Marked as His (11 page)

Seeing the big brawny biker in black leather tearing up, begging with his heart in his eyes, touched her deeply. She pulled her hand free of Paxton’s and reached across the table to touch the back of her father’s hand.

He made a noise in his chest and moved like a coiled snake. He snapped her into his arms and stood with her, holding her dangling off the floor. She tucked her face against his shoulder and smelled the daddy she knew. Leather and smoke and that hard touch she remembered well.

“Oh honey. Forgive me.”

Could she? She already had, the moment he’d told her he’d been in the auditoriums when she’d accepted her diplomas. She wrapped her arms around him and burrowed closer.

Several healing heartbeats passed. Then he slowly lowered her to the floor. She sank to the chair again and met Paxton’s smiling eyes. She returned her hand to his care.

Tommy sat and gave her a smile that parted most of the clouds darkening her soul. “So we’re good.”

She smiled back. “We’re good.”

“I understand if you don’t want this in your life.” He waved at the surroundings of the place she’d blamed all these years. In the end, he’d done what was best to protect both family and club. In giving her up, her mother had life and the club hadn’t been drained or compromised at all.

Her dad tapped the back of Paxton’s hand that held Santana’s. “Looks like you might want the club though. Am I right?”

•●•

As Paxton waited for Santana’s response, he couldn’t deny the excited trip of his heart. Yeah, he’d only known her for a day, but they’d forged some strange connection. While inking the bridge, he’d been thinking more of her taking those few steps toward him. He wasn’t ready to let go of this feeling she’d raised in him. He wanted more time.

“I think I’d like to stay for the day, if that’s okay,” she said. Another Zeppelin song lit up the jukebox and she flicked her gaze to it.

Paxton’s mouth curved up. “It’s right.” He infused the words with assurance. No matter what, she’d be okay. He’d make certain of it.

“Good. We’ll have a big celebration to welcome my daughter back into the club.” Tommy rapped his knuckles on the table.

She laughed, the throaty noise rousing Paxton’s lust. “Another night of partying?”

“Hell, last night wasn’t a party. It was just a Thursday night.” He centered Paxton in his stare. “Now about this blood patch. Did you truly earn it?”

Paxton and Santana shared a look. Paxton removed his hand from her grasp and pointed at the tiny red speck where she’d stabbed him in the wrist. “Blood lost. I earned it.”

“That’s all? One tiny pinprick? That might be a pimple for all I know.”

Santana was glowing as if a candlewick were inside her, sputtered to life. “I put him through a few trials, Dad. He earned it.”

“He’d damn well better watch himself around my little girl. Why don’t we go out to lunch? Cathy’s in the kitchen today and I don’t like her cooking.” He leaned close to say this, a sparkle in his eyes. He was happier than Paxton had ever seen him.

It all seemed so easy—the air cleared with a short conversation. But Tommy had waited until the right time in Santana’s life. Would she have been so accepting at thirteen, nineteen, twenty years old? Judging by the stubbornness he saw in the woman, Paxton guessed not.

Of course, she’d only promised to stay for the day. And she could still back out, but Paxton wasn’t about to let things end so quickly. Besides, he knew where she lived.

“Lunch sounds great. I know a little place a few blocks over.” She brushed her hair behind her shoulder, and Paxton longed to thread his fingers into it and draw it aside so he could kiss the skin beneath.

Tommy stood. “Do you still like grilled cheese?”

She smiled. “I do, but I haven’t had one in ages.”

“Maybe sometime I’ll shove Cathy out of the kitchen and make you one.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the club. When faced with her father’s bike or Paxton’s, though, she chose Paxton’s.

He reveled in the feel of her arms around his waist.

•●•

As Santana wrapped her thighs around Paxton’s strong hips and inched close enough that her pussy touched his ass, she wished they didn’t have layers of denim between them.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Can you get closer, love?”

She plastered herself to him. “Close enough?”

“Not remotely. After lunch…my place?”

A long second passed while she contemplated his question. Did she want to cross that bridge? In the past couple days, she’d been faced with a lot of choices.

Was she willing to belong to Paxton for another night?

She brushed her lips over his neck. “I’d like to see how you live.”

He clamped a hand on her leg, close to her throbbing pussy. “I’ve got handcuffs too. You’d better be afraid.”

“Why should I be? You weren’t.”

His chuckle was drowned in the noise of the engine, and then they zoomed off down the block. Taking the corners with her arms around his waist and the engine’s vibration heightening her need, she threw her head back and laughed.

Em Petrova lives in Backwoods, Pennsylvania, where she raises four kids and a Labradoodle named Daisy Hasselhoff. Her heroes are hardworking heroes—in bed and out—and she is known for panty-scorching erotic romance.

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