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“Five minutes,” Dare continued. “Plea—”
“You’ve said enough,” I whispered, slanting him a glare and wishing more than anything I hadn’t looked at him.
Because that look made me want his words and his lips and his hands despite his callous rejection.
It made me want him to try to explain away what he said.
It made me want to cry because he’d crossed that invisible barrier again.
He nodded slowly. “But not what needs to be said.”
“Dare—”
“Five minutes.”
I looked at him warily before glancing back at an outraged Teagan.
I knew no matter what I decided then, I was going to have to explain myself. I was going to have to tell her about last week. In detail. And while I thought I’d already known—my heart needed to know how this was going to end with Dare before I did that.
“Five minutes, and then I tell you everything,” I promised Teagan.
I’d barely started sliding out of the booth before Dare was pulling me the rest of the way and hurrying us through the café and into an office.
As soon as the door was shut and locked behind us, I gritted out, “You’re a bastard,” at the same time he said, “I’m sorry.”
Just two words, but they were filled with so much pain and exhaustion and worry.
“Yes, Elle, I’m a bastard. That and a thousand other things.” He slowly moved toward me, gauging my reaction as he lifted his hands to curl them around my face. “But I am so goddamn sorry.”
“Don’t do this,” I pleaded. “Don’t confuse my heart when we both know how you feel.”
His brow furrowed, those dark eyes burning and begging for me to see him the way he seemed to see me. “How I feel? Firefly . . . I’m fucking terrified.”
He released me and moved away, agony lining his face as stepped back to sit on the desk.
“Of what?” I asked when the silence became too much.
“You.” He tossed the word out there like it should’ve been obvious. “I had someone who meant . . . she meant everything to me. And she was taken from me.”
Jealousy had started unfurling in my stomach before it felt like a weight settled in its place. “Oh, Dare. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
He stared at a spot on the floor for a few seconds before lifting his shoulders. “Details aren’t important. It happened a long time ago. But the thought of letting myself get close to someone else, let alone care about them, terrifies me. I’ve spent the past two years watching you, knowing I needed to keep my distance because you intrigued me in a way no one ever has. And then Johnny . . .” He huffed, but it sounded pained. “After he attacked you, all I could see was you dying the way she’d died, and I panicked. I couldn’t let that happen. I knew you had to leave before you got hurt again. Or worse.”
I released his name on a breath, unable to voice it any louder when his pain was tightening my throat with emotion. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t help, and I know they’re useless words when you’ve lost someone . . . but I am sorry.”
“Like I said, it happened a long time ago. But what I did to you—what I said—I don’t know how to take that back.”
“Why tell me?” I asked, catching his stare. “Why not let me continue believing you wanted nothing to do with me?”
“Because all I’ve wanted since you walked out the door was to find you again.” He slipped off the desk, his large frame so commanding and comforting as he moved toward me. “I’ve been counting down the damn hours until this morning because you’ve consumed every thought. You lit up one night . . . and I can’t go back to the dark after that.”
“My life is complicated,” I warned as he pressed me up against the door.
His expression suddenly fell into an unreadable mask. “I’ve been told.”
“I can’t give you what you’re wanting.”
He gently eased his hand into my hair to cradle my head. “So, there is a boyfriend . . . and from what Libby and Einstein said, he’s someone you’re running from.”
