seems to ease some of her worry.

“Maybe they’ll go away,” she mouths back. But the knock comes again, and she tenses up before standing. I move with her, but in the opposite direction, out of the line of sight of the door, but not out of earshot in case she needs me.

Emma pads across the living room into the kitchen in her cute bare feet. She seems both afraid and curious, and I wish I shared her ever-present optimism. She reaches the door and pulls it open, her voice soft as she speaks.

“Can I help you?” Somehow there’s not a single note of fear in her voice, and I wonder how nonthreatening the person is, but I don’t dare look in case it’s someone who shouldn't know I'm here.

But the person doesn't say a word, and I hear the click of the door closing. The deadbolt slides home with a quiet snick that makes me worry more.

“Who was it?” I ask.

She shrugs as she walks back into the room. “Some older guy I’ve never seen before in my life. He gave me this.” She holds out a manila envelope, and I see unanswered questions in her eyes. The front and back of the envelope are bare and her brows furrow.

“Emma?” I say as I move closer to her. My instincts are screaming that this envelope is trouble.

Her fingers trace the sealed flap of the envelope. “So weird.”

“Did they say anything?” The mysterious messenger's silence feels more odd than any words could have been.

She shakes her head slowly, her loose hair shifting with the movement. “Not a word.” She holds her breath as she opens the envelope.

A mysterious stranger showed up on her doorstep at an ungodly hour of the morning, didn’t say a word, and left her with a manila envelope. How can this possibly be good news?

“And you didn’t recognize the guy?” I ask, curious about the stranger. Obviously, he was someone disarming enough that she wasn’t spooked by him.

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