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The heat in my veins might burn them to nothing. “Maybe you should do that.” I grind out the words, ignoring how painful they are to say. I’m chasing myself in circles here, swaying between love and hate. I’m supposed to be getting information from him. Retaliating to his asshole behavior isn’t the way to get it, but the man infuriates me. I square up to him, getting close, my face pushed up to his. I have to get on my tiptoes to do it, but it’s worth the effort. “This whore is done with you.” I pivot and get exactly two paces away before I’m tackled and thrown against the wall. I hit it with force, the impact dislodging a cry of shock from me.
“I decide who I fuck,” he growls, ripping my robe open and pressing his naked front into mine. I turn my head away from his face, determined to stop the desire from surging forward and controlling me. It’s too late. It’s already taking pole position, but I can control it. I must control it. But surely I should want this. Surely having him surrender to me is for the best, because, make no mistake, as much as he’s growling and spitting scathing words in my face, he is surrendering. Yet I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to strengthen the connection between us. It’ll just make this harder, and it’s already unbearable. I’m certain the exchange is happening today, and it’s happening at the boatyard. I need to put the call in and run. Pretend that I never met Danny Black, but remember that what I’ve done was for my flesh and blood—the only flesh and blood I have.
“You won’t touch me if I say no,” I whisper, hitting him below the belt. I don’t care. He’s playing dirty. I’m playing dirty. We’re both dirty. Perfect for each other. My hair is grabbed, his erection growing where it lies on my lower stomach. He yanks hard, demanding I look at him. I won’t. “No,” I say, simple and firm, and he growls, yanking my hair again, rolling his hips into mine. I bite down on my teeth, blinking back the sting in my eyes, trying not to embrace the sparks of life inside me. “No,” I grate, jerking my head back until my hair pulls and my skull meets the wall.
“Rose . . .” His voice is full of warning, his cock now leaking pre-cum on the skin of my tummy.
“No.” Now, I look him in the eye, forcing mine clear of the building tears. “No.” I find my fists opening and clenching, over and over, the restraint needed becoming too much. “No. No. No. N—”
His mouth meets mine and my refusals are swallowed whole, along with my willpower. “Yes,” he whispers, taking my mouth greedily, not letting me come up for air. I taste Scotch on him, and pure, raw Danny.
He is my utopia. My Achilles heel.
My downfall?
“Say it,” he growls, his demand thick with need. “Say the fucking word, Rose.”
My head and my heart argue, fight and throw different orders at me, and I sob through our kiss, so fucking torn. I can’t. I can. Yes. No. Help me! He’s losing, and he must sense it because he risks breaking our consuming kiss to find my eyes, holding my cheeks firmly in his palms. His expression is still cut, but the rare softness I love is lingering beyond somewhere. It only makes my challenge more challenging. Part of me wants to do this. To have one more time completely consumed by him. The other part is fighting it with all I have. Walk away now.
“I think you should call Amber,” I tell him, ensuring I keep my certain eyes on him so he sees my resolution. I can’t have this one more time. I hate Amber, hate her with a vengeance, because if Danny doesn’t die today, I will, and then Amber will have him. Any willing Amber will get the man I love . . . if he lives.
His nostrils flare, ice filling his eyes. “I don’t want Amber. I want you.”
He wants me. No one has ever wanted me before. The real me. My closing throat starts to suffocate me, conflict tearing me apart. “No.” I must be strong. I want him, so much, but I want something else more. “You really can’t have me, Danny.”
“Who fucking says?”
“Me,” I scream, losing the plot. “Just leave me alone!” I try to push him away, my palms forcefully shoving into his chest. He tussles with them, our bodies becoming a mess of grappling limbs. I’m hysterical, shouting through my frustration and hopelessness as Danny fights to gain control of me. His hold of my wrists is strong, immovable, as is his full weight wedged into my chest, pinning me to the wall. “Please,” I murmur pitifully, looking away. “Let me go.”
