Page 7 of Cash’s Trouble

His attention moves toward Cash again. “I can see that.”

“Dad!”

“Just fucking keep it professional,” he tells Cash.

“I’m sitting right here,” I say. “You don’t need to issue instructions about me as though I’m evidence somebody logged into a property room.”

His expression softens, but only slightly. “I’m trying to keep you alive and safe.”

“I know. That doesn’t make me fifteen.”

“No. But you’re my only daughter, and you’re staying in a biker compound.”

My dad kisses my temple, tells Kane he’ll call as soon as the outside investigator finds something and heads for the door. Before leaving, he looks back at me. “Lilly, being protected by dangerous men doesn’t make them less dangerous.”

My gaze meets Cash’s. “I haven’t forgotten what they are.”

Something shifts in his face, but Dad is already walking away and he’s making it crystal clear to anyone listening that he doesn’t trust anyone in this compound.

After answering work emails and rescheduling two appointments, I decide to go to Cash’s room. He’s found every single reason to be nowhere near me today and it’s driving me crazy. His room is near the end of the corridor and the door stands open. Cash is pulling a clean shirt from the dresser when I step inside.

“You need something?” he says without looking at me, as if he’s been expecting me.

“I need you to stop acting like last night didn’t happen just because my father came through those gates.”

Cash closes the dresser drawer. “I remember what happened.”

“You’ve barely come near me.”

“Your dad spent the night proving his chief deputy ordered your kidnapping. He doesn’t need to watch me make a move over breakfast.”

“I wanted you before the parking lot, and you’re trying to make this a whole lot more complicated, Cash.”

His eyes darken. “Wanting doesn’t mean you know what you’re asking for.”

“I know you kissed me until I couldn’t think. I know we watched each other for months.”

He comes closer. “Watching the bad man across the street is easy. You get to wonder, then go home to a life where nobody carries a gun or answers to a club.”

“You don’t get to decide what kind of life I want.”

His gaze moves down my body. “You’re a good girl who wants to find out what happens when a man like me stops being careful. Tell me I’m wrong.”

The denial won’t come. I put my hands on his chest. “Maybe I’m tired of wondering and being that good girl.”

His hand closes behind my neck. “That’s better.”

Then he kisses me and there’s nothing restrained about it. Cash walks me backward until the door closes behind my shoulders, one hand buried in my hair while the other grips my hip and pulls me against him. His tongue takes mine in slow, deep strokes that become harder when I open for him.

I drag his shirt from his jeans, desperate for skin. Cash lifts his arms long enough for me to pull it over his head, and I finally see the body I’ve imagined beneath black cotton and leather. Tattoos spread across his broad chest and ribs, dark ink following the solid ridges of his stomach before disappearing beneath his waistband.

“You’ve stared at this long enough,” he says. “Touch it.”

I run both hands over him. His skin is hot, the muscle beneath it harder than it looked from across the street. When my fingers reach his belt, Cash catches one wrist and presses it beside my head.

“Still think I’m arrogant?”

“Yes.”