Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Diesel slows the bike, the engine dropping from a roar to a purr as he navigates a narrow, winding turnout that leads to a scenic overlook. He’s been quiet today. Not his usual “I’ve got fifty thousand things to do” quiet, but something heavier. Something focused. He parked the SUV at the garage earlier and insisted we take the bike, his hands lingering on my waist a second too long when he helped me into my gear.
“We’re stopping?” I ask as the tires crunch over loose gravel. He kills the ignition, and my ears ring with the ghost of the engine’s rhythm.
“Best view in the state,” he says, swinging his leg over the bike with that effortless, predator-like grace that still makes my breath hitch. He reaches up, his gloved fingers fumbling with the strap of my helmet. He’s always been the one to take it off for me, a ritual of care that feels more intimate than half the things we’ve done in his bedroom.
He slides the helmet off, his eyes searching mine with a terrifying intensity. Diesel’s eyes aren't just dark; they’re deep, like a well you could fall into and never hit bottom. Right now, they’re reflecting the dying sun, making the amber flecks in his irises glow like embers.
“You’re staring, caveman,” I tease, trying to inject a bit of my usual sass to keep from vibrating right out of my boots. My heart is doing a frantic little tap-dance against my ribs, and I’m not entirely sure why. Kirk is gone. The threat is a memory. This should be easy.
“I’m assessing,” he counters, his voice dropping an octave. He reaches out, tucking a stray blonde lock behind my ear. His thumb lingers on my cheekbone, the leather of his glove cool against my heated skin.
“Assessing,” I repeat, leaning into his touch. “Is that the technical term for 'conducting a thorough visual inventory'?”
“Something like that.” He doesn't smile, but the corner of his eye crinkles. “I’m deciding if the sunset is actually better than the view right in front of me. So far, the sky is losing.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, but I think the desert might take offense.” I turn away, walking toward the edge of the overlook where the ground drops away into a canyon of fire and shadow. The sky is a riot now—magenta, tangerine, and a gold so bright it looks like liquid metal.
I feel Diesel move up behind me, his heat radiating through my jacket. He doesn't wrap his arms around me. He just stands there, a silent sentinel, watching the daylight fade with me. We stay like that for a long time, until the oranges turn to deep plums and the first stars begin to prick through the velvet.
“Sweetness,” he says softly. There’s a tremor in his voice. It’s the most frightening and beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
I turn around, and the breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, jagged rush. Diesel isn't standing anymore. He’s down on one knee, his massive frame silhouetted against the darkening horizon.
In his hand, nestled in a small velvet box that looks absurdly tiny against his calloused palm, is a ring. A princess-cut diamond, several carats of pure, trapped light, set in a band of white gold that looks like a circle of frozen starlight. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but I can barely look at it because I can’t stop looking at him.
“Diesel,” I whisper, my voice breaking. I reach out, my fingers hovering in the air between us as if I’m afraid he’ll vanish if I touch him. “What are you doing?”
“Something I should have done years ago,” he says, his gaze locked on mine. He’s not looking at the ring. He’s looking at me, and the raw, unadulterated devotion in his eyes is enough to bring me to my knees right along with him. “I’ve spent my whole life looking for a place where I fit. I thought it was the garage. I thought it was the club.”
He swallows hard, his jaw tight with the effort of getting the words out. Diesel doesn't do speeches. He does actions. But right now, he’s giving me everything.
“But then I brought you home,” he continues, his voice growing steadier. “And I realized that home isn't a house in Vegas or a clubhouse with a serpent on the wall. It’s you. It’s the way you turn my world upside down and inside out.”
My vision blurs, the desert landscape dissolving into a watercolor of emotion. I didn't think it was possible to feel this much and not shatter. It’s a physical expansion, a stretching of my soul to accommodate the sheer volume of what he’s offering.
“You’re my peace, Serenity,” he says, using my full name like it’s a prayer. “You’re the future I didn't think I was allowed to have. I’ve had this ring for weeks, carrying it around like a lucky charm, just waiting for the right moment to tell you that I don't want another day on this earth if you’re not in it.”