Breaking Her (Love is War #2)(71)

I thought of that night, the state I'd been in, and my own temper rose to the occasion. I knew I had to be mercilessly honest to take the blame away from his brother. That, more even than Dante's feelings, was what I needed to salvage here. "I was in bad shape, Dante. Because of you. Yes, I kissed him. Yes, I rubbed up against him. I have no doubt I'd have done more, just to f*cking spite you, but your brother had your back. While you're going over the details, go over this: He turned me down. Not because he didn't want me, but because he wouldn't do that to you. He came to see me because he wanted to help us, and that was as far as he let it get."

He wasn't looking at me, his eyes on his fists. They were full of cruel, dark things, not the least of which was anguish.

"We have enough things to hate each other for," I added harshly. Honestly. "We don't need to embellish or invent any. I did not sleep with your brother. And you can thank him for it. Not me. Him."

"Jesus, you never did know how to pull any punches," he said in a voice that ached.

I felt my upper lip tremble, eyes blinking rapidly, stinging with the urge to tear up as I fought to look anywhere but at him.

Because wasn't that the brutal f*cking truth.

"It's worse with you," I said when I'd regained my composure, trying hard to make my voice light. "You're the only guy who ever dumped me."

"Don't do that," he said, and there was agony in it, enough to fell us both. "Don't put us all into a group like we're the same. There's me and there's them."

He made a very good point. Moreover, this was a subject to avoid at all costs. Why the hell had I brought it up? I was a mess just then is why. Not thinking clearly, not speaking clearly, though I needed to start doing so in order to get my point across.

I tried to get back on topic. "There's nothing your mother would love more than to keep you estranged from the one family member you have who's worth knowing," I said as reasonably as I could. "The one person alive that shares your blood and wants to help you. Let me guess: She knows you two have been getting along lately. She knows there's been a truce. Stop me if I'm wrong here."

He didn't stop me.

"Don't let her win," I implored. "Have the sense not to let this tactic work for her. Don't turn this on Bastian."

"I don't trust him," he told me bluntly.

My mouth curved sardonically. "I don't trust anyone. What's that got to do with anything?"

He winced and I didn't blame him. I felt the sting of it myself.

"What are you going to do?" I asked him eventually, when I couldn't stand a second more of the silence.

"It was not his place to tell you anything. He had no right to do that. To put you in danger."

"He didn't know that's what he was doing. He's your brother—"

"Half-brother," he corrected stubbornly.

I glared. "He's your blood, and he's trying to help us. Let him, Dante. Please." It was as close as I'd come to begging, because it was a thing worth begging for. We needed any allies we could get, and there was no doubt in my mind that Bastian was a strong one. He was motivated, resourceful. Spiteful. All things I admired. All things I related to. All things we'd need in spades if there was any chance we'd come out on top of this mess.

Also, any enemy of Adelaide's was a freaking best friend of mine.

I couldn't tell if he was still angry, or rather, how angry he was. He was being very quiet, very still, not looking at me.

"I suppose I see your point. As always, Adelaide is trying to manipulate me." His voice was calm enough, but I didn't trust it.

"As always," I agreed.

"And it is a sore subject." His eyes flashed at me and I saw the full force of what was still there, simmering under the surface. He wasn't going to lose it, but he was still furious, and it wasn't just going to go away on its own.

Lucky for us, I had just the thing.

I shifted restlessly, biting my lip as I stared right back. His rage was nothing new, nor my reaction to it.

He glared at me, and it didn't help.

Was I turned on?

Absolutely and abundantly so.

It was twisted. And captivating. Irresistible.

He saw it too, and it seemed to piss him off even more. A flame that fed itself perpetually. No wonder we could never get enough of each other.

"Are you done eating?" I asked him. Neither of us had touched our food since the volatile conversation had begun.

He pushed his plate away. "I lost my appetite."

My breath came faster as I pointedly pushed my own plate away, my eyes on his mean mouth. "I didn't," I said, voice teasing, provocative.

He started cursing and I almost smiled. It told me plainly that, though he wasn't happy about it, he was going to listen to what I'd said, absorb it, comply with it.

Round for me.

He pushed his chair back from the table but didn't stand. "Come here." His voice had changed, gone soft and warm and vaguely obscene.

I went to him slowly, leaving my clothing behind as I moved. This would not be the kind of sex that required foreplay, because that part was already over. The fight had been the foreplay. This next bit would be hell-bent, desperate, rough, quick, intoxicating, and straight to the point.