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“Spittle,” I grunt, wiping the ten missed calls and ignoring his voicemail. I can’t deal with him right now. I can barely deal with the exchange. “We all set?”
“All set,” Brad confirms. “Ringo’s gone fishing in his shit heap boat, and the rest of the men are scoping a mile radius.” We start toward the car, and I pull Rose along with me. “Are you kidding me?” Brad stops in his tracks, pointing at her.
“What?” I ask.
“You are not bringing her. Why the fuck would you do that?”
I stall, searching for my reasoning. I never gave it much thought, really. Failing to think clearly is a huge red flag. I just told her she was coming and thought no more of it. Truth is, I don’t want her out of my sight.
I don’t get a chance to think of a response. Brad takes Rose and leads her back to the stairs, his look daring me to argue. And for once, I don’t. He’s being sensible. I am not.
“He’ll be back before you know it,” he says sarcastically.
Rose snorts, making her way up the steps. “I don’t care if I never see him again.”
Ouch. “Fuck you, Rose,” I spit.
She meets Amber at the top, and the look Amber throws Rose should turn her to a pile of dust. Not my girl. It’s water off a duck’s back with my girl. Rose stops, looks Amber up and down, before getting on her way. “It’s your turn tonight. He’s in the mood for rough.”
My jaw is tight as I gaze up at her, getting farther and farther away. That fucking woman has me straddling the line between fury and amazement.
“Come on.” Brad nudges me in the arm, and I slowly cast my eyes to his. “Danny?”
“I’ll be two minutes.” I find myself running up the stairs after Rose, my vision now clear, my body now stable. My target is my only focus. She’s a firecracker. My firecracker. I need to feel her one more time before I go.
“Danny, are you fucking shitting me?”
“Two minutes,” I call, passing a stunned Amber who’s forced to jump from my charging path. Rose looks over her shoulder, quickening her pace when she spots me in pursuit. “Don’t run,” I warn, only making her break into a sprint. “Rose.”
She zooms down the corridor like a rocket, me on her tail, and when she reaches the door to her room, she bombs in and slams it. I snort in the face of the wood between us, disregarding the fact it’s only just been repaired after I practically knocked it off its hinges only the other day. I shoulder-charge it and fall into the room, quickly locating her running to the bathroom. She doesn’t get to slam that door. It bounces off the toe of my boot, and she squeals, all high-pitched and girlie, pricking at my delicate brain. I fill the doorway, legs wide, hands braced into each side of the wood. “Come here,” I pant as she backs up toward the sink.
“Fuck off, Danny. You’ve got what you wanted.”
“Have I?”
Her gaze jumps past me. She’s trying to gage her chances of escape. Stupid woman. She doesn’t want to escape. Not really, no matter how much she wants to convince me or herself otherwise. “What do you want then?” Her hands disappear into the sleeves of her sweater, like she’s trying to cover up as much of her skin as she can. Then she folds her arms. She’s mentally restraining herself.
“Come here.”
She shakes her head.
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Do it.”
“Fuck you.”
I steam forward and pull her arms loose of her torso, shoving them to her sides. “Kiss me.” I cage her in, one arm on either side of her against the sink. Her pretty face is taut, her lips pressed tightly shut. “You don’t want to?”
“N . . .” She fades off, and I cock my head.
It’s her that makes the first move. All her.
She grabs me and hauls me onto her mouth, going at me like a mad woman. Her moan contradicts her hands that are trying to push me away. The heat of her body contradicts her attempts to be cold. This woman is one huge bag of contradictions. But she needs to realize that she causes conflict in me too. She is the epitome of weakness for me. A weakness that I want. Because while she strips me of strength to some extent, she injects me with it in others. My heart beats stronger with her around. I have purpose like I’ve never had.
I loop one arm around her waist and tug her into me, my other hand taking her jaw, squeezing.
“No, please.” She suddenly pulls away, turning her head, wriggling to free herself. “No more, Danny.”
A little stunned, I step back, her rejection stinging. Because I sense something in her tone I’ve never heard before. Resolution. My headache is suddenly back, my body suddenly shaky again. Her resolve is a smack in the face. Her expression as fierce as she is. “No more games?” I didn’t mean it as a question. It was supposed to be an assertive statement. None of this has been a game to me, not for a while now.
