Page 37 of Ridin’ Dirty

I closed my eyes and immediately felt the pull of slumber.

Before I fell into a deep sleep, one thought drifted fleetingly through my mind.

I was somebody’s wife.

I felt his strong grip around the back of my neck, the heat of his body enveloping me as his lips locked with mine. The whiskers of his mustache tickled me as we kissed, and I leaned into him—wanting more. Before I was ready, he ended our exchange. I opened my mouth to protest, but…

I gasped, suddenly awake, somehow startled by the depth of my longing. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. I pushed myself upright, propping myself on my hands, and looked around the room. Dusk had fallen, and the last of sun’s light was dim and brooding, blanketing the bland space in a moodiness that felt oddly appropriate.

Remembering where I was and why, I glanced down at my hand only to find the ring was still there.

I hadn’t dreamt it.

I searched within myself for regret, but it wasn’t there.

I wasn’t afraid, either.

Slowly, I brought my feet to the ground, keeping my gaze focused on my adorned finger. As the weightiness of sleep melted away, my previous exhaustion a little less cumbersome, I tried to wrap my head around the last twenty-four hours. It felt hardly possible my life could undergo so much change so quickly, and yet there I was—a married woman.

Resting my hand in my lap, I glanced toward the hallway, listening for any movement. A part of me knew I should be freaking out, but I felt strangely calm. The man I married killed a Copper King with his bare hands then locked me in a room all night until he could figure out what to do with me. He could have chosen any fate, and yet he chose to put a ring on my finger.

He let me put one on his, too.

Not to mention…

That kiss.

For the first time all day, I felt compelled to think about our situation from his point of view. He didn’t plan on me walking out of the diner when I did, which meant he did have a plan, and it didn’t include marrying me. Not at first, anyway. We were both unprepared for matrimony, yet we still both said I do.

And that kiss.

The memory of our night together on my birthday was still very much alive in my mind. In spite of everything, it’s what kept my fear at bay. It made sense that a man who could make me come that many times—a man who gave as much as he took—he wouldn’t hurt me. While he hadn’t exactly been a prince, men like him never were.

There was plenty I didn’t know about Riley Wells, but I knew he was a Wild Stallion, and he made me his. Now that I was clearheaded, I knew that meant I was safe. So long as I had his ring on my finger, I was under the protection of the club. It was one thing to be considered Viv’s girl; it was another thing to be part of the Stallion clan.

I was legit.

After all these years, I wasn’t a club whore or a hang-around. I was a wife.

It didn’t make me his ol’ lady, but he could have buried me with that King instead of marrying me. That counted for something. Maybe it wasn’t completely far-fetched to imagine ol’ lady status could come in time.

Crazy though it might have been, I spent years chasing ol’ lady status. Now, I was as close as ever, after I’d been trying to convince myself to steer clear of the man, sure he would break my heart if I let him.

I pressed my eyelids closed tight and shook my head, trying to ground myself in reality. A quicky ceremony at the courthouse didn’t mean he had my heart—but he didn’t have nothing, either.

Bits and pieces of my birthday fluttered across my mind, reminding me how badly I wanted him only twenty-four hours ago. I knew his kiss at the courthouse didn’t exactly hold any promises, but it was a reminder of sorts. When I really thought about it, he somehow kept choosing me.

To be the woman in his bed.

To be the wife under his roof.

I shrugged away the thought, willing myself not to get lost in a fairytale. Pistol and I were going to be living together. No matter how much I wanted his body, things were about to get really complicated. But I could do hard things. I had been all my life.

I was Lyla Gibbs.

Er, Lyla Wells.

In any case, I was a fighter.