Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(78)
His lean-muscled body went rigid. He sat forward on the sofa. “A man like me? What the hell’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing! There’s nothing the least bit wrong with you. You just . . . you aren’t the kind of man I need.”
He set his beer bottle down on the coffee table and got up off the couch. “Bullshit. I’m exactly the kind of man you need. I have a job. I work hard. I have money in the bank. I’m not some loser you picked up on the street. I can take care of you as well as any other man.” His gaze slowly raked her, fastened on the swell of cleavage above her pink tank. “Better.”
She ignored the tingling that shot through her body. He had certainly taken care of her in bed.
“I know that. Physically, we’re very . . . compatible. But it has to be more than that. Please don’t make this any harder than it is already.”
He grabbed her hand, pressed it against the fly of his jeans. “I can’t get much harder, Meg. That’s the way I walk around half the time when I’m with you. I can’t get enough of you, honey. I wanted you the first time I saw you. I still do.”
Her throat felt tight. “Don’t you see? Wanting isn’t enough. I’m only going to be modeling for another year, two at the most. By then I’ll have enough money put away so I can stay home and take care of my son full-time, work at something I really want to do. I’ve always wanted to own my own business. I might give that a try.”
“So you’ll own a business. Whatever you do, you’ll do it well. That’s just the way you are. Doesn’t mean we can’t be together.”
Her heart squeezed. She hadn’t realized he would think they could continue. “Maybe not, but once I’m ready to settle down, I’ll be looking for more than just a fling, more than just sex with a man I’m wildly attracted to.”
His hazel eyes sparked with interest. “Wildly attracted? That’s how you feel?” He caught her hand. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You always see things more clearly after you’re relaxed.”
Meg jerked free. “That’s the problem, Dirk Reynolds! You think sex is the answer to everything. Maybe if I didn’t have Charlie, it would be. At least until you got tired of me or . . . or I got tired of you.”
His masculine features tightened. “Is that it? You just wanted a fling and now you’ve had enough?”
“No! You know . . . it . . . it wasn’t that way. But now we’re home and things . . . things are different.”
A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You’re really serious about this. You want us to be over.”
She didn’t want that. She didn’t want it so badly she ached. “It has to be. I have a son. He’s got to be my first priority.”
She saw the moment the barb struck, when he realized she meant every word. He paced away, turned back to face her. “See, that’s the thing you don’t get, Meg. You wouldn’t have to choose between us. You could have both of us in your life. You didn’t have to choose, but you just did.”
Meg’s heart seemed to stop beating.
“Until we’re sure you and the other models are safe, you’re going to need some kind of protection. I’ll put a man out front. You’ll be covered twenty-four seven.”
She started trembling. “I wish . . . I wish it could be different.”
“It could have been, Meg. If it was what you really wanted.” Dirk crossed the room and yanked open the door. “Have a good life, baby.” And then he was gone.
The sound of his footsteps descending the front stairs made her feel dizzy. Meg heard him fire up his Harley and rev the engine. Dirk popped the clutch, gunned the motor, and roared away, the sound of his muffler slowly fading.
Her heart throbbed dully. He wouldn’t be back. She knew it deep in her soul. Dirk Reynolds wasn’t the kind of man who came back once a woman turned him away.
Meg dropped down on the sofa. Her eyes burned and hot tears scalded her cheeks. She’d done the right thing. She’d given up Dirk for little Charlie. But dear God, she hadn’t realized it was going to hurt so much.
Chapter Thirty
“You up for a ride? I’ve got something I need to do and it’d be better if you went with me.”
Which was Ethan’s way of saying he wasn’t about to leave her there alone. With Byron Mahler dead, the immediate danger was over. But the man who’d killed Delilah was still out there, waiting, perhaps, to make good on his threat to murder another model.
Seated behind the computer in her bedroom late the next morning, Val glanced over to where Ethan stood in the doorway in his usual T-shirt and jeans. The man was eye candy no matter what he wore, but her favorite would always be Ethan Brodie in a tuxedo—accessorized with a black tactical vest and a big black semiautomatic pistol.
For a moment, she smiled. Then she remembered how terrified she had been, remembered the sound of bullets smashing into flesh, and her smile slid away.
“A break sounds good,” she said. “I’ve got more studying to do, but I could use a chance to get out of the house for a while. Where are we going?”
“Down to my office. Sadie’s expecting me. I’ve got some ideas I want to run past her. Since you’re not just a pretty face, maybe you can help.”