Page 40 of Rocky Top

“Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

“You comin’ in?”

Chapter9

Rocky

I shoulda taken her home right after the picnic.

That was the smart thing to do.

Instead, I brought her back to my office.

Like a fuckin’ idiot beggin’ to lose control.

Birdie was trailin’ behind me, her little laptop tucked under her arm, hair all wild and blonde, cheeks pink from the sun, or because of me. She had this way of lookin’ at me like I was the answer to a question she didn’t even wanna ask.

And I felt like a goddamn riddle when she was near.

She smiled at the photos on the wall as we walked, old game day pics from my college days, a few blurry ones from my first year flyin’ tours, back before the tattoos, the patch and the whole biker world consumed my life.

“You looked like trouble even back then,” she teased, eyes on the one where I was holdin’ a helmet and smilin’ like I hadn’t learned what regret tasted like yet.

“Was trouble,” I said, unlockin’ the office door. “Still am.”

She stepped inside first, and that scent hit me like a punch to the gut.

Warm sugar and wildflowers. Sunshine and sex.

Fuck, I could smell how bad she wanted me. My wolf snarled low inside me.

Mine.

The thought came without warnin’. Didn’t matter that I hadn’t marked her. Hadn’t claimed her. My wolf didn’t care about technicalities.

She wasit.

And it was gettin’ harder to pretend otherwise.

I shut the door behind us, leanin’ against it like it might hold back the tide inside me.

Birdie turned, lookin’ up at me with wide eyes and a half-smile, like sheknew. Like she felt it too, the pull between us, taut as a live wire.

“Rocky,” she said, voice soft.

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

I was on her in two strides, hand slidin’ around her waist, lips crashin’ down on hers like I was dyin’ and she was oxygen.

She made this noise, soft and surprised, and then kissed me back like she meant it.

Like she needed it.

I lifted her up onto the desk without thinkin’, her thighs partin’ around my hips, hands in my hair, tugging just enough to drive me fuckin’ insane. My palms were under her shirt, skimmin’ smooth skin, every inch makin’ my pulse hammer harder.

Her hands slid under my shirt instead, fingers trailin’ along the ridges of my scars like she wasn’t afraid of the wreckage I carried.

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