Without looking at him, she pushed past him and rushed out the open door.
They’d had sex with the door open.
They’d had unprotected sex.
They’d had sex.
What she’d been trying to avoid for weeks.
She fucked up.
He fucked up.
They both fucked up royally.
“Jem!” she heard him shout from inside the shed.
She ignored him and ran the short distance to the trailer.
When she burst through the front door, she realized, in her panic, she left Dyna behind.
It was okay.
It was okay.
Her father was with her.
Cage was with her.
She needed to get into the shower to scrub off what just happened.
Not Cage. Not his sweat. Not his scent. Not even his cum. No.
But she needed to purge everything else that had bubbled up.
The desire. The need. The want.
All of it.
Because it was all dangerous. It threatened her escape.
And she needed to stick to her plan. No matter what.
He wasn’t a random.
He wasn’t a casual partner.
He wasn’t someone steady.
She had no idea what would come from this.
Nothing could come from this, she reminded herself. She couldn’t get lost in what just happened. She couldn’t lose her way.
She couldn’t forget what this place, what this club reminded her of.
She also couldn’t forget herself. Her dreams. Her goals. Her career.
None of those things were in this shed, on this farm, in this town.
Or in his bed.
None.
Chapter Seventeen
Cage carried his daughter into the quiet trailer. His lips flattened into a hard line when he noticed Jemma’s bedroom door closed. A dampness, as well as the scent of her soap, hung in the air as he moved into the kitchen and put Dyna in her bouncer while he made her a bottle.
So, Jemma had run inside and showered, washing away everything from him on and in her. His touch, his sweat, his cum.
Now she was avoiding him.
Even though he needed a smoke badly—maybe even a few puffs off a joint—he fed Dyna, changed her diaper and put her down in the used crib he finally could afford last week. It took up a whole corner of his bedroom.
He needed to get serious about finding a permanent residence where he could set up her own room and have an extra room for a house mouse. Because after tonight, he was sure Jemma would find a quick way out the front door.
“’Night, monkey,” he whispered as he kissed his daughter’s forehead, fingers and toes. He stood staring down at Dyna until her eyelids became heavy. She fought falling asleep but, with a full belly, sleep won out.
Thank fuck.
He shucked his shorts and boxer briefs, threw them into a basket in the laundry room and headed into the bathroom, not caring he was completely naked.
He scrubbed off the sweat dried onto his skin, and regretfully washed away the result of Jemma’s orgasm from his dick and balls, toweled his hair dry as best he could and yanked on a clean pair of boxer briefs.
Fuck the jeans or shorts. She’d seen him naked anyhow.
He went back out to the kitchen, pulled a beer from the fridge and downed half the bottle while staring at her closed bedroom door.
Debating what he should do.
She might not realize it but this wasn’t over.
None of this was over.
Not even close.
He’d tolerated her dancing around him after what happened between them in the rain. He’d done his best to be patient.
But his patience was gone. He was done.
He wasn’t going to let her shut him out. Not after what just happened in the shed.
No fucking way.
He hadn’t been with another woman in over six fucking weeks. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the minute he laid eyes on Jemma he knew what—or who— he wanted.
So, he waited.
He closed his eyes as he replayed what just happened in his head.
It was so worth the goddamn wait.
Even though he screwed up, lost his head and fucked her without a wrap.
He didn’t need another fucking kid right now. Dyna was more than he could handle on his own. And, unlike his mother, he was determined to do it right. Adding another unplanned baby would make things more difficult.
Even if it was Jemma’s.
And he was pretty sure, he wouldn’t live to see that baby born, anyway. Judge would make sure of that. The enforcer wouldn’t shake Cage’s hand and congratulate him for knocking up the man’s sister.
Fuck no.
That previous blanket party would be like a toddler’s birthday celebration in comparison to what Judge, and maybe Deacon, would do to him.
If Jemma wanted to be with him, he’d need to approach those two first. It was only courtesy. Especially since she was club property.
She wasn’t some woman not connected to the club. She wasn’t a sweet butt. Hell, she wasn’t even an Amish chick.
She was the daughter of an Original. She was Judge’s goddamn blood.
While brotherhood was important in an MC, blood was, too.