Own the Wind(35)

So after that kiss, no way I could be most of a continent away from him and stuck on a freaking island for six months.

But we still had things to sort out. Like Rosalie.

One thing I had managed to do in those two short hours was phone Big Petey. I tried to pull the wool, dance around the subject, but I was thinking that he saw through it when I tried to ascertain without coming right out and asking if Shy was still seeing Rosalie.

Pete gave me the bad news sounding like he was giving me bad news, this why I thought I didn’t pull the wool. The bad news, Pete told me, was Rosalie got dropped off at the Compound three days ago and they’d gone off together on Shy’s bike.

Before we moved on from that kiss, I had to know what was going on with Rosalie.

And last but oh so not least, we needed to have a discussion about him losing his mind when he got annoyed at me.

I’d had a lifetime of watching biker babes and the way they got on with their badass bikers. I knew this was a minefield, and I knew that Shy was not the only badass biker who went gonzo like he did that night we discussed why I’d disappeared for two weeks and like he had again two hours ago when he confronted me about leaving.

As far as I could tell, there were three options for going the distance with a biker and after that kiss that was what was on my mind.

Going the distance with a biker. With Shy.

The options were, one, give up and let them roll right over you.

I didn’t think that was me, or I hoped it wasn’t.

The next was become a biker bitch, like my mom had become. Mom was just a bitch, so it was bound to happen that she’d let her bitch light shine through. But sometimes when the boys were the boys, bossy biker badasses, instead of setting the boundaries right off, I’d seen women go over the top with attitude, butting up against their man all the time and not talking to him so they did nothing but fight. Loudly. Publicly. Nastily.

I didn’t want that either.

Not at all.

The last option was the way Tyra was with Dad. I didn’t know how she balanced it, but they were who they were and somehow that clicked. She didn’t let him roll all over her even though he had a dominant personality, the kind that pushed out all other personalities unless you were able to hold your own against him. Still, Tyra had to find that middle ground where she gave Dad what he needed to be, well… Dad. A little over, he’d butt heads with you and the results wouldn’t be pretty. A little under, he’d take advantage and then lose interest, especially in women, because as much as Dad was about control, he didn’t want to control his woman. He liked a challenge. Just not too much of a challenge.

They worked.

Spectacularly.

That said, sometimes things got intense, the balancing act went out the window, it was anything goes, and Tyra didn’t take a lot of shit from him.

I’d never forget that night years ago when she came to my rescue after my ex-too-old-for-me boyfriend hit me and then my ex nearly busted Tyra’s head in with a baseball bat. Dad had lost it on her, that she’d put herself in that situation, and I still remember hearing them fighting.

At the time, I was devastated, them fighting over me like that. After it all was good again, I admired her for yelling right back and not taking his crap.

That was what I wanted for me if I was going to hitch my wagon to Shy’s biker stud.

So before I blew it and started something with Shy after all our history and it being my first relationship after Jason (who was, it was important to note, my only other real relationship), we had to talk. Get a few things straight.

Depending on Shy’s answers I’d know if I had my head together or if I needed time and space to find that.

I took a deep breath, determined to talk it all out with him without losing my head, my patience, my temper, or myself, but I didn’t even raise my hand to knock when the door flew open.

All of a sudden I had an arm hooked around my waist, I was in his apartment, and Shy’s booted foot was kicking the door closed.

The next thing I knew, I had lips on mine and a tongue in my mouth.

With that, I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t want to know anything else. The only thing I wanted to know was Shy.

He was just that good. So good, when he kissed me, the world melted away.

His mouth broke from mine and my thoughts came back, kind of.

“Shy, we need to talk,” I breathed, my pulse racing, my skin warm, my breath coming fast, my arms locked around him, the fingers of one hand in his hair, just like the first time.

Exactly like the first time.

Suddenly, my shirt was gone.

My breath, already fast, left me totally, and my nipples started tingling.

Shy’s hands slid up my sides and those tingles went into overdrive.

“Got your head sorted, sugar?” he asked, his green eyes intense, hot and locked to mine, his body herding me backward.

“Yes,” I answered. “But we have to talk.”

His hands left my sides but he kept herding me at the same time he whipped off his tee.

My thoughts flew out the window.

“We’ll talk later,” he murmured, his hands settling on my waist.

I got a second to take in his lean, muscled chest and the scrolled, elaborate tattoo that adorned his upper left pectoral that said forebodingly, “Love dies,” before I was falling backward.

I landed on the bed.