Loving Dallas(18)

“Robyn.” His voice is rich and gravelly and warms my insides like a shot of whiskey. Damn it.

As if our little scene isn’t quite dramatic enough for Mother Nature’s liking, fat drops of rain start to splat down between us.

“Great. That’s just f*cking great,” I practically yell.

“Tell me what you’ve sacrificed. I want to know,” Dallas says evenly, completely unfazed by my obvious psychotic break. “Because I know a thing or two about sacrifice myself. But I can tell you this much, I would never sacrifice my dignity and I sure as hell didn’t get where I am on my back or by putting anyone else on theirs.”

What the hell?

“Excuse me?”

“Mandy. She’s my manager. Our relationship is strictly professional, and it will stay that way, regardless of what her intentions may or may not be.”

“Okay.” I don’t want to feel relieved. I shouldn’t care. But my tightly wound nerves loosen a fraction.

“Your turn,” he informs me, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest.

“My turn for what?”

“To tell me if you’re f*cking Wade! If that’s how you got on this tour, I want you to end it. He’s a grade A piece of shit who doesn’t give a damn who he—”

Dallas doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Because I slap him. Hard. So hard my hand is still stinging.

Our faces must be matching masks of shock and I see the replay in slow motion. I’ve never struck another human being in my entire life. And I just slapped the only man I’ve ever loved with everything I was worth.

“If you ever, ever, even think to insinuate that I got where I am on my back, I swear to God, Dallas Lark, I will make that seem like a love tap.”

I am so immensely infuriated that everything in my line of sight is tinged in red. But more than that, I’m hurt. Hurt that someone I once cared so much for, and still care about more than I’d like to admit, would think that of me. Stitched-up lacerations on my heart that were on their way to being pretty pink scars are opening wide and angry. He didn’t invite me here for pancakes to catch up or spend time with me or figure out how to work together or even attempt to make amends. Nope. He’s just jealous and arrogant and a raging *.

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that—”

“Get the hell away from me.” I whirl around and step right into a fresh puddle. Great. Wonderful.

“No,” Dallas says, pulling me toward him and catching me off guard. “I need you to hear me out.”

“What’s to hear? You’re an arrogant ass and I hate you.”

He gives me an infuriating smirk. “No you don’t. If that were true, you wouldn’t be this pissed.”

I struggle to find a reasonable argument to this so I say, “Fuck you, Dallas.”

“Yes, please. Come back to the hotel with me. The car service is already here.” I yank out of his grasp, causing a painful friction between our skin.

“Ouch.”

He pulls me to his chest and my anger is fading, too diluted by his scent and his intensity.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so damn sorry,” is all he says before kissing me brutally on the mouth. Mine pops open in shock when he pulls back to breathe. His gaze presses into mine as my mind tumbles over itself trying to process the abrupt turn of events. His thumb grazes my cheek gently. “I never meant to hurt you,” he says before devouring me again.

And Lord help me, I don’t even know which thing he’s apologizing for—the past or the present—because I’m melting. The rain, his fiery hot mouth, his hands scorching a trail over my body. I’m drowning in Dallas and I can’t stop.

Worse, I don’t even want to.

“You taste like maple syrup. I’m never going to be able to look at pancakes the same way again.” Dallas’s tongue tangles with mine and I can’t get enough. We’re spiraling quickly out of control. I need to breathe before I pass out.

“Dallas,” I mumble against his mouth. “We shouldn’t do this. Not here.”

The driver can hear us, could glance in the rearview and get an eyeful.

“It’s a ten-minute drive to the hotel. I’m probably going to spontaneously combust before then.”

I laugh against his lips. “You’re a big boy. I think you can handle it.”

I slide off his lap, leaving my legs draped over it, though, and lean my head on his shoulder.

“I can’t wait to show you just how big of a boy I am, and how well I can handle it.”

“Behave yourself,” I whisper in the darkness.

“Can’t,” is all he says, sliding his warm fingers beneath my skirt and between my thighs.

“Dallas.” I squirm as he dips beneath my panties.

“I haven’t forgotten, baby,” he murmurs against my hair. “I remember exactly how tight and hot and wet you are. I remember each and every place you like me to touch you. I am a dying man waiting to hear those sweet whimpers you make when I slide inside you.”

I whimper right then, because damn. He feels so good, smells so good, tastes so good. He’s familiar but at the same time, new, different from what I remember. Rougher around the edges, broader, and behaving more boldly than he ever has with me.