“I can’t help it,” I mutter, accepting that we’ll never move on unless I bend a little. And I want to move on. On to The Manor, then on to my bed. We need to reconnect. Make friends properly. We need to close our bubble again, because in our bubble, there’s no interference. The horrible feeling in my chest is non-existent. We’re safe.

“Of course you can,” she exclaims.

She’s so wrong. Where Ava is concerned, I’m at the mercy of a power far stronger than any reason I could find if I had the energy or inclination to find it. Which I don’t. I’m ruled by desperation. Driven by fear. I don’t want to be. It just is, and she doesn’t help the matter by fighting me on just about every-fucking-thing. “No, with you, I can’t help it.” But I might be able to if she relents and constantly feeds this odd, unrelenting hunger. Speaking of which . . . “Come here.” I lead her over to my bike and she frowns at the bag as I open it.

“What’s this?” she asks, definite worry lacing her tone.

“You’ll need them.” I pull out the rather fetching pair of leather trousers and present them to her. Realization hits her like a brick. Literally.

She jumps back, shaking her head. “Jesse, I’m not getting on that thing.”

Wrong. She’s definitely getting on that thing, and I’m going to love every second of her pushed up close to my back. I drop to a knee and shake out the trousers. “On.”

“No.”

I look up, ready to wrestle her into them, but the genuine anxiousness blanketing her face stops me and has me rising, moving in close, feeling at her face.

“Listen to me, lady,” I whisper softly. “Do you honestly think I would let anything happen to you?”

“They scare me,” she murmurs, gazing at me, searching for the reassurance she wants. She’s found it. I’m right here.

Getting my face close to hers, I smile on the inside, feeling her lean into me. Wanting to get close. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

You shouldn’t.

I swallow and kick that thought away, planting a light kiss on her nose before crouching and removing her cute red pumps. Truth be told, I’m amazed at her answer. She trusts me. Even though my behavior with her is somewhat . . . intense.

Slowly covering her from head to toe in protective leathers, literally wrapping her in cotton wool, I ignore Jake’s irritating whine in my ear asking me why the hell I didn’t buy myself some while I was at the store. It didn’t cost me a thought. Never does. Reckless, I know, but I lost any sense of self-care long ago. But now?

I should definitely get some leathers.