Page 47 of The Belle and the Biker

"Yes and no." I sigh. "You know what's bothering me? He's tried to kill Savannah multiple times and keeps missing."

"And… that's a problem?" Axl says skeptically. "He missed her, and that bothers you? Should I be worried that you're the one protecting her?"

I pick up the empty beer can and toss it into a garbage can. Two points.

"Let me rephrase that. It's puzzling me. If you or I had someone in our crosshairs, we'd take them out on the first go-round. On the one hand, this guy has been able to track Savannah anywhere she goes. That would indicate that he's a pro. But Savannah managed to shake him when he tried to tail her on that country road, and he's tried to shoot her and missed every time. Either he has bad luck or can't shoot for shit. It doesn't add up."

"Good thinking there," Axl acknowledges. "And there, I thought you were just a pretty face."

"I'm not sure if it helps get us any closer to identifying this fucker, and even if he's not a great shot, it only takes one bullet. So we may be off the radar for a while."

"It's no problem, brother. You do what you have to do." He's silent for a minute. "I'm leaning toward him being in law enforcement, and plenty of cops are mediocre marksmen."

"Yeah, it's kind of looking that way," I agree. "That's not good news at all."

When I return to the room, Savannah's sitting up in bed, stretching and yawning. She's got sleep-tousled hair and no makeup. I wish I could wake up to that every day.

"Morning, sunshine," I say.

She glowers at me and stomps to the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the thrift store pictures on the wall. She's even madder at me than usual.

I'm terrible at figuring out what women are thinking. I mean, yeah, if a woman climbs onto my lap and starts rubbing herself all over me, that's a pretty good clue that the kind of ride she wants doesn't involve my Harley, but anything more subtle than that, and I'm lost.

Normally that wouldn't bother me. I'm not equipped for a relationship, and I make that clear upfront. The only women I'd screw around with understand that going in. Hit 'em and quit 'em has been my motto my entire life.

But for some reason, I do care what Savannah thinks.

And if I'm being honest with myself, my behavior is probably at fault, like what happened yesterday.

First, there was the kiss. I did it partly because she taunted me about not enjoying the ride, and truth be told, that kind of hit me where it hurt. I've always wanted to have her on the back of the bike, and there she was, pretending she hated every minute of it. I also kissed her because I've been dying to taste her lips again.

That kiss practically blew my boots off. I felt my walls crumbling, and I wanted to let her in.

I wanted her sass, humor, and sweet, soft body. I wanted those laughing lips, full breasts, and the fire in her eyes. I wanted the woman who's not afraid to speak her mind when I'm being loud and crude, who's not afraid to ask me to be my best self. I wanted the woman who tells me she deserves to be treated like a princess—and maybe if I did, I'd find out that I was her knight in tarnished armor.

After kissing her, I was about to tell her all that. I was about to plead my case and tell her that even though I don't have the right pedigree and never went to college, I have other qualities that make me worth taking seriously. I'm loyal. I'm a protector. I'd lay down my life and die for the people I care about.

And then, images of my mother flashed through my head. Lying in her narrow hospital bed, her skin yellowed from jaundice as her liver slowly failed. Whispering in her cigarette-ravaged voice. I had to lean in to hear. "People like us need to stay in our lane. Look what happens when we forget our place."

Yeah. Bad things happen. Heartbreak, humiliation, an unwanted son who's a constant reminder of the man who seduced and discarded her.

"You look just like your daddy" was flung at me on a regular basis. It was meant not to praise but to wound.

So I made that asshole remark about Savannah not missing me when I went to California. Pushed her away instead of seeing if there was a chance for us. And I let her sleep on the floor, hammering it home even harder.

Also, she made that comment about me smelling of perfume, and I should have set her straight on that right away.

Fuck. I'm such an asshole sometimes, even I don't want to hang out with myself. Why would she?

We may not have a future, but I don't want her to hate me.

I go into the tiny kitchenette, brew coffee, and wait for her. When Savannah finally comes out of the bathroom, she smells sweet and looks sour.

I pour coffee into a mug for her. "This is for you. Are you mad about me smelling like perfume last night? That was one of the waitresses. She smelled like she bathed in the stuff. She threw her arms around me right before I left and tried to kiss me. I pushed her off and came back to the trailer. To you."

Her brow puckers. "It's not my business if you're fooling around with anyone." But she accepts the coffee cup and she takes a sip. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Also, I know I was kind of a jerk after I kissed you."

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