Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(47)

“I’m shocked,” he says as he slides his hand back under the table. Once again, he gently strokes my thigh, the sensation making want to curl up and start purring. “Why on earth would you want to be away from me?”

I sigh a little, but finally manage to form words. “Because when I was near you, all I could think about was touching you.”

“And now?”

“Now I want to be here. In New York. Wherever you are.”

“Why?”

I look at his face and see the heat I feel reflected right back at me. “Because when I’m near you, all I can think about is touching you.”

“I think it’s time to go home.”

“Yes,” I agree. “It absolutely is.”

He texts our driver and the limo is waiting for us as we step out onto the street. Unfortunately, so are two men with cameras.

“Dallas! Hey, Dallas! What’s the story? You and your sister patch up your rift?”

I freeze, my body going completely cold as the driver holds the door open for us. I expect that Dallas is going to hustle me into the limo and ignore them. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks straight at them.

“Rift? No idea what you’re talking about. My sister and I just wanted to spend some time together before she heads back to LA. We both lead busy lives and don’t get to hang out often enough.”

“So the rumors you two have been feuding for years are false?”

Dallas flashes his most photogenic smile. “Come on, guys. Do you know how many rumors there are about me out there? How am I supposed to keep up?”

“Dallas! Dallas! Jane, can you—”

But the last is cut off as Dallas finally does take my hand and urges me into the limo, then follows, shutting the door behind him.

I collapse into the seat, breathing hard, my heart beating wildly, and all I can think is that we were almost discovered. What if Dallas had been holding my hand? What if he’d forgotten himself in the moment and kissed me? What if the woman from the lounge had recognized him? Had figured out exactly who we were and what we’d been doing?

Oh, god.

Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.

He pulls me close, and I realize I’m trembling. “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s fine. We covered and it’s all good.”

I cling to him. “You covered. I froze. I completely froze.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, kissing my hair. “They didn’t see anything. They didn’t suspect anything.”

“But—”

“Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.” When I do, he continues, his voice firm. “I wanted this. I think we needed it.”

“To be hounded by the press?” I can practically hear the hysteria in my voice. “Our affair almost revealed?”

“No,” he says calmly. “To go out in public. To act like we’re just a couple on a date. To feel like we’re part of the world, and not still in a concrete cell in London.”

His words push through my fear, because I understand that. How many times have I felt like he and I are still trapped, social taboos and laws and our family’s disapproval keeping us as firmly imprisoned as the Jailer and the Woman once did?

“I don’t regret, tonight,” he says. “I didn’t intend for the media to notice us, but I don’t even regret that. Okay?” He takes my chin and turns my head so that I have no choice but to look at him again.

“But what if they push the story? What if Daddy hears about it?” The idea of our relationship trending on Twitter scares the crap out of me. But not as much as the ire that will come down on us when our father gets wind of what is between me and Dallas.

“Then we’ll deal,” he says reasonably. “If it happens, we’ll survive. We’ve survived worse, Jane. We’ve survived hell.” He holds my gaze, his so tender I feel like weeping.

“Okay?” he asks gently.

I nod, and before I can add a spoken yes, he slants his mouth over mine, kissing me long and deep, making me forget my lingering fears. Soothing me. Saving me. Letting me lose myself in the pleasure of this man who has sworn so many times that he will always protect me.

He will, I know, and I melt gratefully into his arms for the short drive home.

When we arrive, we hurry up the steps, both of us wanting to get inside. Wanting to touch and kiss and finish this night lost in the warmth of each other’s arms. I’m giddy as he unlocks the door and leads us through the main door to the small alcove that doubles as a mudroom.

But my laughter fades when he stops cold and I slam against him, not expecting him to freeze so suddenly.

“Dallas, what’s wrong?” I ask, but I don’t need him to tell me. I see the answer well enough—a blue envelope sitting menacingly on the floor. It’s in a clear plastic bag and was obviously pushed through the mail slot. “Oh, shit. Here?” I ask as he bends to pick it up. “Oh, god, if she sent it here, then she must know about us, and—”

“No, it’s okay.” There is relief in Dallas’s voice. “There’s a messenger slip in the envelope. It came to the mansion. Archie sent it over.”

“Oh.” I’m ashamed at how relieved I am. I don’t want Dallas receiving creepy stalker letters, but I really don’t want the creepy stalker to out the two of us to the world.