Page 96 of Blue

She shivered as his hands made their way up her sides. He cupped her face, and suddenly, she felt extremely alert. He brought her head back, and her focus went to him. Her gaze fixated on his. The intensity of his features made her absurd smile fall.

“There has never been anything wrong with you, Dakota. Or about us.” He leaned in.

Hesitant at first, his lips brushed hers.

She’d broken up with him.

He was married to a psychotic woman who wouldn’t let him go. There was a deranged cop who’d kidnapped and tried to kill her. There wasn’t a future in it. All that could happen was drama and maybe more jail time for the both of them. That’s why it had to end. That’s why she couldn’t keep being with him.

But his lips were soft. His beard tickled her skin the right way.

It didn’t matter how good their kiss felt. It didn’t matter how much they loved each other. Nothing mattered but the fact that they couldn’t be together.

But this was right.

Stop!Doing what seemed right had gotten her charged with prostitution last time.

Okay, just a little longer. What’s done is done.

Gentle and sweet, he sampled her.

And she let him.

Sure, he’d taste the sugary sweetness of her evening’s drinks, but Blue lost herself in the tender kiss. Her own hands came up and rested on his forearms as she tilted her head, deepening the moment.

He broke away far too soon.

What? Her booze-soaked brain tried to process why he’d stop a good kiss.

“Let’s take our time,” he said before leading her toward his bike.

She shouldn’t go with him. She should’ve just gone back to the clubhouse. She should’ve found Sarah.

There were a million things she should’ve done.

None of them included going with a married man to his motorcycle.

But she wanted to.

Leaning against the wall of the bar, she watched him root through his saddlebag.

Poor decision. This was a terrible decision. Continuing down this road would only cause more pain.

Glancing around the parking lot, Blue tried to think of a way to get out of this. Getting away from him wouldn’t get her very far. The ground wasn’t even. She was still dizzy from the drinks and the concussion. If she ran, she’d vomit—guaranteed. Puking wasn’t high on her list of things to do that night.

Maybe she could text Sarah. She could send her that emergency code they had for when they were in trouble. She’d come get her. Chicks before dicks, right?

Her friend had sold her up the river. She’d obviously forgotten the golden girl code. Blue questioned whether she could still count on her.

Fuck.

“What do you say?” Mooky asked.

“Huh?” Bringing her focus back to him, she gaped. He was on one knee.

One-fucking-knee? Oh my God! What’s happening? What’s going on?

Instead of holding a small box with a ring in it, he held out a leather vest. As he displayed the back of the vest, she saw the top rocker that read “Property of” and the bottom one read “Mooky.”

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