Arthur Shelby’s gaze lifted the moment you stepped into the Shelby mansion, your black leather tote slung over your shoulder.

He sat at the kitchen table with his brothers, cigarette dangling between his fingers, but the second he saw you, his rough exterior softened—just a fraction. His eyes flicked over your loose white t-shirt and those baggy wide-leg jeans, but it didn’t matter how covered up you were; he knew every damn curve underneath.

Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled smoke, a smirk tugging at his lips. “’Bout time, love. Thought you’d make me wait all day.”

His brothers shared looks, knowing damn well Arthur was the ruthless, mad-dog bastard of the family—except when it came to you. You were the only one who had him leashed, and everyone in that room knew it.