A Hasty Retreat
I’m shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying not to be pissed off at the hired valet guys for stupidly parking the guests’ cars in front of the garage. I’d thrust my keys into his hands and told him to please just hurry.
But you can only move so fast when you have a dozen or so cars to rearrange, and that means that I’m stuck here until he manages to work out that little puzzle and bring me my car.
And, dammit, I really want to get the hell out of here.
I know Dallas has a role to play, I get it. For that matter, I even understand that it was only partially a role before. I mean, he wanted those women in his bed. Hell, he got off on it. Doing things with them. To them.
It was a release. A way to satisfy himself.
He didn’t literally fuck them—I know that—but he sure as hell enjoyed them. And I don’t begrudge him that. I really don’t.
I mean, hell, I got married. So it’s not like I was living the life of a nun. And even after my divorce, I wasn’t celibate. There’ve been guys. Not a lot, but enough. After all, I’m rather fond of orgasms. And although I’d wanted Dallas, I’d believed I could never have him. So why not drown my sorrows in other men?
But the last guy I fucked was a long time ago, and I sure as hell haven’t been with anyone since Dallas.
I know he’s putting on a show—I know it. But I had assumed he would pick some anonymous girl from the crowd. Not Fiona, a girl he’s gone out with more than once, which means that she’s more than just a throw-away.
And I’d assumed that he’d simply pat her ass and put on the touchy-feely show. I hadn’t expected to see her grab his cock. And I sure as hell hadn’t anticipated watching him get hard from another woman’s touch.
I realize that I’ve clenched my fists, and right then I think I’d punch Fiona in her pert little nose if I saw her. For that matter, I just might punch Dallas.
He, however, isn’t nearby. Most likely because he’s taken her upstairs to his bedroom.
Oh dear god. His bedroom.
I remember the day not too long ago when I’d come to this house to see him—and found him in his room with two very naked women in his bed. I’d missed the actual show, thank god, but I’d gotten an eyeful of both the girls and a collection of toys lying around.
I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, thinking about those black satin sheets where he’ll soon be taking her. Sheets that have touched my bare skin. That I’ve clawed, trying to hang on to reason while his beard stubble scratched my inner thighs and his tongue worked magic on my clit.
Cool sheets that soothed my red, stinging skin after he’d spanked me, then finger fucked me, taking me to the edge over and over again, tormenting me incessantly before letting me find release.
That room is ours now, and I hate the thought that Fiona—that any woman—will share that bed with him while I’m at my house eating ice cream and drowning my sorrows in chocolate syrup and too much red wine.
I’m so wrapped up in my pity party that I don’t realize that the valet has brought my car around until he taps the horn. I open my eyes, but not even the prospect of putting my darling little Vanquish Volante through her paces knocks me out of my funk.
The valet holds the door open for me. But as I take a step forward, I’m held back by a firm hand on my shoulder. I jump, surprised, but when I turn, the surprise fades.
Dallas.
Of course he’s there.
Of course he’s come to me.
“Stay.” His voice is low. Steady.
“I can’t. Seriously, Dallas. I need to go.”
But he just lifts his arm, then signals the driver to take my car away.
“What the hell?”
“Wait.” He takes my elbow and leads me away from the temporary valet stand so that we can talk more privately.
I jerk my arm free and glare at him, irritated as much by the whole damn situation as I am by the fact that now I’m going to have to send for my car again. “Dammit, I know what you have to do. I don’t know all the details, but I get that your persona’s important. And—”
He is shaking his head. “We talked about it. I thought you were okay with it. I thought we were okay.”
I’ve been looking anywhere but at him, but now I lift my chin and defiantly stare him down. “You are so fucking dense sometimes. Yes, we had a conversation. But do you really think I want to just sit around while you’re upstairs in your bed with your mouth on some other girl’s cunt?”
My voice is so low it’s barely a whisper. Even so, the words come out like a lashing, and I glance around quickly to make sure no one else has heard them. Part of me doesn’t even care. Because honestly, he’s pissing me off. I mean, he really doesn’t get why I might want to get the hell out of here?
Apparently he’s also clueless about how annoyed I am, because the son-of-a-bitch is actually grinning at me.
“What?” I demand.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“You know what, Dallas? Fuck you.” I’ve had enough, and I turn to head back to the valet stand.
He catches my hand and tugs me back. “What you’re worried about—it’s not happening.”
I cock my head, then yank my hand free and cross my arms. “In case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Sykes, you have a reputation to protect. Or destroy, depending on your point of view. Do not even try to convince me that you won’t have a girl in your bed tonight.”
“I will,” he says, looking at me with the kind of intensity designed to make me melt. “You.”
“What?” My legs suddenly feel a little weak, even as my head feels a little confused.
“I want you in my bed, Jane. You. Because you’re the only woman with the right to be there. Go,” he adds. “Go now.”
“Dallas.” My voice is a protest. He knows as well as I do why me heading to his bedroom right now is a very bad idea.
He steps closer, all power and control and intensity. “Now. Or I’ll spank your ass right here and if any one looks at us funny I’ll tell them it’s a big brother prerogative.”
Now I actually have to fight a smile, and the tears are the happy kind. “You’re only four months older than me.”
He just points toward the house.
“How the hell do you expect to pull off your Playboy of the Western World routine without a girl who’s not your sister in your bed?”
“Go,” he repeats. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Fine.” I take a step toward the door. “But we’ll talk when we get upstairs.”
“Sweetheart, talking is the last thing on my mind.”
Oh.
I pause just long enough to take in his words.
Then I do as he says, and go.