Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) by Anne Malcom Read Free Book Online Page A

face so blank and harsh, devoid of the humor that I’d come to understand was his nature, was more than a little unnerving. The fury of earlier today was downright eerie, and more than a little hot. But this, the way his body turned to granite at my little speech, it was something else. Like he was physically feeling the meaning behind my words.
    The reaction was confusing. Impossible. We barely knew each other. He couldn’t look at me like he knew every secret I clutched to my chest.
    His eyes held me captive, paralyzing me even though all I wanted to do was leave this room, escape his shrewd gaze and the electricity between us. Escape my own feelings for him. I wanted to run and find a fix to take it all away. But his draw was even more hypnotizing than the needle.
    “Yeah, you do need protectin’, firefly,” he said quietly. His gaze flickered on my body. “The ones with the hardest exteriors always got the sweetest softness on the inside.” He stepped forward, not enough to get our bodies close but so I could smell him, feel his presence envelop me. “I’m gonna find it. Taste it. And own it.”
    I swallowed the stupid fucking butterflies crawling from my belly to my throat at his words. “Who speaks like that?” I snapped. “Seriously? Give me a list of people who thinks that’s acceptable conversation to share with someone you’ve only met a few times.”
    His brow quirked. “Babe, I’ve seen you naked. I think it’s more than an appropriate way to talk.”
    I pursed my lips at the stark reminder of reality. Reality was sorely needed in this little conversation. “ Everyone’s seen me naked. Everyone who pays the cover and frequents nasty strip clubs. They got deep pockets they can see me real close ,” I said, my voice a taunt. I was doing it to remind him of what I was, to make him realize that I wasn’t whatever warped image of me he had in his mind.
    The teasing glint left Lucky’s eyes. His emotional transitions were giving me whiplash. “That shit’s stopping.”
    I folded my arms and restrained the wince that came with this movement. “What are you talking about?”
    “You takin’ your clothes off for lowlifes in this fuckin’ dive. The place owned by a bad motherfucker who tried to pimp you out. You’re quittin’.”
    A red film covered my eyes and I went deathly calm. “I thought we’d already ridden this merry-go-round. If I remember correctly, I pushed you the fuck off, considering you have no power over me,” I hissed. “So at what point in this conversation did you descend into your little fantasy world? Or did you always reside somewhere that isn’t the here and now?” I paused. “That makes a lot of sense.”
    Lucky’s eyes darkened. “Jesus, Becky, you can hardly fuckin’ move. That hot little body is covered in evidence of just how bad that shit is for you. At how far away it is from where you should be. What you deserve. You ain’t goin’ back there.”
    I found my feet and stormed past him, taking a wide berth so he didn’t get any ideas. I opened the door and leaned against it while staring back at him. “You’re wrong. This”—I gestured to my face—“is exactly what I deserve.” I ignored the way he visibly flinched at my tone. “Now this is the part of the conversation when you run along back to your biker buddies. Find a whore to boss around, rebuild your Harley, write the next great American novel. I don’t give a shit. The main part is you getting the fuck out of my apartment and forgetting whatever has you thinking I’m some possession you can do with as you like and order around. That is not me. I’m never going to be that girl.” My voice was ice.
    Lucky stood in the center of my room, digesting my words. As he did so, I took a mental snapshot of him standing there, in the middle of my chaotic, messy life. The beautiful tattooed biker who was a contradiction. Funny as hell, carefree and kind, but ruthless and violent at the drop of a hat.