Chapter 2 #2
I brush out my hair and leave it down, run some mascara over my lashes, swipe on lip balm. Nothing too fancy. I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard.
Even though I absolutely am.
When I check my phone, the time reads 11:15 PM.
Forty-five minutes.
I sit on the edge of my bed, hands folded in my lap, trying to calm my racing heart.
Charlie limps over and rests her chin on my knee, looking up at me with those soulful eyes.
"I'm doing this," I tell her. "I'm actually doing this."
She whines softly, like she's worried about me.
"I'll be okay," I promise, scratching behind her ears. "He's not going to hurt me. Shadow would never..."
I trail off because the truth is, I don't know what Shadow's going to do.
But I trust him.
At 11:30, I stand.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, but my hands are steady as I grab my keys from the dresser.
I head downstairs, Charlie following slowly behind me.
I let her out for a quick walk before I go and she settles onto her bed in the living room—a massive cushion near the fireplace—and watches as I check my reflection one more time in the mirror by the door.
I look scared.
I look excited.
I look like a woman about to make a choice that will change everything.
"Wish me luck, girl," I tell Charlie, crouching down to give her one more pat. "Mama's choosing something for herself tonight."
She licks my hand, tail thumping.
I stand, take a deep breath, and walk out the door.
The drive to the north pasture feels like it takes forever and no time at all.
My truck's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the dirt road that winds through the property.
The ranch is quiet this time of night—just the sound of crickets and the occasional call of a night bird.
The moon is nearly full, casting everything in silvery light.
I know this land like the back of my hand.
Grew up riding these fences, checking cattle in these pastures, learning the rhythms of ranch life from the time I could walk.
But tonight, it feels different.
Tonight, everything is about to change.
I see his bike before I see him.
The chrome catches the moonlight, gleaming like something out of a dream.
It's parked near the north pasture gate—a simple metal structure that marks the boundary between grazing land and the wilder parts of the property.
And leaning against the fence, one boot propped on the lower rail, is Shadow.
He's wearing his cut—the leather vest with the enforcer patch that means everything to him. A black t-shirt underneath.
Jeans that hug his thighs. Boots. And a cowboy hat tipped low over his eyes.
He looks like sin and sex all wrapped up in leather and denim.
I park my truck a few yards away and kill the engine.
For a moment, I just sit there, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to remember how to breathe.
This is it.
The point of no return.
I could start the engine. Drive away. Pretend this never happened.
But I don't want to.
I open the door and step out into the warm Texas night.
The sound of my boots on gravel seems impossibly loud in the quiet.
Shadow doesn't move, doesn't straighten from his casual lean against the fence.
But I can feel his eyes on me, tracking every step I take toward him.
"I came," I say when I'm close enough, my voice steadier than I feel.
"I can see that, darlin'." His voice is low, rough, sending shivers down my spine despite the heat.
He pushes off the fence and steps into the moonlight, and I get my first good look at his face.
His jaw is tight, his eyes dark and hungry.
He looks like a man who's been waiting for something for far too long.
"You can still leave," he says, and I hear the effort it costs him to offer me that out. "Turn around. Drive home. I won't chase you. Not tonight."
My heart pounds. "What about tomorrow?"
His smile is slow and dangerous. "Tomorrow I'm coming for you whether you're ready or not."
I take another step closer, close enough now that I can smell him—or rather, the cigars he’s always smoking, and something darker, something that makes my mouth water.
"Then I guess it's good I'm here."
Something flares in his eyes. Heat. Possession. Need.
He moves toward me, and suddenly the space between us disappears.
He's so much bigger than me—six-three to my five-six—and standing this close, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
"You understand what this means?" His voice is rough, barely controlled. "You show up here, you're mine. No more other men. No more smiling at prospects like Ford. No more running."
I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated even though my heart is racing. "I'm not running."
"No." He reaches out, his fingers grazing my jaw, tilting my face up to his. "You're not. Say it, Grace. Say you're mine."
The words should stick in my throat.
Should feel like giving up control, like being owned the way Bronco thought he owned me.
But they don't.
Because this is different. This is my choice.
"I'm yours," I whisper.
Shadow's eyes go molten. "Damn right you are."
Then he kisses me.
It's not gentle.
It's not soft or tentative or careful.
It's claiming.
His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head to the angle he wants, and his mouth crashes down on mine with a hunger that steals my breath.
His tongue demands entry and I give it, opening for him, letting him take what he wants.
And God, he takes.
He kisses me like he's starving, like he's been waiting years for this moment and now that he has me, he's not holding back.
His other hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel every hard inch of him pressed against me.
I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting in his cut, trying to pull him closer even though there's no space left between us.
He walks me backward until my back hits the fence, the wood rough against my shoulder blades.
He cages me in, one hand still in my hair, the other sliding down to grip my ass, lifting me slightly so I'm on my toes.
"Been wanting to do this for so goddamn long," he growls against my lips before kissing me again, deeper this time, more demanding.
I'm drowning in him.
In the taste of whiskey and mint on his tongue, in the feeling of his hard body pressing me into the fence, in the way his hand tightens in my hair just shy of being painful.
It should scare me.
After Bronco, any kind of rough touch should send me into a panic.
But it doesn't.
Because this is Shadow.
And Shadow has spent years keeping me safe.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his breathing harsh, his eyes so dark they're almost black.
"What are you wearing under here?" he asks, his hand sliding under the hem of my tank top, fingers grazing the lace of my bra.
I can barely catch my breath. "Something for you."
His eyes flash. "Show me."
I hesitate for just a second, and he leans in close, his lips brushing my ear.
"Show. Me."
It's not a request.
My hands are shaking as I reach for the hem of my tank top and pull it up slowly, revealing the sage green lace bra underneath.
Shadow goes very still.
"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes locked on my chest. "You wore this for me?"
I nod, unable to speak.
His hand comes up to trace the edge of the lace, his touch reverent and possessive all at once. "You have no idea what you do to me, darlin'. Walking around in those tight jeans, smiling at everyone, pretending you don't feel this thing between us."
"I wasn't pretending," I whisper.
"No?" His thumb brushes over my nipple through the lace, and I gasp. "Then what were you doing?"
"Waiting." The word comes out breathless. "For you to make a move."
"Well, I'm making it now." His hand leaves my breast and moves to the button of my jeans. "And I'm not stopping until everyone on this ranch knows you're mine."
He pops the button, drags down the zipper, and pulls my jeans down over my curves, just enough to reveal the matching sage green panties.
The sound he makes is almost a growl.
"These too?"
"Yes."
"Fuck, Grace." He hooks his fingers in the waistband and yanks them down, the delicate lace tearing in his grip.
I should bitch at him about it—those were expensive—but I can't bring myself to care.
He steps back just enough to look at me, his eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin. "You're so fucking beautiful."
Then he's kissing me again, harder this time, his hands everywhere at once.
He strips my jeans the rest of the way off, leaving me in just my bra and boots, pressed against the fence in the middle of the pasture.
"Shadow," I gasp as his hand slides between my thighs. "Someone could see—"
"Let them," he growls against my neck. "Let everyone see who you belong to."
His fingers find me wet and ready, and he makes a satisfied sound low in his throat.
"This for me, darlin'?"
I can only nod, my head falling back against the fence as he circles that bundle of nerves that makes my legs shake.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "So wet for me already. Been thinking about this, haven't you? Been touching yourself and wishing it was me?"
"Yes," I admit, my cheeks flushing.
"Tell me what you thought about."
"Your hands," I gasp as he slides one finger inside me. "Your mouth. You... taking me."
"Taking you how?" He adds another finger, stretching me, and I whimper. "Tell me, Grace. I want to hear you say it."
"Like this," I manage. "Hard. Rough. Making me yours."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do." He withdraws his fingers and I hear the sound of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper. "Gonna fuck you right here against this fence. Gonna make you scream my name. Gonna fill you up until you're dripping with me."
The dirty talk should shock me.
Instead, it makes me clench with need.
He lifts me easily, my back against the fence, my legs wrapping around his waist.
I can feel him, hard and thick, pressing against my entrance.
"Last chance to stop this," he says, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
I meet his eyes. "I don't want to stop."