That was too fucking close for comfort. I was that close to ripping the clothes off this woman. If we kept that up any longer, I’d have Sabrina drop to her knees in front of me so her smart little mouth can glide up and down my shaft. Groaning at at the visual in my head, I get a grip. This shit takes a lot of effort because I’m not used to walking away. It’s my clubhouse. Usually, I just take what I want. It’s my right. And she’s here in my space. But fuck, I know I shouldn’t.

I can’t remember being attracted to any woman like I am with this stunning, high society stranger. My cock throbs, jerking against my fly as I fight yet another urge to go right back to her. I’ve done enough.

The wall and doors in here don’t cover up much noise, so I keep my hearing trained on the sounds coming from the other side of her door while the rest of me agonizes over the thousands of things I want to do to her trim, toned body. I hear the soft-skin rasp of her dress going down her legs and the fabric pooling at her feet. When she holds out my sweatpants and shakes them before putting them on, I shift my weight, already hard from the idea of her wearing my clothes, our scents mingling together—

“Silas?” her small voice calls out through the door.

My throat is so dry when I swallow, it makes an audible gulp.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the clothes.”

My tension deflates against the hallway, although my boner still hurts like a son of a bitch. I’m almost sorry for the missed opportunity. “You’re screwed in the head, motherfucker.”

“What was that?” Sabrina calls out.

“Uh, nothing. Don’t worry about the clothes.”

Silence.

“You okay in there?”

More silence.

Okay, I need to ease off. She’s probably checking her makeup or something. No biggie. But I want to rip the door off its hinges and charge through the room to catch a glimpse of her face. And other parts. I bang the back of my head against the wall a few times. The pain doesn’t dilute the need that’s running hot through my veins like fire. There’s something about her. That mouth.

“Sabrina?” I pivot around, banging on the door with a fist.

“I'm all right, Silas.”

“What are you doing in there, duchess? Writing me a thank-you card?”

There’s a sarcastic huffing noise from the other side of the door. I grin, crossing my arms over my chest. Still fidgety, I riffle through my pockets and wait. Then I pop a mint into my mouth and snag a cigarette from my pack. That’s nervous energy. It kind of cancels out the mint, but the more I can do with my mouth, the better. Better to keep my thoughts on anything other than what I can do with my lips after I rip my sweatpants off her sweet, round ass and go south of the border. I vaguely wonder what she tastes like and gulp, closing my eyes to suppress the thought.

It’s a bad idea.

A vision of her naked body sprawled out on the flannel sheets of my king-size bed nearly brings me to my knees, and my inner soldier stands at attention with a ‘let’s do this’. I bet her nipples would be just as perky and pink, dainty…fucking hot.

Dammit.

This shit is fucking hopeless.

“Silas, do you make a habit of rescuing women? Is this like a stray puppy kind of thing, or am I your first unwilling captive at the clubhouse?”

I jerk away from the wall at the sound of her voice, as though I’ve been caught doing something nasty. Brushing at my face, I yelp in surprise when I realize I forgot all about the cigarette jammed between my lips. The damn thing sends sparks and ash raining down all over my boots and the wooden hallway floor.

“Smooth, real smooth, idiot,” I mumble to myself. The smoke is still between my lips as I stamp out any possible embers that can lead to a hell of a lot more damage, never mind the embarrassment.

“Sorry, what?” she asks.

I get myself together again, taking one last, long drag of smoke into my lungs so I can focus.

“Give me a sec,” I breathe out with the smoke, stepping down the hall to discard of the cigarette butt before returning to her door. “I don’t make a habit of it, sugar…or of talking to chicks through closed doors.”

Pleasing the hell out of their bodies is a different story.

I keep that bit to myself, savoring the mixture of mint and nicotine on my tongue.

“Well,” she says, popping her freshly scrubbed face out of the now half-open door with a mischievous grin. “Maybe you weren’t raised by wolves after all.”

Wolves, no.

Badass outlaws and rulebreakers, yes.

Cindy included.

It’s true. Cindy’s fierce. Ruthless when she wants to be. And her rage has no limits. She still demands respect now, even though she’s the old lady of a dead President. Sometimes I have to remind her of that, to put her in her place.

The creek of the door draws my attention. Sabrina looks completely different without makeup. Younger. Happier. Still sexy as hell. I must have something to do with those vibes she’s putting out there for me to pick up.

“You good?”

I take a deep breath, which is the wrong thing to do because I catch a whiff of our scents mixed together on my clothes. Woodsy floral and musk. A clear image of her naked figure in my bed. Or her ass bent over the side as I pound into her from behind, both of my hands grasping her perky, perfect breasts. The giggle she’ll make when I slap her ass.

Sabrina. Hot. Wet. Calling my name.

She probably shouldn’t have opened the door. My first instinct is to push her back into the bedroom and tie her down on the bed. I take two huge steps forward and we’re inches apart before it registers that I’m the one approaching her. She looks up at me with a questioning look on her face, eyes wide, and her lovely lips slightly part until she takes a step back again.

“What is…this…” she stutters.

I don’t have a chance to answer her, or do anything else for that matter.

A loud rumble bursts through the clubhouse, making the whole foundation quake and undulate beneath our feet.

What the fuck?

An explosion?

We’re both jolted forward. Following my instincts, I drag her down to the carpet, covering her small body with mine as a shield. Sharp staccato bursts of shattering glass coming from somewhere on the compound make my ears ring. Shrill screams come from downstairs.

“Oh God…” she cries out beneath me. “This can’t be happening already.”