Page 32 of Rebel

I set the glass down carefully.“Because I want to be.”

“But?”

“But I’m still figuring things out.”He nodded, taking a slow sip of his drink.“My talk with Jordan today helped.”

His eyebrows raised slightly.“Jordan?You seem to have gotten friendly with Havoc’s old lady.I didn’t realize the two of you had met up again.”

“She found me wandering the compound.We talked.”

“About?”

I met his gaze.“About how it works.With men like you.The club.”

Rebel leaned back slightly, studying me.“And what did she tell you?”

“That it’s not easy.”I took another sip.“But it can be worth it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up.“Smart woman.”

“She is.”

Silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken things.The ice in our glasses clinked when we drank.The house creaked around us.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally.“More than I should.”

My heart kicked against my ribs.“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re different.”He turned his glass slowly between his fingers.“You make me want things I haven’t wanted in a long time.Possibly ever.”

“What kind of things?”

His eyes darkened.“Stability.Connection.”A pause.“Something real.”

I’d known men like Rebel before.Women came and went without leaving a mark on his heart.But maybe he was different from those other guys.

“People wouldn’t believe that coming from a guy like you,” I said.

“I don’t give a damn what people believe.They see what they want to.”

“And what am I seeing?”

“The truth.”He leaned forward again, his gaze so intense I nearly looked away.“Like I said before.I’ll take things at your pace, Rio.Whatever you need.”

Something inside me unclenched at his words.The promise in them.

“Why me?”I asked, the question that had been circling my mind since he first showed interest.“It’s not like I’m the first woman to walk into your life.”

A slight smile touched his lips.“Because you see through the bullshit.Because you don’t flinch when things get ugly.Because when you look at me, I feel like you’re actually seeing me, not just the cut or the reputation, or the mask I show the world.”

His hand moved across the table, not grabbing mine, just resting close enough that our fingertips nearly touched.An invitation, not a demand.

“I don’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“You couldn’t be if you tried.”

I believed him.That was the scary part.

Slowly, I let my fingertips brush against his.The contact sent a jolt up my arm, like touching a live wire.

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