Own the Wind (13 page)

He didn’t miss my reaction.

Then again, Shy never missed anything. Not when it had to do with me.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered.

He dropped his arms and took a step toward me.

I took a step back.

He stopped and his head tilted to the side. “You got a cramp?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Tabby, baby, what the fuck?”

“I can’t do this,” I announced, not knowing where those four words were coming from, just knowing they were coming from somewhere deep, and I meant each and every one like I had never meant anything else in my life.

His brows drew together. “You can’t do this?”

I shook my head.

“Do what?” he sought clarification.

I lifted my hand and waved it between him and me. “This.”

His eyes went to my hand, then moved to my face, and he asked, “This? You and me?”

You and me.

You and me.

There was never going to be a him and me.

My belly, twisted in knots, screwed up tighter and the pain was excruciating.

He stared at me, his eyes moving over my features, and I watched in horrified fascination through the pain as his face grew terrifyingly dark.

Then he whispered, “You have got to be fuckin’ shitting me.”

I didn’t know if I was shitting him. I didn’t know what the heck I was doing.

“Tell me, Tab, that you’re shittin’ me,” he demanded.

“Honestly, Shy, I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted.

“I do,” he ground out. “You’re standin’ there tellin’ me, years, fuckin’
years
ago you were into me, I fucked that up, you held a grudge, also for fuckin’ years, you lost everything, and only then did you let me back in. Now, you find I got a life without you in it, a woman, and you can’t deal. For fuckin’
months
I listened to you talk about him. I held you while you cried about him. Now you’re handin’ me this shit?”

He had a point about that too.

God! What was I doing?

“Shy—” I tried to instigate damage control.

I failed.

Spectacularly.

The damage was done, no way to control it.

“No,” he bit off. “You need to disappear to get your head straight, Tabby? You fuckin’ do it. That works for me. I don’t take rides I don’t like, and I just found out I was on a ride I didn’t know I was takin’, and I don’t like it. So you go into your head and get it straight, Tab, but you don’t come back to me until you got your head straight. No sooner, babe. I do not need that shit in my life. I am not gonna see you through that shit your way, tied to your strings. I’m cuttin’ myself loose. You come to me and you don’t got your shit sorted, you wanna get your head straight draggin’ me along with you, you can go fuck yourself.”

With that, he pulled his keys out of his jeans, twisted my key off the ring, and my heart twisted when he dropped it on the coffee table. Then he prowled to the door and slammed it behind him.

Woodenly, I walked to the door and locked it.

Just as woodenly, I walked to my couch and sat on the edge.

I heard his Harley pipes roar, and I stared at my wall unseeing, listening as they growled until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Only then did I collapse, my face in my hands as I burst into tears.

One month later…

Shy walked out of his apartment, locked the door, and headed to the stairs.

These days, he stayed there, seeing as Rosalie cleaned it and also seeing as, since he didn’t have Tabby’s cupboards to fill anymore, he hauled his ass out and bought groceries for his own damned house. He also stayed there because Rosalie was not the kind of woman you banged in a bed in a biker Compound while men were raising hell in the common room or tapping ass in rooms down the hall. She was the kind of woman you banged in an apartment that was two steps up from shithole that she kept clean.

He jogged down the stairs, moved into the sun, and saw Roscoe sitting astride his bike. His brother was there because they had some Chaos business to see to.

Shy tipped his chin up, Roscoe tipped his back, and Shy moved to his bike.

He threw a leg over and was starting the ignition when Roscoe spoke.

“Sucks, man.”

Shy turned his head to Roscoe. “What sucks?”

“Tab takin’ off to Cape Cod.”

That burn hit his chest encroaching dangerously close to his heart. A burn he hadn’t felt for four months. A burn that, over the last month, smoldered deep. Now it fanned to life and singed his lungs.

“Say again?” he asked and Roscoe’s eyebrows knitted.

“You didn’t know?” he asked back.

“No, I didn’t fuckin’ know,” Shy bit out. “Tabby’s goin’ to Cape Cod?”

“How can you not know? You two are tight. You’re not bangin’ Rosalie, you’re up in Tab’s space.”

“I didn’t know, Roscoe,” he clipped. “She’s goin’ to Cape Cod?”

Roscoe nodded. “Yeah, brother. Some doctor at work was up in her shit, she couldn’t take it anymore, so she quit her job. She’s packin’ up her shit, storin’ it up at Tack and Cherry’s, and headin’ out. Some traveling nurse’s program, six-month contract.”

Shy’s vision went hazy.

He could not believe this shit.

That bitch.

That fucking
bitch
.

She was leaving.

Leaving her family, leaving him, leaving people who had taken her back for a fucking year.

Leaving.

Leaving him.

“Not doin’ this,” he growled right before his bike roared to life.

“Doin’ what?” Roscoe shouted over the pipes and Shy looked to him.

“This. Our gig. You need someone at your back, call Tug or Snapper. I got shit to do.”

Before Roscoe could say anything, Shy backed out and roared out of the parking lot.

On his way to Tab’s, he did not make one single effort to calm his ass down. He’d need everything he had not to wring her pretty neck when he got there and lit into her.

Leaving.

Leaving him.

Fuck!

Ten minutes later, he pulled up outside her apartment, parked, switched off the bike, and scanned for rides he knew.

Tack’s bike wasn’t there, neither was his Expedition. Cherry’s Mustang wasn’t there. Tab’s girl Natalie’s ride wasn’t there either.

But Tabby’s electric blue ride that she took care of like it was her baby was gleaming in the sun.

The way clear, Shy swung off his bike, jogged to the steps, took them two at a time, and didn’t hesitate to pound his fist on her door the instant he hit it. He also didn’t stop pounding until he heard the locks turn and the door was thrown open.

“Jeez, Shy, what’s the deal?” Tabby snapped, staring up at him.

He hadn’t seen her in a month.

This meant that was the wrong greeting.

The
way
wrong greeting.

Making matters even worse, behind her everything but the furniture was boxed up.

Fighting back his need to explode, he prowled in and Tabby had to jump out of his way. Once in, he turned on her.

“Shut the door, Tabby,” he ordered.

“Shy, what—?”

“
Shut the fuckin’ door, Tabby!
” he roared and watched her face pale as she shut the door and turned to him.

“Okay, Shy, calm down. We’ll talk,” she said gently.

“You leavin’?” he asked.

“I…” she hesitated, licked her fucking lip and, Christ, that hit him straight in his dick like that
always
hit him straight in his dick. “Yes, Shy,” she admitted. “I was gonna call you next week. Talk to you. Tell you what’s—”

He cut her off, “You’re not leavin’.”

Her head jerked then she told him, “I am, Shy. I need space to get my head together. The contracts are signed—”

“You,” he interrupted her again, “Are. Not.
Leaving.
”

She shut her mouth and stared at him.

He kept talking.

“You gotta get your head together, you do it here where I can get to you, not somewhere where I gotta haul my ass on a plane to get to you. Are you comprehending me?”

“But, Shy—” she started.

She was not comprehending him.

“You’re not leaving,” he repeated.

“I have to, the—”

He leaned toward her and growled, “You are
not
leaving.”

Suddenly, she lost it, throwing her hands out to the sides, she asked, “Why?”

“This is why,” he clipped, stalked the three steps that separated them, snaked an arm around her waist, drove a hand into the back of her hair, and hauled her into his arms.

He slammed his mouth down on hers.

Then he thrust his tongue between her lips and there it was.

Christ, there it fucking was.

That taste he’d had on his tongue for fucking years.

Sweet, God, so fuckin’ sweet.

Beautiful.

He took more and she gave it, her body melting into his, her feet coming up on her toes, her arms circling his shoulders, holding on to him, one hand sliding up into his hair, holding his mouth to hers.

She kept giving it so he took even more and Jesus, the taste of her, the feel of her pressed close, the world melted away. It was more intoxicating than any liquor, a high better than any fucking drug.

Phenomenal.

Better than he would have guessed. Better than years of wondering how good it could be.

The best he ever had.

With just a fucking
kiss
.

He broke his mouth from hers but felt her short, excited pants against his lips when he said yet again, “You are not leaving.”

“Okay,” she breathed, and he closed his eyes, dropped his forehead to hers and sucked in a breath to gain control over the burn in his chest.

When he had it, he opened his eyes and looked down at her.

Her eyes were unfocused, hazy. She was pressed up against him, still holding him, hand in his hair.

He’d made the world melt away for her too.

That burn came back but it was different, and the change was fucking brilliant.

“You’re gettin’ your head together here,” he demanded.

“Okay,” she agreed on another breath.

Fuck, she was cute. Hot and cute.

It was time to talk to Rosalie.

“What are you doin’?” he asked.

“Not leaving,” she answered.

Good. It was penetrating.

“Then what’re you doin’?” Shy pushed.

“Getting my head together,” she answered.

“How long’s that gonna take?”

“Two hours.”

He felt his lips twitch.

Finally.

Fucking
finally
.

“You got two hours, sugar, then you come to me,” Shy demanded. “My apartment. I’ll text you the address.”

Her beautiful blue eyes held his and she whispered, “Okay.”

“Two hours, Tabby.”

“Two hours, Shy.”

Yes.

There it was.

Fucking finally
.

“Good, baby, now kiss me.”

Her eyes flashed in a way he also felt in his dick, then she rolled up to her toes, put her pretty, rosy mouth to his, and gave him what he’d been craving for four years.

That sweet, pink tongue of hers slid out, glided between his lips and touched the tip of his.

His tongue pushed it back into her mouth and he took over the kiss. It was a repeat of the first but longer, wetter, deeper, not better but a whole lot fucking hotter.

He broke his mouth from hers and ordered, “Two hours, babe.”

She panted against his mouth and nodded.

He let her go. She teetered. He prowled to the door, pulled it open, turned back to her and lifted a hand with his middle and index fingers extended to the ceiling.

Her cheeks were pink, her mouth swollen, her eyes dreamy, and it was a fucking good look.

She powered through the haze and nodded.

Shy grinned, turned, closed the door behind him, and he kept grinning as he jogged to his bike.

I stood outside Shy’s door trying not to hyperventilate and also trying to get my head together.

Two hours wasn’t enough time.

I knew one thing. My pit of denial could be denied no longer. Not after a month without Shy. Not after that kiss.

That kiss.

That fabulous, unbelievable,
amazing
kiss.

That wasn’t what I had to sort out in my head.

At least I’d been able to deal with the agency that was sending me to Cape Cod. I’d called and told them I had a family emergency that might mean I’d have to back out, which was a total lie, but after that kiss…

That kiss!

After that kiss I knew one thing for certain, I couldn’t take off and be that far away from Shy for six months or even for another day. I’d had a month without him in my life and I felt even more lost than I felt when Jason died.

I knew why this was. Unlike with Jason, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it and even I was denying to myself why our separation affected me so deeply. Both of these made it more difficult, so difficult I couldn’t deal without escape. Therefore, Cape Cod it was.

So after that kiss, no way I could be most of a continent away from him and stuck on a freaking island for six months.

But we still had things to sort out. Like Rosalie.

One thing I had managed to do in those two short hours was phone Big Petey. I tried to pull the wool, dance around the subject, but I was thinking that he saw through it when I tried to ascertain without coming right out and asking if Shy was still seeing Rosalie.

Pete gave me the bad news sounding like he was giving me bad news, this why I thought I didn’t pull the wool. The bad news, Pete told me, was Rosalie got dropped off at the Compound three days ago and they’d gone off together on Shy’s bike.

Before we moved on from that kiss, I had to know what was going on with Rosalie.

And last but oh so not least, we needed to have a discussion about him losing his mind when he got annoyed at me.

I’d had a lifetime of watching biker babes and the way they got on with their badass bikers. I knew this was a minefield, and I knew that Shy was not the only badass biker who went gonzo like he did that night we discussed why I’d disappeared for two weeks and like he had again two hours ago when he confronted me about leaving.