Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(15)

He chuckled but said nothing as they came to the back of the building and the ‘wreck lot.’

“Jesus.” She stopped cold. The red and green bikes that had been hit first barely looked like bikes at all—just piles of metal and plastic. The odor of spewed fluids and mechanical fire still clung to the rubble.

It took a painful moment before she could tear her shocked eyes from the sight of those ruined bikes and the memory of the poor kids who’d been on them. The whole of the night, every sense, every memory, seemed captured in those broken bits.

She recognized a couple of the cars, too, and tried hard not to see the blood.

In comparison, her bike seemed practically roadworthy. She was almost embarrassed to have it taking up space among the tragic remains of the crash.

Maybe that was why Rad’s unwavering concern for her leg irritated her—it was silly to fuss about a sprained knee, considering all that had been lost last night.

Confirming her impression, Rad said, “Law was here first thing this mornin’, and insurance. Both cleared yours for repair, so we’ll probably get to it before lunch, at least for a once-over. The rest of these’ll be totaled out. Yours, we can probably fix, if there’s not damage hidin’ somewhere.”

“It’s not a rush,” she muttered, barely finding the breath to make the words audible. She put a hand to her chest and felt her heart pound.

A heavy hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Willa?”

“Just…shit, last night.”

“Yeah. You okay?”

She turned and looked up at him. “Can you stop asking me that?”

“No.” His lopsided smirk oozed up one cheek.

Her decision to come to him in person was predicated on wanting to get a read on him in daylight, in calm. So she studied him now—and saw the same man she’d met last night. Cocky. Sardonic. Pushy. A jaded, amused view of the world. A man who saw something he thought needed doing and did it. And direct as f*ck.

“You’re kind of an *, aren’t you?”

He didn’t lose the grin, except in his eyes. “You know, that’s been said. But I’m not keen on gettin’ called * for bein’ concerned.”

“Even if I don’t want it?”

“Concern’s not somethin’ you give away, darlin’. It just is. You don’t wanna answer, that’s on you, but I’m gonna ask.” He nodded at her bike. “There somethin’ you want out of there?”

That had just been an excuse to explain why she’d come over rather than called. All her saddlebags held was a backpack half-full of dirty clothes and a little pouch of travel-size toiletries and makeup. She’d come for another reason entirely than her bike or its contents.

She went to her bike. The fork was almost folded in half, and the tank was badly dented. Both tires were flat. There was probably other damage, but she’d gotten off easy, especially considering where in the chain reaction she’d been. All around her, people had died.

Her saddlebags were badly scuffed but intact. Bending over and setting her right leg out at an angle, she unfastened the buckles and pulled out her backpack. She slung one strap over her shoulder and limped back to Rad.

This was the moment. If she was going to say what she’d decided, in the safety of her spring-sunny kitchen that morning, to say, she needed to do it now. Or hobble her way back to her truck and slink home to ice her knee.

“I feel like I should apologize for last night, but I don’t think I did anything wrong.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “That’s a place I know well. Okay. So don’t apologize.”

“But I hurt your feelings.”

Another shake of his head. She didn’t believe that—he’d been offended; it had been obvious.

“Can we try again?”

“Try what, darlin’?”

He was going to make her work for this.

Fine, then. She reached out and slid her fingers into his hand—oh, it was callused and hard, warm and dry. Its texture like fine sandpaper tickled her skin, and she felt that quiver all the way from her fingertips to her clit.

“I like that you kissed me.” Her heart skittered and fluttered as she said the words, but she kept her eyes steady on his.

His grin lost some of its wary irony but none of its humor. “That what you want to try again?” He closed his hand around hers and took the step that brought their bodies close, but he didn’t lean down until she nodded.

When she did, his other hand swept around her neck, into her hair, and clamped around the back of her head. This kiss was nothing like the soft press of his lips last night—this time, he shoved his tongue into her mouth as soon as their lips came together, and his body forced hers to arch backward.

With his mouth and his hands, he dominated her at once, and she had a vivid, visceral sense of the strength and power coiled in his solid body. She could hardly keep up—but she did, wrapping her arm over his shoulders, hooking her elbow over the back of his neck, pressing her body against his until she could feel that he was hard, fully hard, and his chest heaved into hers as he fought for breath.

He wanted her, too. God, this man was hot.

Again, it was he who pulled back, but this time, he didn’t go far. With his lips a scant inch above hers, his harsh breath brushing over her face, he rumbled, “You like that better?”