Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(35)

I can barely think, much less talk, but I understand now. Bill. My ex-husband. A man Dallas knows has f*cked me. Has been inside me.

I want to tell him that he’s an idiot. That I love him, not Bill, and I always have. That I want him inside me—I do—but if it never happens I’m okay because I want him more. As much of him as he can give me, in every way he needs me.

I want to say all of that, but my body is too overwhelmed, the pressure rising too fast. And when I finally tumble over the edge, sound bursts from my lips and I can say only the words he wants to hear. “Yes,” I scream, hoping that he understands I mean everything. “Yes, I’m yours.”

Afterward, we lay together, breathing hard, holding each other. I’m not sure what to say—or even if I should say anything at all. But this is Dallas, and I can neither lie to him nor keep things from him, even though I know that there are still things he is keeping from me.

I roll over and prop myself up on an elbow so that I can face him. “I am, you know.”

“What?”

“Yours,” I say. “I’m yours now, and I’ve always been yours.” I lean forward and brush a kiss over his lips. “I was never Bill’s. And maybe that’s horrible because it’s so unfair to him, but it’s true. I wasn’t his. I couldn’t be his.”

“And yet he’s had a part of you that I never have.”

“But you have.” We were together countless times in captivity.

“I had the girl,” Dallas says. “Bill had the woman.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be a Neanderthal, Dallas. I’ve slept with more guys than you and Bill. And you’ve slept with enough women to populate a small country. But you’re the only one who has my heart.”

“And you mine.” He sighs deeply. “And I’m sorry. I am. I know I’m acting like a f*cking caveman. I just want—well, I want everything.”

“I know.” I curl up beside him again, idly stroking my fingers over his chest hair. “I do, too.”

He presses a kiss to my temple, and the moment is warm and sweet and wonderful.

Naturally, I can’t just keep my mouth shut. “That wasn’t all that upset you, though.”

He chuckles. “No. I’d say that nothing your ex brought with him sat well with me.”

“There’s no stopping it, you know.”

“I know.”

I have to smile, because I’d been more than a little cryptic, but I knew Dallas would understand. We may have been out of sync earlier with the whole Fiona fiasco, but we’re back now, and he’s followed my thoughts perfectly.

“Bill and WORR and the UN and the FBI are all going to do what they’re going to do,” he says, then shifts position so he can press a kiss to my forehead. “And Deliverance has to do what it has to do.”

“I get that,” I say, then frown. “Have you found anything? The team, I mean. Ortega was a huge lead. Even dead he can help, right? So have you found anything about our kidnappers?”

I shift in time to see his expression go hard. “Dallas?”

“No,” he finally says, his voice oddly firm. “We haven’t found one concrete thing.”

I study his expression. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

He drags his fingers through his hair. “What aren’t I telling you?” he repeats. “For one thing, I’m not telling you how frustrated the whole thing makes me.”

I nod; that makes sense. Deliverance had gotten so close—hell, Dallas had gotten so close. And Ortega’s death stopped the investigation cold. “Maybe you should work together. Deliverance. WORR. You’re both hunting the same people.”

“No.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

I press anyway. “Why not?” I know the answer, but I need to hear him say it.

“Deliverance doesn’t operate like WORR. They want to prosecute.”

“And you?” My mouth is so dry I can barely get out the words.

“I want to execute.”

I swallow, then nod slowly as I push myself to my feet. I’m naked, and I grab his shirt off the floor and put it on, feeling just a little too exposed at the moment.

This room has an adjacent private garden, and I walk toward the curtained French doors and push the drapes aside enough that I can slip through. I’m sandwiched there, my hand to the glass and my back to the curtains, when he joins me.

“I know it upsets you,” he says as I keep my eyes fixed on the morning glories blooming outside the window. “I know you think it’s reckless. Stupid. That we don’t have the right to play judge and jury. I understand all that,” he says as he softly presses a hand between my shoulder blades, “but I have to. I can’t find them and look at them and not destroy them.”

I say nothing.

He sighs, and in the glass I can see the pain reflected on his face. “Even if it hurts you, baby, I have to. They stole part of our lives. I need to take it back. I have to,” he repeats. “I need you to understand that.”

I close my eyes, draw a breath, and then turn to face him. “You know what I went through. How those men Daddy hired went in and tried to rescue you. How the place exploded and we thought you were dead.”