By the time we get back to Tanner Springs, it’s already late. Predictably, Thorn drives the whole way and doesn’t let me get behind the wheel. I give him shit about it, but truthfully I’m exhausted, and more than ready to let him take control.

Instead of driving to the clubhouse, he takes me straight to his house. “We’ll go to the clubhouse tomorrow, after we’ve both had some rest,” he says as he leads me up the driveway.

It’s dark, and the street he lives on is mostly deserted, though there are cars in the driveways and lights on in most of the houses. It’s funny, we’ve been more or less alone for so long that it’s sort of strange to be back in civilization again. I’m actually relieved that we’re not going into a rowdy clubhouse full of drinking, shouting, and screwing. I know from experience with my dad’s club what men like the Lords are like when they’re all together. I think I need a little more time to get ready for that.

This is the fourth place I’ve been holed up with Thorn since the night Oz’s men kidnapped me at the roadhouse. But it’s the first time I’ve ever been in a space that belongs to him. Sleepy as I am, I can’t help but look around for clues about the man I’ve just spent the last month with. The walls of his entry way and living room are painted a deep burgundy, with a large, overstuffed leather sofa to match in one corner. The furniture is all low to the ground and comfortable-looking. There are very few knickknacks, save for a few pictures on a credenza by the window. I resist the urge to go look at them; I hope I’ll have a chance later, when Thorn’s eyes aren’t on me.

“How are you doing?” Thorn asks, coming up from behind to wrap his arms around me. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” I admit, stifling a yawn.

“Too tired?”

I crane my neck to look back at him. One side of his mouth is curved into a devilish grin.

“Why, Thorn, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean!” I tease him, as heat begins to pool in my belly. “Are you suggesting perhaps doing a load of laundry? I sure could use some clean clothes…”

I never get a chance to finish the sentence as Thorn picks me up unceremoniously and tosses me over his shoulder. With a yelp, I pretend to beat on his back, kicking my legs as he carries me down his hallway.

“You have got to stop with this caveman thing!” I protest. Even though I don’t mean it. Not even a little bit.

Thorn makes love to me that night. It’s different from how it’s been every other time with him. Not less passionate. Not less raw. Maybe even more raw. But under the rawness, there’s a tenderness. A fullness, an intensity that comes from the fact that both of us could have died today, but we didn’t. And now we’re here, having been through that crucible together.

Together.

“I couldn’t have stood losing you back there, Sibéal,” he whispers against my ear when we’re lying back against the sheets, after an orgasm that shook both of us to the core at the same time. “You were a fucking marvel, you know that?”

“It was because of you, Thorn.” I shiver a little as his breath teases my skin. “I knew you’d never let anything happen to me. I knew you’d keep me safe. I knew we would get through it.”

He holds me against him so tightly I have a little trouble breathing, but it feels so good, so solid. I’ve never felt so whole and real before. I don’t know how he does that. For maybe the first time in my life, I feel anchored to something. I reach up and finger the little starfish necklace, and think of my mom. I wonder if she’d like Thorn.

I wonder if she’ll ever get a chance to meet him.

A lump forms in my throat, but I force it down, force myself to ignore it. Right now, all I want is to be here with him. I don’t want the past, or the future, to intrude. All I want is the present.

Because right now, the present is more wonderful than anything I ever could have imagined.

* * *

The next day dawns bright and sunny. The sky is that clear, crystalline blue that it sometimes gets in the winter, but amazingly the temperature is unseasonably warm.

When I open my eyes, Thorn’s already up and out of bed. Like the first morning at the safe house, I can smell bacon and coffee wafting toward me. A grin spreads across my face as I remember that day, and think about how much has changed since then.

I look around Thorn’s bedroom for the first time in the light. The walls are a slate gray, but the bed comforter and all the bedding is a stark, fluffy white. His cut is lying on a chair next to the dresser. My clothing is pooled on the floor.

I pull on my jeans and T-shirt and pad out into the kitchen. Thorn’s pouring a cup of coffee, whistling to himself.

“Weatherman says we’re in for a warm snap, next few days,” he rumbles. He hands me the cup, which I take gratefully. “I thought we could take the bike to the clubhouse.”

“Sounds good to me,” I nod. I take a sip of the coffee. It’s strong, but good.

“Gunner called a bit ago,” he continues. “Sounds like some of the old ladies got it into their heads to do a barbecue today, since it’ll be nice out.” He glances over at me with a sexy grin. “You up for that?”

I smile back at him. “You give me some of that bacon, I’ll do anything you say.”

“Anything, eh?” He wiggles his brows at me.

I snort. “Mr. O’Malley, you do not need to bribe me with bacon for that.”

After a late breakfast — and a rather long shower — we get dressed and ready to go to the clubhouse. I’m nervous, not because I’m afraid of the MC — after all, I’ve been around motorcycle clubs my whole life — but because for some reason, I feel like making a good impression on these men is almost a test. At least I’ve met a few of them by now, and I think Beast and Gunner, at least, don’t hate me. But I’m going to their territory now. Their turf. And if I know anything about MCs, it’s that each one has its own culture. And it’s up to me to adapt, not the other way around.

Thorn fires up his Harley and wheels it out of his garage, motioning for me to get on the back. I do so, and wrap my arms around his waist as I put my feet on the pegs. We take off, and I shiver a little at the cold air and press myself into his back. This is my first time in Tanner Springs, so I have plenty to look at as we ride through town. This is where Thorn lives. This is where his life is. It’s strange, imagining him here all these years. I was not even two hours away, living my own life. Telling myself the one thing I wanted was to get as far away from the Death Devils and my father as possible.

Yet here I am. In love with a member of a rival MC. Hoping against hope that today doesn’t mark the end of my time with Thorn.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight against the thought. For the dozenth time since we arrived here, I will myself to not have any expectations. To try as hard as I can to enjoy every minute with Thorn, for whatever it’s worth. With my eyes closed, it’s easier to feel the vibrations and motions of the bike. It’s funny: as a little girl, I was fascinated by motorcycles because of my father. Then as I got older, I hated them because of him. They’ve always been a symbol of raw, masculine power to me. But also of a world where I was practically invisible, excluded, and meant next to nothing. But here, on the bike with Thorn, I love the ride. The thrill of it. The exhilaration and feeling of freedom that you could never get by riding in a cage.

All too soon, Thorn pulls up at a large, flat-roofed warehouse-type structure. He pulls into the lot and parks his bike at the end of a long row of Harleys. Off to the side, there’s an area with picnic tables, a large grill, and some kids’ bikes strewn around. I hop off and wait for him to set it down on the kickstand.

“Ready?” he asks me as he stands.

As ready as I’ll ever be. “Yep.” I nod.

Thorn reaches out his hand, and I take it. My heart jumps practically into my throat, and I try not to jump to conclusions about what it means. We enter the clubhouse together. I have to remember to keep breathing in and out instead of holding my breath.

We’re barely inside the door when a loud chorus of shouts greets us. Within seconds, we’re surrounded by hard, tattooed men, all of them wearing the Lords of Carnage colors on their cuts. They take turns clapping Thorn on the back and giving him bear hugs. A few of them, the ones I recognize from yesterday, hang back and grin, nodding a silent hello at me. I wave back shyly and smile as I remember their names one by one: Angel, the club’s vice-president. Gunner, with his dark hair and flashing blue eyes. Beast, the giant of the group. Ghost, Hawk, Sarge.

Once my eyes adjust more to the light, I realize there aren’t only men here. A half-dozen women come up to us, turning to me with a smile. “Isabel!” one of them says. She has light brown eyes and beautiful, shoulder-length blond hair. “I’m Alix, Gunner’s old lady!”

“Alix! Oh my gosh, you’re the one who sent me up all the clothes and the Kindle!” I grab her hand and squeeze it impulsively.

“The very one!” she beams, and looks down at the shirt I’m wearing. I giggle, realizing it’s actually hers. “Looks like I did okay on sizes,” she winks, “Except you fill that shirt out a little better than I do!”

I laugh, and shake my head. “You have no idea how much I appreciated everything you sent me,” I gush. “Especially the Kindle. I think you might have saved my sanity.”

“I’m so glad!” she grins. “All I knew was, when Gunner told me Thorn was guarding someone at the safe house, I tried to imagine what the hell you were going to do all alone up there for days on end.”

“Looks like she found something to do,” the woman beside her smirks, nodding toward Thorn. She’s got gorgeous deep red hair and hazel eyes. “Or someone to do, that is.”

Before I can try to answer, Alix rolls her eyes. “This nosey one is Sydney,” she says, nodding toward the redhead. “She’s with Brick, the one over there.” I look in the direction she’s pointing, and recognize the large, heavily-tattooed man with black hair cut in a military style who was with us at the cabin at the end.

“Damn…” I murmur. The women all start laughing.

“Damn is right,” Sydney winks. “I’d be telling you to back off right now, but given the way you and Thorn came in together, I don’t think I need to worry.”

“No kidding,” agrees a third woman with long, dark brown hair. “I’m Samantha,” she smiles. “I’m with Hawk.”

“I’m Jenna, Ghost’s wife,” says a petite blonde. “And this is Jewel. She’s the bartender here.”

“Hi!” A tall, statuesque beauty with dark blond hair gives me a little wave.

“Hi,” I say. I’m starting to get a little overwhelmed with names.

“So,” the woman named Sydney says. “About Thorn!”

“Um…” I say, blushing. “I, uh…”

“Nope,” Jenna shakes her head wryly. “Um, uh is not gonna be good enough. We’re gonna need details. You just spent the better part of the month alone with that man. And it doesn’t take a psychic to see that you spent your time doing more than playing checkers.”

“I…” I stammer. “I mean…”

“Oh, boy. Jewel, this girl’s gonna need some liquid courage,” Jenna laughs, reaching over to loop her arm through mine. “Come on, Isabel. That big round table over there’s where us old ladies do our talking. We’ll get you loosened up. But I’ll warn you right now, you won’t be leaving your chair until we get you to spill. Even if we have to tie you up to do it.”

Her words are so unintentionally perfect that I start laughing. “Ladies,” I snort, “challenge accepted.”