“Yup.” Pulling his shirt from his waistband, his tattooed hands stumble down the row of buttons keeping it closed. “I know Conner Gilroy.”
I want to ask him how. I want to demand he explain what’s going on to me but I can’t because there are more pressing matters to discuss. “Are you getting undressed?” When he gives me a look that makes me feel like maybe I’m the one who’s impaired here, I shake my head. “Whyare you getting undressed?”
Still looking at me like I might need help, Dean peels his open shirt off, revealing a stark white undershirt. “Because Iamdrunk, Mills.” Dropping his dress shirt on the floor, he sits on the side of the bed, near the end of it, by my feet. “Because I’m drunk and I’m tired and I’m pissed off and—” Stopping he cocks his head at me. “Are you naked?”
“You can’t actually think I’m going to allow you to sleep here,” I say instead of answering him because I am naked and hearing him say the word out loud is making me want to do stupid things about it.
“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before…” His gaze dips to the sheet plastered across my chest before bouncing back up to meet mine. “It’s gonna go about as well for you now as it did then. This ismybed, Macaroon, but I’m more than willing to share.” The corner of his mouth quirks at my obvious irritation. “Iama gentleman, after all.”
Tightening my grip on the sheets I have gathered around me, I start to pull, trying desperately to get them out fromunder him so I can make a run for it. Dean must not be as drunk as I think because he realizes what I’m doing right away and why.
“You’re not leaving,” he tells me, his tone low and even. “I’ll fucking chase you down and drag you back to bed before you even make it to the living room. I’ll call the concierge for rope and tie you to it if I have to, so just?—”
Twisting away from him, I lunge for my phone on the nightstand—not because I’m afraid or even because I really want to call someone for help. Because I’m completely panicked at the thought of lying in this bed with him because I know what will happen and if Dean lies to me again, I’ll break. If he tells me he loves me, I’ll believe him. And this time when he breaks my heart, I’ll never recover.
He’s reallyisn’tas drunk as I thought because Dean gets to my phone first. Snatching it off the nightstand, he wings it through the open door of the bedroom where it pings off the hardwood floor before it skitters out of sight. “Or maybe I’ll just rip every goddamned phone in this place out of the wall and tie you up with the cords.”
Operating on a level of temper I’ve only ever felt with him, I don’t lunge for the landline on the nightstand. I lunge at him. Taking a swing, I’m not at all surprised when he catches my hand before I make contact. Pulling it toward him with an impatient grunt, Dean turns my palm over in his hand to examine it. It’s swollen and bruised from slapping him earlier. Looking up, he gives me a flat, disapproving look. “You didn’t ice it like I told you to, did you?”
Feeling chastised, I jerk back but don’t get very far. “I?—”
“Don’t leave, okay?” Sighing, Dean’s shoulders slump. “Things are gonna get messy if I have to kidnap you for real.”
In the last ten minutes, this man has talked about murdering my potential suitors, chasing me down, tying me upand now kidnapping. Why am I not terrified right now? Why am I not trying to fight my way out of here, tooth and nail? Why am I going to sit here and do exactly what Dean tells me to?
Because I never really had any intention of leaving.
Because no matter how scary Dean can be, he’s never been scary to me.
Because I know he’d never hurt me.
Because I’m in love with him.
Because I’ve always been in love with him.
“Okay.”
Like he’s sure I’m lying to him, Dean reluctantly loosens his grip on my wrist before he stands to look down at me. “Just stay here while I—” He stops mid-sentence, his face collapsing into a scowl. “What the fu—” Reaching out, he moves my hair to the side so he can see the angry red abrasions scattered across my upper back where my dress didn’t shield me from the brick wall he had me pinned against. Hand dropping to my bicep, Dean grips it while he drops into a crouch in front of me. “What happened?” When I don’t answer him right away, he gives me a short, impatient shake. “What the fuck happened, Mills. Who?—”
“We happened,” I tell him, my cheeks stinging with embarrassment. “Earlier. Outside, on the terrace. When we?—”
Dean’s face goes bone white when he realizes what I’m saying. “I did that?” Loosening his grip, his Adam’s apple scrapes along the line of his throat like he’s having a hard time breathing. “I?—”
“No,” I correct him. “We did that. Together. We?—”
“For fuck’s sake, Mills,” he says loudly, retightening his grip on my arm. “Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me?—”
“Because if I said something you would’ve stopped,” I answer him honestly. “You would’ve stopped and I didn’t want you to. I didn’t…” Shaking my head, I look away from him because I don’t know what I’m saying. Don’t trust myself to not say something crazy. Something I can’t take back. “It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Bullshit,” he says quietly, still looking like he might throw up. “It’s not fine. You look like someone dragged you down the fucking street.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, serving him one of his own shit-eating smirks. “I look like someone fucked me against a brick wall at a charity auction.”
“Jesus Christ...” Letting go of my arm completely, Dean rocks back on his heels. For a second he doesn’t say anything else. Just stares at me, brow furrowed like he’s having the same trouble I am. Like he can’t figure out how this keeps happening. Why we keep strapping into this roller coaster we’re on. Why, no matter how hard we try, we can’t seem to walk away from each other and make it stick. Finally he lets out a quiet chuckle. “You’re gonna be the goddamned death of me, Millie Blackwell.”
Not waiting for me to answer, Dean stands and heads for the door. “I’m going to get some ice, I’ll be back. Don’t call the cops on me.”
FIFTY-FIVE
