Page 60 of Ruger's Rage
"And?"
"She told me she'd think about it." I smile ruefully. "Which is Aunt Ellie’s language for 'I'll do what I want regardless of what you think is best.'"
That draws a small laugh from her. "She is stubborn."
"Runs in the family apparently."
Her expression softens. "I have a job, Ruger. A life. I can't just move in here indefinitely."
"Not indefinitely. Just until we deal with the immediate threats." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "And you can still work. We'll have brothers escort you to and from the bar. Extra security on site."
"That's... a lot of resources to protect one bartender."
"You're not just a bartender." The words come out more forcefully than intended. "You're my woman."
Her eyes widen at my words, but she doesn't flinch away. "I don't belong to anyone."
"That's not what I meant." I struggle to find the right words. "You're important to me, Tildie. More than I expected. More than makes sense after such a short time."
"I know." Her voice drops to almost a whisper. "You're important to me too. That's what scares me."
I step closer, resting my forehead against hers. "So let me keep you safe. Just for now."
She's quiet so long I think she'll refuse. Finally, she nods. "Two conditions."
"Name them."
"I keep working my normal shifts. No hiding away completely."
"Done. With security, prospects watching over you."
"And..." She hesitates, her next words surprising me. "I want to know everything. No shielding me from what's happening. If I'm in danger, I want to know exactly why and how bad it is."
It's the opposite of what most women would ask.
Most would want reassurance, protection from the cruelties of the world. Not Tildie. She wants truth, even when it's ugly.
"Full disclosure," I agree. "No secrets."
She searches my eyes for any sign of deception, then nods once. "Okay. I'll stay."
Relief washes through me, so powerful I have to resist the urge to crush her against my chest.
Instead, I cup her face in my hands. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You might regret having me in your space."
I brush my lips against hers. "Never."
She returns the kiss, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. When we part, she looks around the room properly for the first time. "So, this is where the club president lives. Less intimidating than I expected."
"What were you imagining? Thrones made of enemy skulls?"
Her laugh rings genuine. "Maybe a few more leather accents. A wall of weapons."
"The armory's in another building entirely."
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile she's trying to hide. "Of course it is."
