Risky and Wild(76)

“A law degree,” I say because holy hell, I thought deputy mayor was bad enough. The boys—especially Dober and the old-timers—are gonna love this. A lawyer-mayor. Brilliant.

“Lawyers …” Lyric sits up a little, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “They can change the world, too. Become judges. Maybe even make more changes than someone in politics.” A long pause as I realize this is her very slight idea of compromise.

This is her warming to the idea.

This is her not telling me no.

This is Lyric almost telling me yes.

A lawyer-judge is almost as bad as a lawyer-mayor, but … fuck it. Club business is club business, right? And she won't be a part of that. Hell, maybe this could even work. She could keep the waters clear for us, keep an eye and an ear out for trouble.

I suck in a sharp breath. In the back of my mind, I know I'm losing the plot. This is never going to work. But then again, I'm a stubborn twat and an asshole. If I have to, I'll die trying.

“You must be the first lawyer I've ever liked,” I say with a grin, sliding my arms under Lyric and turning so that she's sitting on my chest. When she scoots back and undoes my jeans again, I relax into it, let her trace my tattoos with her fingers, wait until I'm hard and she's ready and we're sliding together again.

We don't stop fucking until the sun comes up.





Breakfast is burnt garlic bread, chicken fettuccine alfredo and coffee. The dogs sit at my feet on the bearskin rug that Royal and I spent all night screwing on, gazing happily at my food as I toss bits of noodle their way.

The mood is decidedly … weird.

I have no idea what really happened last night. The weirdness was so goddamn thick that I felt like I was wading through it. I came over here to talk things through with Royal, ended up getting proposed to, spent ten hours screwing, sort-of-kind-of said yes, and then decided on abandoning politics and becoming a lawyer?

I've lost my damn mind.

That's all there is to it. Period. I, Lyric Lenore Rentz, am insane.

I check my phone surreptitiously and find a text from my father. He never texts me, so I know this must be bad.

Sully is coming home tomorrow. We're having family dinner to celebrate. Please arrive no later than six.

My mouth twitches and I turn the screen off.

“Pint-Size,” Royal begins as I glance over at him, a full foot away from me on the couch. I think we're both a little confused as to what went on last night. “You okay?”

“Dinner at my parents tomorrow,” I say and then I get the absolutely psycho idea of taking Royal with me. Why not? I'm an adult, can do whatever I want. But is seeing my mother die of fright something I really want? I sigh. “It's supposedly a celebratory dinner for Sully's homecoming, but I think it's going to be tantamount to a waterboarding session for me.” I twist some noodles around my fork and force myself to look over at Royal. It shouldn't be so hard to look at a guy I spent all night making love to, but as soon as our eyes meet, my throat gets tight. My palms start to sweat. Fireflies electrify my belly, like butterflies but worse.

“About last night,” I start at the same time Royal says, “Pint-Size …”

We both pause and I suck in a deep breath, determined to speak before he does, before I let myself scoot over and run my fingers up the fresh stubble on his face or start fantasizing about his big hands cupping my breasts or holding me up over that motorcycle.

I choke and then cough into my hand.

“About last night, why don't we just forget everything that happened?” Royal raises a brow at me as I bend down and let the dogs have the rest of the food on my plate. When I sit up, I check to make sure the blanket I grabbed off the back of the couch is still tucked carefully around me. Bare skin and Royal do not mix together into any sort of logical consistency for me. “I mean, we both said certain things—”

“Are you telling me no again?” he asks as he scratches at the back of his mussy hair and I shift my body, the rustling sound of leather making me blush. I slept in his vest, his cut, the one with all the fancy patches and the word President on it. I think it's kind of sacred or something. My blush gets darker. “Because what I inferred from last night …”

“Was that … I didn't say no,” I tell him and there's the truth of the matter. I didn't say no. Because maybe I want a life beyond his club, but after spending only two short weeks with this guy, I don't seem to want a life beyond him.

I glance down at the ring he gave me, a gorgeous antique piece that's got to be at least a hundred years old. It's big and gold and red and gaudy and I love it. I just don't want to wear it yet. Or at least if I do, I want it to be a looooong engagement. Like, years long. How's the club going to like that?