I brush past him hard enough for my shoulder to catch his arm, pretending it’s an accident but making sure he feels it. Kate doesn’t notice—she’s already gone, humming down the hall.
I don’t stop. I don’t look back. I throw my bag onto the counter, grab the nearest bottle of wine, and pour until the glass is nearly overflowing. My hands are shaking, but not from nerves—from rage.
“Brooklyn.” His voice is low, warning.
I whip around, wine glass trembling in my hand. “Don’t.”
His brows lift just slightly, like I’ve amused him. Like I’m a joke. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say my name like that. Like you have the right. Like you didn’t—” My voice breaks and I swallow hard, forcing it steady. “Like you didn’t use me and then act like I was nothing.”
His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking, but his face stays unreadable. That only pisses me off more.
“Do you get off on it?” I demand, stepping closer, my heels clicking against the marble. “On making me feel like I’m going insane? One minute you can’t keep your hands off me, the next I don’t even exist.”
“Careful,” he warns, but his voice is rougher now, strained, like the mask is cracking.
“No.” I shove the glass down on the counter, liquid spilling over the rim. “You don’t get to do this, Dean. You don’t get to fuck me against your wall and then sit there like I disgust you. You don’t get to have it both ways.”
For the first time, his composure slips. His eyes darken, his chest rising faster, his glass lowering slowly to the table beside him.
“Go on then,” I spat, daring him. “Say it. Tell me it was a mistake. Tell me you regret it. At least then I’ll know where I stand.”
The silence stretches. His gaze burns into mine like fire, and my chest heaves with every angry breath.
But he doesn’t say it.
He just stalks closer, so close I can feel the heat of him again, the dangerous press of his presence crowding me against the counter.
“You really want to know where you stand?” His voice is a growl now, low and vicious. He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Right fucking here. On your knees. Mine.”
My whole body betrays me, shivering under his words, even as rage burns in my veins. I want to slap him. I want to kiss him. I want to ruin him as badly as he ruins me.
And God help me, I don’t know which one I’ll choose.
His words coil around me like barbed wire. On your knees. Mine.
My body shivers, but it’s not surrender—it’s fury.
I laugh, sharp and ugly. “There it is. The big bad Mr Walker. That’s all you’ve got, isn’t it? Orders. Demands. You think everyone just falls at your feet because you snap your fingers?”
His eyes narrow, the corner of his jaw tightening. “Watch yourself, Brooklyn.”
“Or what?” I bite out, stepping right into his space, chin tilted high even though he towers over me. I don’t retreat even though my chest is practically pressed to his, and heat rolls off him in waves. “You’ll throw me against another wall and use me like you did the other night? Congratulations—you got what you wanted. What’s the plan now? Pretend I don’t exist until your dick twitches again?”
His hand slams against the counter beside my head, the glass rattling. My heart jumps, but my mouth doesn’t stop.
“You think you scare me?” I whisper, even though my pulse is rioting in my throat. “You think I’ll just roll over and be your little secret while you go back to playing the respectable father for Kate?”
His nostrils flare. He leans down so close his breath scorches my lips. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe I want to burn.” The words come out in a hiss, reckless and trembling. My hand shoves at his chest, not enough to move him, just enough to remind him I’m not backing down. “But don’t you dare think you’re the only one holding the match.”
His gaze drags over me, dark and blistering, and I see it—the battle tearing him in two. Control versus desire. The predator and the man.
“You talk too much,” he growls.
A grin stretches across my face as my legs threaten to give out. “Maybe I wouldn’t if you fucked me hard enough to shut me up.”
