But under it, something sharp and possessive has lodged deep.
They don’t know it yet, but the more they push her away from me, the more they make it impossible for me to let her go. I don’t lose. Not business deals. Not real estate. And definitely not the woman who finally makes me want more than the next deal, the next night, the next anonymous fuck.
If the Chief of Police and his ice-queen wife want to keep their perfect daughter away from the big, bad Moretti? I’m going to enjoy proving them wrong.
TWELVE
DALLEN
I can barely swallowas we take our seats at the round table. The chatter in the room swells around us while my pulse pounds, as if trying to punch its way out of my throat. A woman—Lucien Morettis wife, I now realize—steps up to the podium at the front of the ballroom. She smiles gracefully, welcoming everyone and preparing to kick off the charity auction.
But all I can feel is Stephen beside me.
Not touching me.
Not speaking.
Just…there.
He radiates heat, danger, and disappointment. The feeling prickles along my skin like static, making the hair on the back of my neck stand.
My mother sits ramrod straight to my left. My father is on her other side, tracking the room with the alertness of someone who never lowers his guard. He has probably arrested people less suspicious than Stephen.
“Stop looking at him like that,” my mother murmurs without turning her head.
“I’m not looking at anyone,” I lie. I was looking at Stephen and fighting the urge to reach for him, to touch him.
Damn my inability to not want the bad boy.
Her eyebrow twitches. “You’re transparent, dear. It’s unbecoming.”
I want to roll my eyes. I’m not transparent. I doubt there’s anyone in the room who’s even noticing me sitting here. I wasn’t immune to the lustful glances that Stephen and Lucien both received in this room. There were more brothers—I’d read about them—and no doubt, too, they would turn heads. My mother’s concern was unfounded.
Stephen’s presence seems to strip away every defense I’ve relied on my entire life. I’m exposed. Shaken. Too aware of my own needs, warring against what I know is right—what I should do to protect myself and my family.
“So,” he finally speaks—quiet, smooth, sliding along my spine like silk and flame. Just a single word, but it has weight. Accusation perhaps? Certainly anger and disappointment are mixed within it. “Are you regretting me?”
My breath catches. I keep my eyes forward, pretending to listen to Briar Moretti discuss bid paddles and donation pledges. “Regretting what?” I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to admit that a small part of me does regret meeting him. Not because of what we did. No, it’s because it’ll hurt to walk away. It would be easier on the heart not to start anything. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, and all that shit.
“You know what.” His voice is low enough for my parents to miss, but the tone is intimate. Too intimate. My cheeks burn.
I swallow. Even his voice makes me ache for him. All of him. “I’m not having this conversation here,” I whisper back.
“That sounds like a yes.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s not.”
“It feels like it.” He leans back in his chair, but his eyes never leave me. “You won’t look at me. You pulled away. You introduced me like I’m some guy you bumped into at Starbucks.”
“You know why,” I snap, keeping my voice low, controlled. “You could’ve warned me who you were.”
“You could’ve warned me who you were, too.” His knee bumps mine under the table—purposeful. “But you didn’t.”
The worst part? He’s right. I’ve evaded just as much as he has in mentioning my parents, but never telling him who they were or what my father’s occupation was. It seemed both of us were wrong on that score.
I suck in a breath, trying to gather the strands of my composure. That I liked Stephen, desired him too, made breaking off whatever we’d started all the harder. “My father hates everything your family represents.”
“We don’t represent that history any longer. Your father doesn’t know me well enough for him to judge.” His voice is calm, but the tension simmering under it is sharp enough to cut. “He hates my name. Big difference.”
