Page 12 of Ruger's Rage
"I know." I lean against the bar, close enough to smell her perfume—something warm and sweet that makes me want to move closer. "But you shouldn't have to."
The air between us crackles with tension. I watch her throat work as she swallows, noticing how her breathing quickens.
"Let me get you boys another round," she offers. "On the house."
"You don't need to do that," I tell her.
"I want to."
The way she says it—firm, determined—tells me arguing will only be pointless.
Ellie was right to hire this one.
There's steel beneath that beautiful exterior.
I return to my table, but my focus keeps drifting back to her. The way her hips sway when she walks, how she bites her lip when concentrating on pouring.
When she bends to grab something from the lower shelf, giving me a perfect view of her ass, I have to shift in my seat to accommodate my growing… problem.
Ounce smirks, noticing what everyone else undoubtedly is. "Someone's got it bad."
"Shut the fuck up."
Maddox chimes in. "Been a while since you looked at a woman like that, Prez."
They're right.
Three years of leading the club, dealing with Striker's messes, and keeping everyone alive hasn't left much time for women.
None worth more than a quick fuck, anyway.
But Tildie… she seems different.
There's something about her—something beyond the obvious attraction.
Around closing time, the other patrons trickle out, leaving the place to us and the staff.
I find myself at the bar again, watching Tildie close down.
"Can I ask you something?" she says, not meeting my eyes.
"Shoot."
"Why did you really step in back there?"
I study her carefully. "Because assholes like that don't get to touch women who don't want to be touched."
"And that's it?"
"That's it," I lie smoothly.
She doesn't look convinced. "Most men in your... life... they usually want something in return."
The bitterness in her voice tells me she's speaking from experience. Someone's taught her not to trust.
"I'm not most men."
She lets out a sharp laugh. "Right."
