Page 32 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
STOP TALKING, EDEN.
STOP IT.
I was also now pretty sure Jake was about to run as fast as he could from me, and that I would never find love. That I’d live alone for the rest of my life and die a lonely cat lady since HE’D RUINED ME FOR ALL MEN WITH HIS KISSES.
He didn’t run.
He just stared at me for half a second, still with that smug grin on his face, and then he laughed. Full-on, highly amused, like I was the best thing he’d ever seen.
“Fuck,” he said, reaching for my waist to pull me back to him. “Never met anyone like you.”
He dropped his mouth to mine and kissed me again. This one wasn’t as soul rearranging as the last, but still enough to break the top five on my personal make-out metric chart, well above every other man I’d ever kissed who’d I’d now sorted under “meh.”
When he pulled back, I looked up into his eyes and said, “Was that normal? Like, do you kiss all women like that? Because I need to recalibrate my standards immediately.”
“No.” His eyes were dark. “And if you so much as think about testing those recalibrated standards on another man, we’re gonna have a problem.”
His hand came to my jaw, thumb dragging across my lip like he was re-marking territory. “You think I’d kiss you like that and let you walk away?” He shook his head. “That was a claim, darlin’. Not a test drive.”
It should be noted that the next time Jake says something like that to me, I’m going to need a warning. Like a biker growl advisory.
Did he actually just claim me?
Like officially?
I’d never been with a man like Jake and was so far out of my depth.
Was it even legal for a man to claim a woman like that?
Did I need to update my licence?
“Hi, I’m Eden, recently claimed by Jake ______, will never recover, please forward all mail to under his motorcycle.”
I DON’T EVEN KNOW HIS SURNAME.
“Let me stay tonight,” he said, cutting into my spiral.
“What?” I blinked at him, trying to gather my thoughts, my feelings, my good sense.
“Just to sleep.” His thumb swept over my cheek. “I need to hold you.”
My brain finally threw up some warnings. Too fast. Too soon. Emotionally inadvisable. Possibly dangerous. Definitely addictive. And just hours ago, he’d left our first date for mysterious “club business.”
But all I could think was: he didn’t want sex. He wanted me.
“Mrs Primrose will have a field day with this,” I said, then immediately wanted to die, because who mentions their nosy neighbour at a moment like this? “I mean, she runs this wine club that’s convinced we’re research for a romance novel, which is ridiculous, and I should stop talking now.”
He took a moment, assessing me. “You always this nervous when a man asks to spend the night?” He was amused, but I could tell he was checking in on me. Caring about me.
“Only the dangerous ones.”
More of that assessment. And then, “You sure about this?” He asked the question quietly and like it cost him something, and I knew he wasn’t just referring to him staying the night. When he said this, he meant all of this between us.
I barely knew Jake, but I knew enough. Enough to feel safer with him than I ever had with men who’d claimed to love me. Enough to know he wasn’t just acting like a decent human to get laid. And while, yes, okay, I had no clue how to date a biker, I’d dated my fair share of assholes, and Jake was not one of them. Not even close.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He kept his gaze on me for another few moments, silent, and then nodded once before shifting his attention to my apartment. “Nice place.”
