She’d been a little shocked that Steele had been so gentle with her. That had continued for the rest of the evening and night.
They’d made a few stops to stretch their legs and eat the food Alena had prepared for them. Lana rode with them, but Alena was home, helping to watch over Blythe and Anya and the children with the skeleton crew left behind. They’d left right at three A.M. and were now in New Mexico approaching Santa Fe. It was one in the morning and they’d been riding hard nearly twenty-four hours.
The club members were machines. No one looked or acted tired. It was as if once they’d started on their chosen mission, they were different individuals. They looked as dangerous as they felt. When they stopped at a rest stop, no one came near them. Steele stayed close to her, walking her to the women’s room and waiting until she came out. He had a hand on her at all times. Holding her hand. Slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked. Placing his palm in the middle of her back. When they ate, his thigh was tight against hers. She found it comforting—and she needed comfort.
She had done her best to keep Zane out of her mind because if she didn’t, she might go crazy. Now, as they got closer to the apartment where Bridges and Junk had found her, she began shaking. Immediately, Steele dropped his gloved hand to cover hers. She tried to keep her teeth from chattering as the motorcycles slowed and turned up a street three blocks above her apartment building.
The night before, Steele, Maestro and Keys had eaten dinner, proclaiming her ability in the kitchen rivaled Alena’s, which she knew it didn’t. She could make decent meals, but she didn’t have the knowledge Alena did. It was nice that they’d acknowledged she’d cooked for them. When she’d been with the Swords, she often cooked meals for quite a few of the men and no one, not once, had said thanks to her.
Steele had taken her to bed and he’d been so sweet and gentle, worshiping every inch of her body, making her feel loved. That was what he was so good at. He made her feel loved. His entire focus was on her no matter what they were doing and when he moved in her, staring into her eyes, his fingers threaded through hers, it was almost magical. He stole her heart every time.
She knew, more than any other reason, it was the way Steele touched her, the way his hands moved over her and the look on his face when he stared down into her eyes that kept her tied to him. He couldn’t hide that. She didn’t have to wonder if he cared. When he was with her, she knew. It was always there in the things he did. Even when he ordered her around, she knew he was looking out for her, and that control made her feel safe when she’d never felt that way.
She hadn’t wanted to think too much about his declaration that she would wear his colors. Somehow, she’d let the way she felt about Steele, the explosive chemistry between them, make her forget about the fact that he was a member of a motorcycle club and she would have to accept that. She lay beside him afterward, while he looked at the pictures in the camera, showing her the occasional one.
In each photograph he shared, her face showed every bit of her love for him. The intensity. It was caught on camera. She could see it etched into her skin. The feeling, so stark and raw, was in her eyes. She found it interesting that most of the photographs focused mainly on her face, not on what they were doing. It was those pictures, the ones he didn’t delete, that gave her the best insight into him. He needed to know she wanted to be with him. He needed to know someone loved him. He didn’t believe himself worthy of love, so he had a difficult time believing she really wanted to be with him.
That was a shock and she’d laid next to him watching the expressions on his face as he held the camera up and looked at the viewer. Steele always appeared to have absolute confidence. He was the man people turned to in a crisis, and he came through. He was calm and never faltered. Looking at him, feeling his