Ride Hard (Raven Riders #1)(30)

“I’m sorry,” she rushed out between wretches.

The words made him feel that much worse. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said.

When it seemed her body had finally emptied itself, she pushed upright, shaky hands braced on the railing. Haven slowly turned to face him, and then her eyes went unfocused and she stumbled.

On a curse, Dare caught her in his arms, and then he lifted her into a carry.

Her eyes fluttered up at him. “Everything’s spinning,” she whispered.

“I’ve got you,” he said. Though she wouldn’t be in this position if he’d taken control of the situation the way he should’ve—starting in at the bar. Goddamnit.

He went in through the kitchen door and carried her through the dining room and lounge and up the central steps. Given that the party was still raging, there was no help for others seeing them, and Dare got a few catcalls and amused looks that only made him kick himself harder. Upstairs, he found her room door locked, so he awkwardly fished the master key out of his pocket and let himself in. He crossed the dark room and lay Haven on her bed, then reached to flick on the bedside lamp.

She barely responded to any of it, which pissed him the hell off—what if he hadn’t been the one standing here right now? What if she’d exposed this kind of vulnerability to someone else, someone willing to take advantage of it?

Like you just did?

Fuck.

Dare slipped off her sandals and pushed the door shut harder than he meant to, but not even the slamming of it disturbed her.

Given how violently she’d thrown up, Dare wasn’t sure he should leave her. So he planted his ass in the corner chair and reconciled himself to watching over her. Like he should’ve done from the start.

Her face at rest, her body so small in the queen-sized bed, she looked really young lying there. And, of course, she was really f*cking young. Twenty-two. Twenty-two versus his thirty-seven. Twenty-two and on the run from bad men who’d taken advantage of her.

And damn if he didn’t feel like he’d just done the same thing.

Huffing out his frustration, he shifted in the chair, bringing his ankle up to rest on the opposite knee. His foot bounced and a tense restlessness surged through him—from his anger, from his guilt, from the unfulfilled need still simmering below the surface. And didn’t that make him an even bigger *.

He forced his gaze away from Haven and scanned it over the room. But there was really nothing distracting enough to look at. All the guest rooms were the same, and he’d been in them countless times over the years.

On a soft moan, Haven curled onto her side, facing him. She drew her knees up so she lay in a ball, and the movement knocked something to the floor.

Her notebook. The one she’d been writing in the day he’d asked about her past. The one she’d been so protective of.

Dare studied the book for a long moment. Finally, he scooped it off the floor. He examined the plain cover, and curiosity urged him to open it. Maybe it was a diary, and he’d find in its pages whatever it was she was holding back. Because his gut told him there was mostly definitely still something.

His gaze flickered to her beautiful face, just feet away from him. He remembered the look she’d worn as she’d come down from the high of her orgasm. All filled with blissful satisfaction and worshipful adoration.

Sonofabitch.

After all the other ways he’d wronged her tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to flip the book open. He tossed it onto the table beside the bed.

Dare blew out a long breath, figuring he might as well get comfortable. He rested his head on his fisted hand and closed his eyes, but then he caught the faint scent of her arousal still clinging to his fingers. As if he needed the additional reminder of what he’d done.

“Jesus,” he bit out. He shoved up from the chair and crossed to the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he met his own disapproving gaze in the dark mirror. She was so drunk that she puked and passed out, *.

He threw the towel onto the counter and braced his hands on the edge, his head hanging down on his shoulders. How the hell was she supposed to trust him when he’d taken such advantage?

Dare didn’t know. He only hoped she could forgive him. And it would start by his promising it would never happen again.





CHAPTER 10


Haven awoke on a groan. Her stomach was sour and unsteady, and a dull ache pulsed behind her temples. Her mouth tasted like a wasteland, and opening her eyes revealed that the world was still a little spinny around her.

A hand stroked over her hair. “Take this, sweetie.”

“Cora?” Haven croaked.

“Yep.”

Haven forced herself to look at her friend sitting on the edge of the bed. “What time is it?” And how had she gotten in bed? She didn’t remember coming up there last night.

“Nine,” Cora said. “Not too late. Here.” She held out a fizzing glass of water toward Haven. “It’ll help your stomach and your head.”

On another groan, Haven pushed herself into a sitting position and accepted the glass. She took a sip and grimaced. “Tastes so bad.”

“I know,” Cora said. “But in fifteen minutes, you’ll thank me.”

Haven sucked the fizzing water down in a couple big gulps, just wanting to be done with it. When she lowered the glass, she noticed she still wore her clothes from last night. From the party.