Page 61 of Rogue
“What happened back there at the compound?”
Jesus. I squirm beneath him.
“You were in the woods?”
“Yep. The easiest way of tracking you down. When it comes to those assholes at the compound, you’re somewhat predictable. Except for this morning, and your tears . . .”
“Goddamn you. You’ve been watching me?”
“Waiting for you to show up. Thank fuck I didn’t have to wait until Tuesday morning.”
Damn, he’s good. I make a quick mental note to never get on his bad side, if such a thing exists—he’s that good-natured. Yeah, if what Hayden did to us is any indication, it’d take a freaking earthquake to truly rattle his nonchalant manner. Jaxson’s a man who’ll sneak into your bed, steal your heart, spy on you when you think you’ve taken every precaution against it, all with a naughty come-hither grin that makes you forget the ever-present dangers of getting involved with a man like him.
Despite knowing this, I can’t seem to say no to him.
“What the hell is going on?”
“I want my life back,” I choke out. “I want it all back, not just the time wasted at the Ranch. I want a house with a white picket fence, daffodils in the front garden, rooster wallpaper in my bathroom, surrounded by family . . .” And a loving husband beside me.
I stare up at him. You. I want you.
“Rooster wallpaper would take some growing used to.”
“My mama loves a country-themed décor. So if it’s roosters she wants . . .” My voice dips to a whisper. “I’ll do anything for my family.”
“Loyal to a fault. Something else I admire about you.” He leans down and traces his lips over mine. “If the world were a different place, I’d want to meet them.”
Oh my God. Roosters, now this? Is he really saying what I think he’s saying?
He pushes up to a seated position then lifts me up as he comes to stand.
“I don’t want to go back to the Ranch,” I say, as he carries me down the roadway in the direction of his motorcycle.
“I don’t want you there either. It’s not the job for you. Do me a favor and keep away from that Ranch. That’s what I’ve come to tell you. You don’t fit into his world. TORC isn’t meant for the likes of you. This kind of work will change you. It’ll harden you and turn you into someone you’ll barely recognize. If you want your life back, now’s your chance to end all associations with TORC.”
“You sound like you regret your decision to join.”
“I wanted a house with a white picket fence, too. Before Afghanistan, before TORC, before I did the things I’ve willingly done.” He stops walking to search my face. “And this”—he flicks his finger on my nose—“thing between us is dangerous.”
“This thing, huh?” I laugh. Why can’t he just say it? “You know,thinghas a lot of connotations. It’s not really a strong, descriptive, to-the-point word.”
He frowns at me and I can’t help it, I smile back, loving how he likes me.
“Kylie . . .” The way he says my name feels like a caress. Theiedrawn out, a guttural-sounding vowel made deep within his throat. He runs a solitary finger across my face, beginning high on my cheekbone and ending on top of my nose. Then he pinches his fingers, and dried, dusty dirt particles shower down from between them. We both watch his actions. He grunts and the moment is lost. “I shouldn’t have tracked you down but I’m a selfish ass.”
“Jaxson.” I say his name in a low, drawn-out voice, like it’s the last time. Breathe, Kylie, breathe. “You know what?” His eyes raise to mine and I struggle to finish. “Today, I can do selfish.”
I need selfish. I need a few hours of blissful selfishness, his and my own. Then we’ll deal with this good-bye nonsense. I straighten in his arms. Somehow, someway, we’ll make this work.
“Fuck, I can’t say no to you.”
“Fuck, then don’t.” I place my palm on his cheek. “Jaxson . . . please . . .”
He drops me to my feet, grabs hold of my hand, and practically drags me along behind him as we hurry toward the Harley. He hands me his helmet, which he’s tossed on the side of the road. I place it on my head as he pulls his Harley from where he stashed it within the wheat stalks.
“Shake a leg,” he tells me as he slides onto the seat.
I climb onto his motorcycle and, tightening my hold around him, press my cheek against his back.
