Kids have to learn about the harsh realities of life sometime, so I guess this is Izzy’s time. She’s such a sweet kid that even if she’s disappointed that I’m showing up empty-handed, she’ll never say it. I don’t feel good about disappointing her, but it’s too late to go back and get it. We’d miss the entire party if we did that.
I’ve barely scratched the surface of how awful I am when Diesel slows the bike and we pull off the road and into the Coffee Hut parking lot. He cuts off the bike, so I climb off, more than a little confused about why we’ve stopped for coffee even though we’re so late to the party that we’ll be lucky to make it in time for cake, and since I’m out of ice cream at home, I really, really want some cake.
But we don’t move to get coffee.
Diesel crooks a finger in my direction. It’s sexy and tempting as all hell, but the expression on his face is serious. I close the distance between us without even questioning it and don’t fight him when he places his hands on my hips and pulls me into him. He’s leaning on the bike, his tall frame bent so I have to look down to catch his eyes. His large hands keep a firm grip on my hips, his fingers kneading my pliant flesh beneath my clothes.
“Look at me.” His words are firm but not bossy, and his dark brown eyes are wide, thoughtful.
“I am looking at you.” My brows furrow in confusion as I search his face for a clue to what he’s talking about. But I can’t find anything. He’s so good at being here and doing shit like this without really giving anything away. I never know what it means—what he means—or if I should even trust him.
“No, babe. You’re looking through me. Your body’s here, and what a body it is.” He finishes on a whistle and gives me a playful smile. As quickly his smile appears, it’s gone, and his mouth forms a thin line. “But what I want is your head right now.”
Diesel’s sexy whether he’s smiling or brooding or just plain quiet, but I think this mood might be my favorite. I’ve never been one of those women whose belly does flips every time she’s around her man—not that I can really call him my man—at least not since I was in high school and I wised up to the fact that Sterling Grady was more to me than just my father’s best friend. My head doesn’t get foggy, and I don’t forget how to breathe. Not anymore. I’m twenty-eight freaking years old and way too mature for suddenly feeling like a teenager all over again.
“Don’t.” My voice is all breathy, and the word is barely a whisper on my tongue, but he hears it. My broad shoulders fall, and I give up trying to be tough enough to grow up Forsaken. In this moment, I’m just a woman who needs a little comfort from a man she really, really wants to trust. I slump my body into his, my hands landing softly on his shoulders and my forehead pressing against his. His thick, kinky, black hair is starting to grow in again, which means in the coming days he’s going to shave it down. I’ve never seen him with more than a quarter inch of hair.
“Don’t what?” He waits for an answer that I don’t yet feel like giving before he says, “Talk to me.”
My dad’s voice rings in my ears. Everything he’s ever said to me ricochets off my gut and pierces me right in the heart. All the lessons he taught me—when he was around—about strength and power and survival.
You’re strong, Little Bird—strong enough to scare grown men.
I didn’t raise you to be loser, Elysia. Cheyenne women are not weak.
You’ll always be my little girl.
“You know, Izzy’s room has three dollhouses in it. Three. She loves her dolls. My dad used to sit in her room with her and let her paint his nails and put makeup on him while he got sauced on a bottle of whiskey. If he drank enough, he’d grab a doll and start playing with her. Izzy loved it. She says she misses that time with him the most.”
“You’re missing Chief,” Diesel says in observation.
“Fuck that asshole.” I try to pull back, but his grip is too tight. I lift my head and look into his eyes—and I mean I really look into his eyes—and I tell him the awful way I really feel. “I never got that side of him. Izzy got the dad who, even though he was drunk, would play with her. I got the dad who tried to make me be just like him. I wanted a dollhouse once, and he told me it was a waste of my brain power to play with such silly things. I was meant for more than playing with dollies and having tea parties with imaginary friends. Izzy takes ballet classes. I spent my time learning how to fix up Harleys in the shop.”
“Glad you’re talking, sharing, trusting me. ’Bout time for it, too, but I gotta say it, babe. Your head is fucked right now.”
My eyes bug out, and now I’m not just looking at him. I’m sizing him up and deciding whether or not I can take him and, if I can, how I can get his too-honest-for-his-own-good ass into the dumpster behind the Coffee Hut without being noticed by anyone.
“You’re jealous of a nine-year-old,” he says slowly. I don’t miss the way the corner of his mouth quirks.
“So?” I’m being ridiculous, but I’m way too indignant to care.