Page 11 of Viper's Single Mom
That night, lying in my bed, I did exactly what he'd told me to do.
I was going to dream about Viper, and this time it wasn’t going to stop at a kiss.
CHAPTER 4
VIPER
Ilasted three hours.
Three hours of riding through the mountains, trying to convince myself that showing up at Tara's place after dark was a bad idea. That I was too old, too set in my ways, too fucking damaged to play house with a suburban mom and her kid.
Three hours of bullshit.
By eleven p.m., I was parked outside her rental, watching the last light go out in what I knew was Izzy's room. Tara's bedroom window still glowed soft yellow. I gave it another twenty minutes, letting Izzy fall deep into sleep, then knocked quiet enough not to wake a six-year-old but loud enough for a mother who probably jumped at every sound.
The door cracked open, chain still on. Tara peered out.
"Viper? What are you?—"
"Let me in."
She should have questioned it. Should have told me to leave. Should have protected herself better. Instead, she closed the door just long enough to unhook the chain.
She'd changed into sleep clothes—an oversized t-shirt that hit mid-thigh and nothing else I could see. Her hair was down,waves tumbling past her shoulders, and she'd washed her face clean of the little makeup she wore. She looked soft. Touchable. Mine.
"Izzy's asleep," she whispered.
"I know. Waited until her light went out."
Something shifted in her expression. "You were watching the house?"
"Told you Phoenix was on guard. Doesn't mean I can't do my own drive-by." I stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind me. "We need to talk."
"About?"
"This." I backed her against the hallway wall, caging her in with my arms. "About how I've been riding around for three hours trying to talk myself out of coming here."
Her breath hitched. "And?"
"Failed spectacularly." I leaned in, close enough that my next words brushed her ear. "Tell me to leave, Tara. Tell me you don't want this."
"I should." Her hands came up to rest on my chest, but instead of pushing me away, her fingers curled into my shirt. "This is too fast. Too complicated. Too?—"
"Real?"
She nodded, and I pulled back enough to see her face.
"I'm forty-two years old," I said. "Never had a serious relationship. Never wanted one. The club was enough. The club was everything. Then you walked in looking like you'd fight the whole world for that little girl, and I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That I'd been waiting for you." I cupped her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "I don't do complicated, sweetheart. I do simple. You're mine. I protect what's mine. Simple."
"I'm broken," she whispered. "Harrison... the things he said, the things he did. I'm not the kind of woman someone like you?—"
"Stop." I pressed my forehead to hers. "You want to know what I see when I look at you?"
She made a small sound that might have been yes.
