Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(39)

He heard her voice in his head telling him that she’d give him whatever he needed. But how did he know what he needed until he went there? Even in The Cellar, he hung back. Didn’t matter that it was a full-on kink club and he could indulge any whim there. He still pulled it in, because those weren’t the women he wanted on their knees. That honor belonged to Jane, and until he had her—until he took her—how would he know how far he would go? How much he would crave?

And the thought of going too far—of breaking her limits, of scaring her, of having her look at him like he was broken beyond repair—he couldn’t risk that.

He had to hold back.

Had to fight for normal.

Had to draw a line in the sand and not cross it.

Everything they’d done had brought them together.

But everything they couldn’t—that he wouldn’t—do would keep them that way. Crossing the line just might rip them apart.

He needed time to think. To regroup. This was too much too fast, and he was reeling.

He pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed, fighting a building headache. And then, regretfully, he raised his eyes to hers. “Anything I need, right?”

“Of course.”

“All right.” He swallowed, hating what he was about to say, but knowing that he needed to say it. That he needed it. For a little while, at least, he needed it.

He drew a breath, then said, “I need you to go.”

The hurt that cut across her face was like a physical punch to the gut. “Dallas, no. I didn’t mean—I didn’t want—” She sucked in air. “I pushed too hard. I should never have suggested—”

“No. We said no secrets, right?” God, he was a hypocrite. He was keeping some damn juicy secrets. But that secret was about Colin. That secret was to protect her. But this? This, he had to tell her.

“No,” he said again, forcing the word out. “What you said makes sense. I just don’t—”

“Want to try it,” she put in. “I get that. But—”

“Jane, no.” He drew a deep breath. “That’s not the problem,” he said flatly.

“Then, what?”

He met her eyes, certain his were as cold as ice. “The problem is that I do.”

She’d been gone for less than fifteen minutes, and already the house seemed desolate. He’d watched the pain cross her face, and then seen the true depth of her strength as she’d schooled her features and nodded.

“You want it,” she’d said. “You want to play out the fantasy. You want to use me as a standin for that bitch. You want to take her. To win.”

He’d nodded, feeling sick even as he did. “Yes. I do.”

“But you won’t do it? Even though I’ve told you it’s okay? That I understand? That I’m consenting, fully and completely? All that, and you won’t, even when we both know this is important? Critical, even.”

He’d met her eyes, and he’d held fast. “I won’t,” he said. “I can’t.”

She’d nodded slowly. “Okay, then. I’ll drop it. We can just forget I said anything. But I don’t have to go.”

Once again, he’d held firm, even though all he’d really wanted was to pull her close to him. “You do. I need time. An hour. A day. I don’t know. But I need to clear my head. Besides, things will have piled up at the Sykes offices that I need to take care of. And you have a screenplay to finish.”

She’d scowled at that, but it was true. She’d done no work for almost a week, and he knew she had to be pushing up against a deadline. “Go home,” he’d insisted. “You have work, and so do I. We should both step out of the bubble for a while. You know I’m right.”

She hadn’t agreed, but she had gone. And now he was alone in the house and missing her already.

He may have suggested that he was going into the city to work, but that was utter bullshit. He was too ripped up to be around other people. Better to stay in, go through some loose ends for Deliverance. Maybe watch five or six hours of mindless television so he wouldn’t have to think about how maybe he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life by sending her away.

It was all true—he needed to think. He needed time. He needed to figure out what he wanted, what he needed.

Because right now, he only knew one thing—he needed her. He just didn’t know how to have her without hurting her. Without dragging her down to a place she said she was willing to go, but he knew damn well she didn’t belong.

Dammit all to hell. He was a f*cking mess.

A f*cking mess, and at loose ends.

He’d meant it when he said he needed to clear his head, and the best way he knew to do that was to take a walk on the beach. He was back in his bedroom, and now he looked for his headphones, finally finding them on the bedside table. He pulled up a playlist on his phone, then started toward the door.

He paused, then stripped off the slacks he’d pulled on to go meet Bill. He crumpled the damn things, tossed them in a corner, and then searched out the jeans he’d worn at the party. He picked them up, then breathed in the scent of her, grateful that Archie hadn’t come through to gather up the laundry.

After telling himself he was being ridiculous but not much caring, he pulled on the jeans. Because, dammit, if he couldn’t have the woman, he at least wanted the memory.