Page 5 of Sweet Doe
She kicks, lands a weak elbow somewhere against my side, but I don’t feel it through my bullet proof vest. She's burning hot in my grip, pissed off and shaking and still so fucking beautiful I could lose my mind.
I swing the door open wider and drop her into the passenger seat like a prize. Her legs tangle against the floor mat, struggling for traction, but I press a firm hand down on her thigh to keep her there. She glares, breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
God, she looks good pissed.
I lean in close, slow and steady, and smirk. “There we go,” I say, brushing a piece of hair from her cheek. “I knew you’d come around.”
Then I shut the door, still grinning like the sick fuck I am—because she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.
I slam the door shut and round the front of the SUV, boots crunching over snow-covered gravel, blood still pounding behind my eyes. My pulse is thunder. I can’t stop grinning.
She fought me.
Good fucking girl.
I slide into the driver’s seat beside her, and the heat hits us both. Warmth from the vents, the faint smell of leather, cedar, and gasoline.
She huffs beside me, arms crossed, lip curled in disgust.
“Don’t pout,” I say as I reach behind her seat. “I brought you something.”
I pull out the bottle of red Gatorade and offer it to her. The cap’s already been cracked open. It’s not much—just a whisper of something dissolved inside. Enough to calm her. Take the edge off. Make her compliant. I’m not trying to knock her out. Iwant her awake for the drive. I want her to listen. To hear every goddamn word.
She eyes the bottle like it’s poison.
“It’s just electrolytes,” I say smoothly. “You’ve been running around all night. Screaming. Sweating. Fucking. Gotta stay hydrated, sweetheart.”
“I’m not thirsty,” she snaps, but her lips are cracked. Her voice rasps like it hurts to speak.
I twist the cap fully and hold it out again. “Drink it anyway.”
She grabs it from my hand, just to spite me, and downs a single sip before pushing it into the cupholder with a scowl.
It’s enough.
I watch her settle into the seat, stubborn as ever, her arms hugging her chest like she can keep me out if she folds in tight enough.
But it’s too late for that.
She’s in my world now.
And she’s not getting out.
“Three hours,” I say, my hand gripping the wheel as the engine hums beneath us, low and steady like a promise. “That’s all it takes. Then we’re home.”
She doesn’t answer. Just sits there, fists clenched in her lap like she’s trying to hold herself together. No tears, no pleading, no dramatic meltdown. Just silence and attitude. That fire’s still in her. It’s barely leashed, butfuck,it’s gorgeous. That edge of defiance she thinks she’s hiding? It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I grin and shift into drive, the SUV crawling out of the church lot and onto the winding road that leads straight into the trees. “I had this whole thing dialed in,” I say, my voice easy, like we’re just two people going on a long, scenic drive. “Weather, route, gas. Chains on the tires, heat cranked, blankets in the back. Fullystocked cabin. You’re gonna love it, Sloan. I mean… Maybe not right away. But eventually? Yeah. You will.”
Still nothing from her.
I glance sideways and drink her in. She’s practically drowning in my coat, curled up like she thinks she can disappear inside it. Her face is all tight with rage, lashes still wet. She looks bottled up and ready to break—and I want to be the one who makes her shatter. Slowly. Deliberately.
“You were never gonna make it in that world, Sloan. You know that, right?” My voice is calm. “They were never going to accept you. Not my parents. Not their country club friends. Not anyone. You weren’t bred for that life, and he didn’t give a fuck about you. Not the way I do.”
She finally speaks, barely audible. “I’m not yours.”
I laugh—quiet, indulgent. “You keep saying that, but you’re in my car, wearing my coat, on the way to my fucking cabin.” I grin, tapping the brakes as we round a curve. “You’ll catch up soon enough.”
