Slow Burn

Chapter 19

I lace up my shoes, desperate to get out of the house and away from waiting for the phone to ring, Dr. Blakely calling with blood test and biopsy results that I’ve been informed most likely will take another few days. Regardless, I stare at my phone each time I pass it.

When it does ring, it’s usually Rylee checking up on me, asking why I seem out of sorts, to which I reply I’m just stressed about this Scandalous deal and the impending BRCA1 test results. That answer usually quiets her down, and she comes through with the moral support that I desperately need but for something possibly much more devastating than a gene test result.

Or it’s Cal, checking in with me looking to see what rabbit I’m going to pull out of my hat to make the last event bigger and better than the first two. And despite the fact they went off without a hitch and had a larger draw than he’d ever hoped for in our initial discussions, I’m calling in all kinds of favors. Because I need this rabbit to be huge to make up for the disappearing act I pulled at the last show.

Or rather the one Becks pulled when he hauled me off like Neanderthal man. I’d told the client I’d fallen ill. I didn’t feel guilty because I really didn’t miss much of the event. We were nearing last call for the night, and the clients and A-listers had been taken care of flawlessly, but it did not go unnoticed by Cal that I wasn’t there at closing time. At least I’m not lying since I did find the lump that night, but I don’t think he buys it … so now I’m left to produce magic from a wand that’s lost its power.

I shrug the thought off, knowing I need this run to help me do just that. I grab my phone and, out of habit, glance at the screen.

Out of habit. More like out of a sick obsession to see if the man I keep pushing away is pushing back or if he’s called and I missed it. Or texted. Or smoke-signaled, for Christ’s sake. God, I’m emotionally fucked-up. I push him away, leave him after incredible sex without another word, and have a fight over it? And his comeback is to work me up into a goddamn frenzy over Jell-O shots and his masterful fingertips with a crowd of friends outside. Then he leaves me one rub short of detonation with promises to keep me awake from that ache he created last night but with a dominant threat to prevent me from sating it.

Slow and steady, my ass. The man’s got a side to him that I never knew existed, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. And that pisses me the fuck off because I don’t want to be thinking about him, can’t be thinking about him.

Run.

Like I’m not used to doing that.

I need the exercise to get my head clear, to push my body beyond feeling so that I can focus on getting the final details for the Scandalous event next week taken care of. Focus on that; obsess over that.

I grab my phone and, of course, glance at the screen for the umpteenth time today before opening the front door. I swing it open and cry out in surprise when I see Becks standing there. I immediately move my hand up to my chest to try to still my raging heart.

I should really be covering my crotch though because it feels like all the blood my heart is pumping has gone straight there. I swear the bowling ball of aching need I’ve felt during the last few days sitting atop the apex of my thighs just got heavier at the sight of him and his half-cocked smirk.

“Becks! What are you doing here?” I try not to sound like a breathy, needy woman, but damn if I don’t sound like a bad porno when the words come out.

“Had? You okay?” Before Becks can even answer, I hear Dante’s voice and the sound of his footsteps in the hall behind me.

I’m looking at Becks’s eyes when Dante speaks, so there’s no way I can miss the flicker of irritation that flashes through them. Hm. Things might get a tad interesting here.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say over my shoulder, hoping he’ll leave it at that and go back to whatever he was doing. But I know I’ve got no such luck when I hear him clear his throat behind me and notice Becks’s eyes stare over my shoulder and turn to ice.

I turn so that I can see both of them, and when I see Dante, I understand why Becks is visibly bristling with disdain. Dante stands in the hallway with a white towel wrapped around his naked, dripping-wet, ripped body while he haphazardly scrubs another towel over his head. His eyes whip to mine, and I see a vague irritation and a whole lot of possessive machismo reflected there, his shoulders squared, body vibrating with testosterone.

“Oh.” I quickly avert my eyes back to Becks. “Becks, this is Dante, my house guest for a short while.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain. Possibly because the bowling ball he’s created needs to have its holes filled with some fingers soon so that the pressure can be released, but I also find it interesting that I don’t explain to Dante what exactly my relationship with Becks is.

Maybe it’s because I’m still figuring that out.

Becks doesn’t say anything, nor does he look away from the visual pissing match that the guys are waging in front of me. He just nods his head in acknowledgment of Dante, and I’m too busy staring at Becks and holding my breath to look to see what Dante does. Whatever it is, though, he’s not moving because after a beat Becks raises both eyebrows in a silent Do you mind? The silence lingers for a few more seconds—the claim being staked—before I hear Dante pad off without another word.

Becks’s gaze remains trained over my shoulder for a few more moments, his jaw clenched and muscles tight. I give us both a few seconds and then step outside and shut the front door behind me so that he has no other option than to return his focus on me.

“Hey,” I say, a cautious smile on my lips.

He clenches his jaw one more time so that the muscle there pulses in that sexy-as-hell way before his eyes find mine again. I watch the tension fade as his muscles relax. I can see the questions on his lips, know he wants to ask what the fuck Dante is doing here or what he was to me, but I give the man mad props because he doesn’t utter a single word about him when he speaks.

“I have somewhere I need to be, and you’re coming with me.” His voice is steady when he speaks, the timbre of it pulling at every part of me. It’s the first time I’ve heard it since the party, since he was telling me he wanted to own me, lick me, slam me, suck me.

Fuck. I’m already a desperate ball of need, and the man hasn’t said more than a sentence to me. And the fact that I almost immediately agree to go with him, no questions asked, is even more desperate and embarrassing.

What in the hell did he do to me? No one orders me around unless his hand is fisted in my hair and he’s fucking me from behind. But this … this reaction he’s caused in me is unsettling. It has to be everything else that’s going on that’s making me react this way. It has to be the unknown and the waiting that makes me want to jump at the chance to go wherever he’s taking me just so I can push all of that away for a bit.

“What?” I’m finally able to speak as I shove the desire away and as guilty as I feel about how I’ve treated him, I refuse to comply with his demand in some warped form of apology. I take a deep breath as I regain the rights Gloria Steinem fought for and cross my arms across my chest and lean against the door behind me. “We are not going anywhere.” I snort at him like he’s crazy, but hell if my eyes aren’t dragging up over his khaki shorts and Under Armor shirt, which offers just enough of a hint at the muscles bunching beneath it.

He steps forward and places one arm on the door beside my head and braces himself there, his head angled to look at me, a lascivious smirk ghosting that irresistible mouth of his. He laughs low and taunting. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, City. We are most definitely taking a drive.”

I start to protest when he cuts me off by placing his free hand on the curve of my neck and holding it there. I swear my body ignites with bursts of energy whenever our skin touches, the tiny explosions trailing straight to my core so that the ache intensifies and my need swelters.

“And correct me if I’m wrong here, but you’ve made it clear that there is no we, so that leaves me to make the decisions.” He darts out his tongue to wet his lips, his eyes holding me captive from getting out the words I want to say. “Oh, sweet Haddie, you may have said no strings, but sure as hell I’m taking over the reins here.”

“Bullshit.” The word is off my tongue, but it is such a contradiction to the hardening of my nipples and the tingling between my thighs in reaction to his comment.

“Don’t tempt me.” He warns, but then that smirk is back. “Then again, please do because I’d give anything to throw you back over my shoulder to prove a point.”

Our eyes hold, a silent exchange of wills seeing how far we’re going to take this game, and I’m all for it. Bring it on, Daniels, because let’s face it: I have a vagina; therefore I win. My temper streaks through me, displacing the desire with anger, sarcasm leading the way. “SoCo, you couldn’t handle me even if you tried.” I raise my chin and glare at him, anything to try to gain some of my own footing back.

He works his tongue in his mouth and I swear I can’t help that it conjures up the memory of where else it’s worked me. “SoCo, huh?”

“Yeah. You’re like drinking Southern Comfort … trying to act all smooth and steady, but then you sneak up on me and try to make your presence known.” I say the words with a bit of a bite to them, so I’m confused when he blinks at me like he can’t believe what I’m saying before throwing his head back and laughing deeply. Whatever he finds amusing in what I’ve said is lost on me.

“Goddamn woman,” he draws out with a shake of his head before looking back at me. “I’m all for whiskey, but I prefer something a little smoother, more refined … like a Macallan.” The smirk plays over his lips like an inside joke that I’m missing, even though I feel like I’m a part of it.

My brows furrow. “Being country and all …” My words fade off as he steps into me, our bodies so close that our chests just barely brush against each other’s when we drag in a breath.

“Well, Had, being country and all, I was raised around and got used to wild animals.” He leans in closer so that his lips are a breath from mine, and I can’t help myself from lifting my chin in anticipation of his kiss, which never comes. I flash my eyes back open to find his so close to mine, I can see flecks of darker blue speckled in the aqua. “I learned that you have to learn a lot of patience to tame them.”

I know I should be offended, know I should be pissed he’s drawing a comparison between me and an untamed animal, but hell if I can think of a comeback other than: “Tame them?” My words mingle with the warmth of his breath, and as we stand here on my front porch, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, and just lets the comment hang in the air between us. “But I learned a long time ago that no man should tame what is wild.”

“Really?”

His fingertip trails down my bare arm, slowly, taunting, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me. “Yep,” he whispers so that his lips just barely brush mine. I want to groan out in frustration but grasp firmly to my dignity that’s slipping oh so slowly from my clutches. “Wild keeps a man on his toes … causes him to always pay attention, not take a single thing for granted. When a man gets complacent, he can lose sight of what matters most.”

My breath is shaky, his soft spoken words hitting deep within me. Making me want and need and hope for things I don’t think I deserve, things I’ve told myself are not fair to ask for.

“Becks …” I swallow over what I tell myself is the lust lodged in my throat, but I know it’s so much more than just lust between us.

He moves his head so that his lips are near my ear, causing me to remember what they said the last time they were so close. “Did you come yet, Haddie?” The change of subject shouldn’t surprise me. I should have known he was going to bring us back to this, but fuck me if that question doesn’t leave me weak in the knees.

“Yes. Thank you for last night. It may have been my hand, but my thoughts were on you … and it was mind-blowing.” I lie. It’s all I have at this point because if we continue this little power play charade, I’m going to be in a puddle at his feet in mere minutes. And hell no, I didn’t get myself off, didn’t want to ease that ache he’d ordered me not to assuage because there is something so goddamn hot about doing what you’re told when it comes to sex.

I hear his breath catch in surprise, his fingers pressing into my arm where they trail along my skin, and his face pulls back so he can look in my eyes. It’s my turn to give him that smug look, that “Who has the upper hand now?” challenge in the raise of my eyebrows. His eyes search mine, and I know before long he’ll know I’m lying, so I reiterate my thoughts from moments ago. My lips curl up, and my head angles to the side. “I have a pussy. I win,” I taunt him. And I think a small part of me wants him to call my bluff, right here, right now, and drag him upstairs to prove otherwise.

But he doesn’t. He just meets me stare for stare, smirk for smirk, challenge for challenge. “While you may have a point, I think you’re wrong. You may have the pussy, Haddie, but I’m most definitely the one who will win it.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” And hell if the confidence isn’t sexy on him.

“Hm. You may have said no strings, but you most definitely didn’t say anything about rope.”

Damn. “You want to tie me up, then? I never took you for that type, Becks.” I try to deflect him with my comment, but hell if the words don’t have me wanting him even more.

He laughs low and suggestive. “I might be. I might not be. What type I am doesn’t matter because what does is the fact that ropes or no ropes, I plan on making you weak, making you hoarse, leaving you breathless. Baby, I can dominate with the best of them. The question here is, how bad do you want it?”

Desperately.

And the volley of power resumes. The dark promise of his words leaves me wanting to relinquish the upper hand because it’s no fun being at the top if there’s no one underneath you.

He leans in and uses his mouth to silence my thoughts. Our mouths meet in a soft whisper of a kiss before his tongue touches the seam of my lips, asking for access. I deny him, fists clenched in restraint, libido protesting my resistance, but I know if I let him kiss me, let him own my every reaction like he so mind-blowingly can, I’ll come undone here on the porch in a matter of seconds, my desire so tangible, I feel like it’s rolling off me in waves.

I think he’s going to be angry at my refusal. I can feel his fingers tense when I hold steadfast. That strained laugh of his surprises me yet again when he leans back, his eyes dancing with victory. “I call your bluff, Haddie Montgomery. You didn’t come, and I’m going to have so much fun proving it.”

And hell if he didn’t just gain the upper hand, but thank God, he did because I don’t mind being the low man on his totem pole, either.