Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(26)
Right now, though, Adele is the last person I want to think about, and I wish she’d tell Dallas why she called so he can get off the phone.
“Yeah,” Dallas is saying. “I made plans to have dinner with him later this week. He mentioned that he’d finished some of the remodeling on the house and … well, of course you’re welcome to join us … Adele, do you really think—fine. Fine, I’ll ask and I’ll let you know. Was that it?… Okay then, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” He tosses the phone aside, then twines his fingers in my hair as I run my tongue over the length of him.
“That was seriously surreal,” he says.
I lift my head long enough to look at him. “Having a woman go down on you while you talk to her former stepmother? What is it you always say? How you like it f*cked up?”
A shadow seems to cross his face, and I regret the joke.
“Hey,” I say. “I was just being glib. You okay?”
“I’m great.” He tugs my hair, urging me up to him. “Come here.”
“Don’t you want—”
“You. I want you.”
I ease in next to him, trying to find a comfortable position on the floor. “What was so important?”
He rolls his eyes. “She wants to join me and Colin at dinner next week, but didn’t want to include herself without asking. And she said I should invite you, too. Since we’re being civil.”
“Oh.” I consider that. “Well, I guess I could come. That’s the civil thing to do, right?”
He nods, but he doesn’t look happy, and in the back of my head, a few little alarm bells start to tingle. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just incredibly tired.” He stands, then picks me up, cradling my naked body against his chest. His jeans are still open and hanging on his hips, and despite our relative nakedness, he heads straight for the door.
“Time for bed,” he says. “And I hope to hell Liam’s got Fiona out of the bedroom, because if he hasn’t, they’re both about to get an eyeful.”
Starry, Starry Night
I wake alone and stretch out my arm to find Dallas, but find only the cool sheets instead. I sit up, groggy, and peer around the dark room, but he’s not here. I frown, then remember the party.
We’d been so caught up in ourselves that we’d forgotten about the soiree going on downstairs. Maybe he couldn’t sleep. Maybe he went down to say goodbye to the last of the guests.
It’s a possibility, but when I go to the balcony and look down at the pool area, I see that all the lights are off, and there’s no sign of lingering guests. My first thought is to ring for Archie, but then I remember he’s gone. And, anyway, it’s four in the morning and even if he were here, I wouldn’t want to wake him. Besides, Dallas is only missing from our bed, not from the world. It’s his house, and a big one. He must be around here somewhere.
I know that he fell asleep, because he drifted off before I did, and I’d laid in his arms for at least fifteen minutes, comforted by the sound of his steady breathing, before I’d finally succumbed to sleep as well. But he’d obviously awakened at some time during the night. And when he couldn’t fall back asleep, he probably went to another room to read or watch television so as not to wake me.
I think about going back to sleep—he’s certainly entitled to privacy—but it has been a strange night for both of us. I tell myself that I need to check on him, but as I pull on one of his T-shirts and head for the door, I know that’s a lie. My motives are selfish; I need to find Dallas for me.
He’s not in his study or in the den. I check the kitchen next—empty—then continue on to the basement room that Deliverance uses as an operations center. I have the code to enter, but when I do, I see that it is empty as well.
I lock it back up, lean against the closed door, and wonder where to look next.
I check the garage, because maybe he decided to go out, but his cars are all parked in their slots, and his motorcycle is, too, so he didn’t go joyriding down Meadow Lane in the middle of the night.
I head out to the pool, using my phone as a flashlight to illuminate the deckchairs, but he’s not there. I’m certain I’ll find him in our cabana, but I lose that bet because he’s not there either.
Finally, I’m out of ideas, and I return to the house to check the alarm system which monitors all the public rooms. Empty. There’s also a setting that allows me to see if any of the closed rooms have been recently entered. None.
I’m about to give up, when I think to switch over to the system that monitors the windows and attic access. And that’s when, finally, I find success.
When Dallas and I were growing up, we used to sneak up to the attic, then climb out through one of the windows so that we could sit on the roof and look out at the Atlantic. Sometimes we’d just talk. Sometimes we’d count falling stars or look for ships on the horizon. When we were older, we held hands, each telling ourselves that it was innocent. A way to make sure we didn’t tumble off the roof.
But it wasn’t innocent, not for him and certainly not for me. After our rooftop excursions, I would return to my room, climb into my bed, and slide the hand that had held his between my legs. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I knew it felt good. And I wanted him to be part of that feeling.