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“I dunno,” I say, shrugging. “It wasn’t me.”
“If it was your brothers, you were indirectly responsible for that,” he says, glaring at me. “You know that.”
“Right …” I sigh. “The Zippo.” Now I look him directly in the eyes as well. “Is that why you have my name tattooed on your back? Because you wanna take out all the people who ever wronged you? And you think I’m the one who caused your papa’s death?”
A vicious smile spreads on his lips, and he strokes my hair again, this time tucking a strand behind my ear. “Such a smart, pretty girl …”
Heat rises right where his finger touches my skin. Shit. Why does he make me feel this way?
“I didn’t do it,” I say. “It wasn’t me or my brothers. You have to believe me.”
“Right,” he mutters. “Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe you only said that so I’d release you.”
“I’m free now,” I say. “I’m still telling you that you’re wrong.”
“Oh, you think you’re free?” I wish I could wipe the smug smirk on his face off. “Free from what exactly?”
“You,” I reply.
He chuckles with his head lowered between his shoulders, and it makes my blood boil. Why, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m still denying any attraction between us. I’ll continue to deny that for my own mental health. Because if I ever admitted to having a thing for the guy who not only killed my brothers but also kept me a prisoner for his enjoyment, I’d probably punch myself.
“You know that’s a lie,” he says, planting both his hands on the table beside me again.
Has he always been this tall? This … huge? Or am I only noticing it now?
I feel as though I can’t breathe, like something wrapped tightly around my lungs and constricted them.
But I gotta stand my ground. I have to fight this.
“You killed my brothers, Brandon. I can’t … I won’t ever feel something for you,” I say clutching the table behind me as if it’s my last hope. “You know that.”
He nods, leaning in. “I know.”
“Good. Because I can’t forgive you,” I add, sucking in a breath.
“I’m not asking you to,” he says, cocking his head while leaning in even closer. “But don’t think that’ll stop me from claiming what I want.”
“What do you want, Brandon?” I ask as he hovers so close to me that his breath leaves puffs of heated air on my skin.
With a guttural voice, he says, “You.”
And he grips my body and plants his lips on mine, whisking me away.
Fuck. I’m a sucker for his lips, and he knows it. Always have been ever since we were kids.
Why did we have to grow up so fucking fast and become such horrible people?
And why can’t I stop myself from kissing him back?
All this time, I’ve tried to resist. I forced myself to push back, to make him release me, to stop him from going any further. Because I knew I’d eventually cave.
“Brandon,” I whisper between his volatile kisses.
“Dixie,” he murmurs back.
His lips roam everywhere; on my neck, my cheeks, my lips, my chest. I can’t breathe from his feverish kisses. Can’t fucking move as he puts his hands all over my body, touching me in ways I never thought I’d react to the way I am right now.
Because fuck me, I want to spread my legs and let him fuck me.
What’s wrong with me?
Why am I not stopping him?
He grabs my ass and pulls me closer to him. His lips brush along my ear, and he whispers, “I’m sorry.”
My eyes burst open as his words resonate in my ears.
“Wha—”
“I’m sorry about your brothers,” he says with a soft, low voice that vibrates in my ear. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through.”
Fuck.
I never thought I’d hear him say those words.
And I never thought they’d mean so much to me when he did say them.
How do you respond when the man you’ve hated your entire life apologizes for causing you so much pain? How do you move on from so much grief caused by a single person? The same person hanging on your lips right now?
You kiss him back, of course.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dixie
It’s the dumbest thing to do, but it’s the only thing my mind can think of right now.
Nothing lulls the ache in my heart, the desperate need for vengeance. But his words, his lips, his touch … make me feel weak. They make me do things I never thought I’d do.
Brandon Locklear changed me.
No man has ever managed to do that.
And not only once but twice in my lifetime.
How many more will there be?
I hold my breath as he rips down my shirt and cups my breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth. He’s so rough, so coarse, so … manly. Without thought, without restraint, without … remorse.
Except this once, when he apologized for something he says he didn’t even do.
