Out of the Ashes (Sons of Templar MC #3)(37)

We were silent. I drew lines on his colorful chest absently. It was dark and the moonlight only gave me a poor vision of his beautiful chest. I would have liked to study it in the daylight. But I feared that I wouldn’t get Zane in the daylight. I would only get him under the stars, in the dark, where demons could hide.

“Where were you tonight?” Zane asked, breaking the silence, interrupting my train of thought.

“A bar,” I answered simply. Maybe still feeling effects of that bar. Or I could be drunk on sex. Or testosterone.

Zane’s arms tightened. “Elaborate,” he demanded.

I rested my chin on my hand, looking up at him. His jaw was hard.

“I was at Laura Maye’s bar with the girls,” I told him.

“Lexie?” he bit out weirdly.

“Is old enough not to burn the house down or eat glue while I’m away,” I answered, feeling a slight pang over the fact my daughter was sleeping in an empty house across the street. Was I a terrible mother for going out drinking, then sneaking over to have sex with my hot neighbor? I tried to shelve that thought for when I was safely back in my own bed, inspecting every one of my decisions, including the one that landed me here. For now, I wanted to bask in this moment, prolong the feeling of strong arms around me, of Zane’s eyes being unshuttered.

He paused as if he was going to say something else.

I pushed myself up even farther. “Lexie’s a good kid. The best, actually,” I told him. “I trust her.”

“She’s sixteen,” Zane declared.

“That’s what I’m told,” I retorted with slight sarcasm.

I felt more than saw the glower. “She’s a f*ckin’ knockout,” he continued.

I ignored the stronger pang I felt at this. Not because he was calling my teenage daughter a knockout in a pervy way, but in a protective way.

“Well, of course, she takes after her mother,” I told him, my voice now dripping with sarcasm.

Zane’s hand went to my jaw.

“Her mother’s at a f*ckin’ bar suckin’ cocktails, no doubt catching the eye of every f*cktard in the place, ‘cause she’s more than a f*ckin’ knockout,” he bit out. “And Lexie’s at home alone. She could catch the eye of any little f*cktard.” His arms squeezed. “When she does, that little f*cktard will come sniffin’ around,” he clipped.

My stomach dropped at this. In a good way. He was concerned. Protective. “Lexie’s a good kid,” I repeated. “I trust her.” His eyes told me he was going to have more to say on that particular subject, so I changed it. “You do know I was with Gwen, Amy, Rosie and Lucy?” I asked him.

“Fuckin’ gathered those would be the girls,” he answered.

“Well then, you know that since I was with such creatures, no one was looking at a mere mortal like myself,” I joked.

Zane froze and suddenly he was on top of me, pinning me down with his body. Totally wasn’t complaining. “We’re together, you don’t say shit like that,” he clipped, sounding pissed.

“Like what?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Like shit that suggests you’re any f*ckin’ less than drop dead f*ckin’ gorgeous, that you shine as bright as a f*ckin’ supernova, whoever you’re with,” he said, his rough, cold voice not matching the warm words.

I jolted. I didn’t expect his rage at my offhand comment and the fact he thought I was gorgeous. He didn’t put a paper bag over my head when we had sex so I knew he didn’t think I was ugly, but the ferocity in which he just uttered that statement had me thrown.

He stroked my cheek lightly, his hand moving to play with my hair. “Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

It was like he was some kind of werewolf. But instead of the moonlight turning him into a monster, it made the monster melt away, revealing the man underneath.

Then there it was, the sunlight. Not literally; the moon still shone through the window. But like a switch, something turned the light back on. I knew it. Even through my residual drunkenness. His eyes hardened and he moved off me.

“You need to go now babe,” he declared, voice flat.

I lay there, perplexed and more than a little peeved. And the peeved part was to hide the hurt part. “Seriously?” I almost whispered. I was pissed I couldn’t inject more anger into the statement. It sounded weak, defeated.

“You know what this is,” Zane said simply, looking at the ceiling.

I let that sink in for a second. I nodded. “Yeah. I know what this is,” I lied, moving from the bed.

I had no f*cking clue what this was. I didn’t know what being f*cked with a ferocious intensity beyond anything I’d ever imagined was. I didn’t know how a man could be so callous, yet tender in the space of minutes. How he could seem to look into the deepest broken parts of me and make me feel bare and raw? How he could make me feel safe and ashamed at the same time? I didn’t know any of it. What I did know was that I had a shred, a shred of self-respect left so I clutched it like I clutched my clothes, making to leave.

“Babe,” he called, and to my surprise, he was close. Like right at my back. Something draped over my shoulders. “Wear this,” he ordered firmly.

“Zane, I don’t think...” I started to protest.