“Do you ever listen to yourself?” she asked. “Besides, I don’t have a spare helmet.”
“There’s no law in Montana against riding without one.”
There was that eyeroll again. “I see how it is with you, Sheriff. You have two sets of rules.”
“Only for the people I love.”
He said it without thinking. Jazz was the woman he intended to marry, but love was something he’d always equated with Andy—and it had been an exhausting emotion.
Not so with Jazz. It had its challenges, yes. But loving her was like worshipping the sun. It was warm, and constant, and in never-ending supply. She made his heart light when he was with her. And when he wasn’t, he had no doubts about her feelings for him. She was as protective of him as she was of her family, who she loved, even if she didn’t like them.
But he’d definitely said it too soon. She was too much like Ryan, who’d had to test him by stealing a police car before fully committing to friendship. She didn’t understand what love was. She didn’t trust him—or anyone—enough to willingly hand them her heart. She’d even taken a clinical approach to their first sexual encounter, although any idiot could tell it wasn’t STDs she’d been afraid of.
So how did he make her see that not only did he love her, but she loved him, too?
How did he prove she could trust him?