While he moved back an inch, he didn’t release her. She was his prisoner now. The thought irritated and thrilled.
“You should see him, Santana.”
She didn’t expect his calm tone. What was it about Paxton that continually threw her for loops?
“What will my seeing him achieve? He’ll dislike me after I give him the setdown he deserves.”
Paxton nodded, raking bristly hairs over her shoulder. “From what you’ve told me, he does deserve it. But you owe it to yourself—and him—to say those things.”
She went still, comforted by his weight though she couldn’t bear it for much longer without calling 911. “You think I should go tell him off?”
“Yeah.”
“But…you aren’t defending his actions?”
“I don’t know his reasons for turning out you and your mother. But whatever it was, you need to hear it. I see it eats at you, Santana.”
Those damn tears were too close to the surface again. She twisted her head into the bedcovers scented of her and Paxton.
He rolled off and took her with him, pulling her flush to his hard body. She hated to admit how good he felt and how much comfort his big chest provided. Hell, she’d been alone too long.
“You misjudged me, didn’t you?” he asked softly, stroking her arm and raising ripples.
“How?”
“You thought I was a dirtbag redneck MC guy coming to retrieve you. You thought you could outsmart me, overpower me.”
“I did do those things.”
“Maybe a little, yeah.”
Setting her lips into a fine line, she leaned up to glare at his handsome, roguish face. “Are you saying I’m not smart?”
“You are. I admit you tricked me into believing I held authority over you. That I’d get you back to the club.”
“And when you thought I was going to ink you.”
He stared at her for a long beat. “You would have done that, Santana. I have no question that you would have gone through with that.”
She swallowed hard. Inking someone seemed trivial compared to some of the things she’d done to deter the welding shop guys.
Paxton slid his fingers under her hair and probed the base of her skull. The action was so saccharine sweet it made her fillings ache. “I mean you thought I was the devil coming here to steal you off on my bike. But you were wrong.”
“I don’t know you.” Though she said the words, they weren’t entirely true. She knew he could have overpowered her and bent her to his will at any moment during this kidnapping debacle. Instead he’d been patient and tolerant of her small attempts to torture him.
He arched a brow. Too easily she recalled holding his gaze as they both came apart—several times, in fact. Luckily he’d carried a few condoms in his wallet because they’d emptied her nightstand drawer.
“What do you know about me?” he asked.
“You’re a tattoo artist. Your little brother is training as apprentice.”
He smiled crookedly and her heart stuttered at the sight of the crease around his mouth. “And?”
“You’re strong.”
As if to demonstrate, he flexed his arm, squeezing the breath from her. “Is that all?” he prompted after a minute.
“You smell nice.”
He took up rubbing her arm again, soft and slow. Up and down, trailing callused fingers and making her nipples peak. “You smell like candy. What else?”
“You taste good.”
He growled. Hooking a finger under her chin, he drew her mouth to his. As his warm lips robbed her of the last of her resistance, moonlight shimmered through the sheer curtains and fell over him. He was turned to blue-gray stone but all man—flesh and blood.
She’d been wrong about a lot when it came to Paxton. Mostly she’d underestimated his ability to get into her psyche and trip her. Not only with his kisses and touch and the amazing way he ate pussy but with her worry about her father.
Maybe Paxton was right—she needed some closure. As she straddled his hips, she dipped to kiss him. Her hair enclosed them in darkness but up close his eyes
“You should see him, Santana.”
She didn’t expect his calm tone. What was it about Paxton that continually threw her for loops?
“What will my seeing him achieve? He’ll dislike me after I give him the setdown he deserves.”
Paxton nodded, raking bristly hairs over her shoulder. “From what you’ve told me, he does deserve it. But you owe it to yourself—and him—to say those things.”
She went still, comforted by his weight though she couldn’t bear it for much longer without calling 911. “You think I should go tell him off?”
“Yeah.”
“But…you aren’t defending his actions?”
“I don’t know his reasons for turning out you and your mother. But whatever it was, you need to hear it. I see it eats at you, Santana.”
Those damn tears were too close to the surface again. She twisted her head into the bedcovers scented of her and Paxton.
He rolled off and took her with him, pulling her flush to his hard body. She hated to admit how good he felt and how much comfort his big chest provided. Hell, she’d been alone too long.
“You misjudged me, didn’t you?” he asked softly, stroking her arm and raising ripples.
“How?”
“You thought I was a dirtbag redneck MC guy coming to retrieve you. You thought you could outsmart me, overpower me.”
“I did do those things.”
“Maybe a little, yeah.”
Setting her lips into a fine line, she leaned up to glare at his handsome, roguish face. “Are you saying I’m not smart?”
“You are. I admit you tricked me into believing I held authority over you. That I’d get you back to the club.”
“And when you thought I was going to ink you.”
He stared at her for a long beat. “You would have done that, Santana. I have no question that you would have gone through with that.”
She swallowed hard. Inking someone seemed trivial compared to some of the things she’d done to deter the welding shop guys.
Paxton slid his fingers under her hair and probed the base of her skull. The action was so saccharine sweet it made her fillings ache. “I mean you thought I was the devil coming here to steal you off on my bike. But you were wrong.”
“I don’t know you.” Though she said the words, they weren’t entirely true. She knew he could have overpowered her and bent her to his will at any moment during this kidnapping debacle. Instead he’d been patient and tolerant of her small attempts to torture him.
He arched a brow. Too easily she recalled holding his gaze as they both came apart—several times, in fact. Luckily he’d carried a few condoms in his wallet because they’d emptied her nightstand drawer.
“What do you know about me?” he asked.
“You’re a tattoo artist. Your little brother is training as apprentice.”
He smiled crookedly and her heart stuttered at the sight of the crease around his mouth. “And?”
“You’re strong.”
As if to demonstrate, he flexed his arm, squeezing the breath from her. “Is that all?” he prompted after a minute.
“You smell nice.”
He took up rubbing her arm again, soft and slow. Up and down, trailing callused fingers and making her nipples peak. “You smell like candy. What else?”
“You taste good.”
He growled. Hooking a finger under her chin, he drew her mouth to his. As his warm lips robbed her of the last of her resistance, moonlight shimmered through the sheer curtains and fell over him. He was turned to blue-gray stone but all man—flesh and blood.
She’d been wrong about a lot when it came to Paxton. Mostly she’d underestimated his ability to get into her psyche and trip her. Not only with his kisses and touch and the amazing way he ate pussy but with her worry about her father.
Maybe Paxton was right—she needed some closure. As she straddled his hips, she dipped to kiss him. Her hair enclosed them in darkness but up close his eyes
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