Filthy English

“Just so you know, I’m only letting you yank on me like a caveman because I’m curious about what’s got you in such a tizzy. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he growled.

Okay then.

He headed down the hall toward the restrooms.

Crap. Not the stifling room with all the drunken girls.

I slowed down. “Thank you, but my bladder is fine. Plus, it’s hot in there and the last time I went in, I really wanted to puke . . .”

He burst through the ladies’ room door.

Three women swiveled to face us, their eyes lighting up appreciatively as they took in the handsome male at the door. He straightened athletic shoulders and grinned charmingly—although I could see it was forced.

“Ladies, sorry to bust up in here, but if you’d excuse us, I’d like to have a few moments alone with . . .” He sent me a narrowed look.“ . . . this girl.”

They blinked. Looked around at each other.

“Uh, this is the ladies’. Why don’t you take it outside?” one of them snarked as she leaned over the sink to apply more lipstick.

Dax cleared his throat. Smiled. Again. “The lead guitarist for Vital Rejects is at the bar. He has blue hair and I’ve told him to buy you as many drinks as you want.”

“For real?” squealed Lipstick Girl. Her hands fluttered around her blonde hair. “Oh my God. I love him. He’s so hot when he plays and when he got in that fight in Vegas—”

“Yes, he’s the ultimate bad boy. We all know.” Dax added, “By the way, that free alcohol offer ends in five seconds. Five, four, three, two . . .”

They sent us one final look and all three scurried out of the room.

As soon as the door was shut, he let my hand go, threw the deadbolt, and paced around the small room, his demeanor a little possessive and a whole lot sexy. He was like an angry lion, ready to tear into someone. I watched him, frankly fascinated by his emotional response. Why was he upset? What was going on with him?

He came to a stop, as if he’d made a decision, and stalked toward me. I backed up until I was pressed against the sinks that lined the concrete wall. Glittering eyes raked over me, and quivers of heat danced up my spine at the lingering desire I read on his face.

God. I wanted him and his domineering attitude. But it was crazy. Insane. Hadn’t I learned my lesson with him already?

He slapped his palm against the wall, his face leaning down to mine. “Tell me you knew it was me out there.”

I exhaled. So that’s what this was about.

“As soon as you put your hands on me, I knew it was you.” Only you. “I’d never do that with a random person, Dax. That’s not me, and you should know it.”

He’d been the only crazy thing I’d ever done.

Relief flickered over his face and he let out a pent-up breath.

I scowled. “You’re acting like you’re some kind of—I don’t know—pissed-off alpha male who’s marking his territory. You don’t own me. We’re friends—”

“Who got to second base in front of the whole damn club,” he snapped.

“I was willing to give you a homerun.” I bit my lip. What about your contract, Remi? Oh, how fast you broke.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes landing on the bodice of my dress then darting away. He took a step back from me and crossed his arms.

“What? You—you don’t like my dress? Look,” I said, holding up one of my feet to show him my shoes. “I wore sensible shoes so I wouldn’t fall.”

“Your dress is too short.”

“I happen to have really long legs.”

“I know. They’ve been wrapped around me several times.”

Oh, he went there. I crossed my arms. Two could play at this game. “What do you want me to wear? A nun’s habit?”

Something—a memory—passed over his face, and his gaze softened. “I don’t know—just dress like you do at Whitman.”

I gaped. “Since when do you pay attention to what I wear?”

He raked his eyes over me. “More than I should. Those tight pants you wear that hug your arse, the little white sweater you like when it’s cool outside . . . and your pearls. I’ve thought about those pearls . . . what I’d like to do with them.”

My stomach fluttered. My pearls? “And my hair? You don’t like it either?”

He closed his eyes briefly. Swallowed. “I love your wild hair, but now I can’t . . . dammit . . . this is all wrong. It’s—it’s been a totally weird day. As soon as Spider cooked breakfast, I should have known it was wonky. Hell, as soon as I saw you here that night, I should have known fate was screwing with me.” He raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident.

“What else happened today?” I put my hand on his shoulder, leftover anger vanishing.

He leaned into me.

“It’s a long story, but Declan mentioned a house for sale in Raleigh. I thought about it and spent most of the day on the phone talking with Father and Declan to work out details. I may buy it. It’s impulsive as hell, but it’s such a good deal that I’m afraid to wait until I get home, plus school will have started by then.”

“I hope it works out for you.” I squeezed his bicep.

He flicked his eyes over me. “Then, Spider told me you guys were coming here tonight, and all I could think about was Chad, and what if he was here too. I had to come. Shit.” He exhaled. “Every guy out there was eye-fucking you, and I was just as bad. Dammit, I didn’t mean to go that far when we were dancing . . .”