His shoulders slumped and he leaned back in the chair, his easy capitulation more disturbing than his injuries. “The minute I got outta there, I called Jagger. Told him what had happened. The Wolverines are planning to patch over to the Jacks. You know what that means.”
“They’ll destroy the Sinners.” She pulled the shirt over his head, biting her lip when she saw the extent of his injuries. Not an inch of his torso had been spared, his skin a mass of swelling and bruises, with a few surface knife slashes across his abdomen, below the fabulous tat of blue wings and twin pistons across his chest. And were those boot prints on his side?
Dawn steeled herself to calm. She couldn’t help him if she panicked. And she’d seen worse injuries when she’d been with the Wolverines. Hell, Jimmy had given her worse injuries, and she survived. “What did Jagger say?”
Cade stiffened when she reached for his belt. “He called a church meeting for eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not surprised.” Biker “church” meetings were usually held once a week in most MCs, or in extraordinary situations. Attendance of all full-patch brothers was mandatory. Anyone without a patch wasn’t allowed in the door.
Cade pushed himself to standing and unzipped his fly, but when he tried to push off his jeans he winced. Dawn gently moved his hands off his hips, giving him a moment to collect himself, before she said, “Let me.”
Licking her dry lips, she eased his jeans over his narrow hips, dropping to her knees in front of him to slide them over his powerful thighs and muscular calves.
Without taking his gaze off her, Cade stepped out of his jeans, seemingly unconcerned to be standing in her kitchen, wearing only black boxers and sporting a sizeable erection.
For the briefest, most inexplicable moment, Dawn wanted nothing more than to pull off his boxers and take him in her mouth. He’d never let her take him that way when they’d been together. She’d held him, marveling at the feel of silky smooth skin over hard steel, and teased the tip of his cock with her tongue, but when she tried to go further, he had pulled away, saying he had a better idea. And he always did.
“Dawn…” Cade’s voice cracked, even as his gaze burned into her, focused, intent.
She should get up. Kneeling in front of him like this was sending all the wrong messages. He was hurt. Badly. His injuries needed tending and he needed to rest. And she didn’t want this. Didn’t want to open this door again. Especially not now, with Jimmy on a tear. And yet she couldn’t pull herself away.
“You still haven’t told me why you came here,” she said.
Cade sifted his hand through her hair, his touch more soothing than erotic. “I needed to tell you something … Fucking bastard’s gonna make you choose between going back to him or losing your kids. And it’s all my fault.”
“Your fault?” Dawn looked up and frowned. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s because of me. I knew the risks, but I couldn’t help myself. Three hours a week just isn’t enough. I miss them so much I ache inside every minute of every day.” Her throat tightened and she looked away. “But thanks for coming to tell me.”
His hand stroked down her hair. “That wasn’t the only reason I came here.”
“Oh?” A sliver of anxiety wound its way through her heart but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“I wanted to see you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Castille is an award-winning author who writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense featuring blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them. Her books have appeared on the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists. Sign up for email updates here.