Page 35 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

By the time coherent thought returns, I’m slumped against him. Zero regrets. Gage is unbearably pleased with himself, which means I immediately point at him. “Don’t.”

His grin gets worse. “I haven’t said anything.”

“Your face is giving an egotistical TED Talk.”

“And what does this say?” His brows dance as he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean.

Flashing him a knowing grin, I grind against his hardness. But Gage grips my hips, his deeply hooded eyes darkening, and he shakes his head. “Not tonight, Jules.”

“Right.” I blow out a flustered breath and reluctantly climb off his lap, settling back into the passenger seat while I reposition my bra, button my shirt, and straighten my skirt. “So, I’m practically naked. And I never get to see you.” I chuck his shirt at him.

He pulls it over his head. “I’m sorry. It’s⁠—”

“Complicated,” I finish. I tug the last button into place, then turn toward him fully. “What do you want from me, Gage?”

Something much harder to read crosses his features. He gives the fog his attention before dragging a palm down his face. “I want you, Princess. Don’t have a doubt in the world about that.” He reaches over, thumb drifting slowly over my knee. “I just don’t particularly like being touched when I’m not the one initiating it.”

That takes some of the heat out of me. “Okay.” I wait.

“There were a few incidents.” A muscle ticks beneath his beard. “Book events mostly. I used to do these shirtless baking demonstrations.”

I blink. “Of course you did.”

That gets the smallest twitch from his mouth. “They were good for engagement until people stopped remembering there was an actual person attached to the abs and tattoos. There was a private VIP event once. Too much champagne, not enough security, and apparently, paying extra convinced a few women they’d purchased access to my body, too.” His grip closes around the steering wheel until the leather creaks.

My smile disappears. “Gage. God, I’m sorry,” I say softly. “You don’t have to talk abo⁠—”

“I want to,” he insists, throat working. “They grabbed me. I told them to stop. They thought that was funny.” He sighs, his body settling again. “So I don’t do those events anymore.”

White-hot rage rears up in me. “They fucking groped you.”

“Among other things.” He stares at the fog, half-lost to the memories.

Fire and ice prickle beneath my skin. “Can I get their names and addresses?”

He chuffs a laugh and reaches across the console to squeeze my knee. “No. I don’t need you to start planning any felonies on my behalf.”

“Too late.”

“I’m fine, Jules.” His thumb sweeps over my kneecap. “I don’t need you to fix it. You asked why I keep stopping you, and that’s the reason.”

I twist sideways in the seat, pulling one leg up under me so I’m facing him fully, and nod. Want curls low and unhelpful in my stomach. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Then, because he deserves better: “I mean, okay, I get it. Can I hug you?”

I love his half smirk. “You can hug me anytime you want, Princess. Permission not needed.”

“Or pounce on you from behind when you’re sipping coffee and accidentally ruining your favorite cat tie?” I wince at him over a three-day-old incident.

He smiles. “You made it up to me.”

“By letting you pull me onto your lap and make out for twenty minutes?”

“Extremely effective restitution.”

“We stayed fully clothed.”