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“What do you mean you never saw the dress?”
“When we were having dinner at Heath’s house, you told me that shade of purplish blue was your favorite. So when I called Roberto Modesto and asked them to send you over a dress, I told them I wanted it to be that color. I never saw it.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “If you didn’t like the damn thing, why the hell didn’t you pick up the phone and tell me? We could have gotten you something else.”
“Yeah, because that’s what any normal woman does after her boyfriend sends her a present. She calls him up to complain about it. Especially after he’s just asked her to tone down her personality to make life easier for him.”
Dalton shoved his hands into his hair and pulled so hard she was afraid he was actually going to yank some hair out. “Since when have you been normal, Harm? I met you when you were standing in the middle of a bar wielding a pool stick like a weapon, and nothing in my life has been normal since then. So why the hell are you hiding behind what is right and normal when you never seemed to give a shit about either before?”
“Since you asked me to be someone I’m not.” This was on him. Why was he mad at her?
“I never asked you for that. I would never ask you for that.”
“You did ask me for that.” She wanted to punch someone—namely him. “Otherwise, what was with all the tone-it-downs and the warnings about the press and the implication that you didn’t want me to embarrass you?”
“Is that what you thought? That I was worried about you embarrassing me? Harmony, you’re the one who sa
id you really wanted to do this cooking show. I was just warning you about the press or whatever because I figured you’d want to know they were around. The last thing I want is to put you in some kind of awkward position where you end up losing the cooking show you’ve been dreaming about.”
“Bullshit.” The last of her defenses dropped. “You can’t tell me you’re okay with a woman who flashes her vagina on TV—even accidentally. You can’t tell me you want a girlfriend who’s first instinct it is to destroy your office when you lock her in for her own good. You sure as hell can’t tell me that you want someone who starts brawls wherever she goes. I know you, Dalton. I know how much you value peace. I know how hard you’ve worked to make a normal life for yourself away from that ridiculous biker gang.”
“Really? Because it seems to me that you don’t know shit, Harmony.” His anger had turned to a sad resignation.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She still couldn’t figure out what he was upset about. She’d done everything he’d asked and more.
“It means that you’re the one who’s worried about all that stuff, not me.”
“No—”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I let you talk, now you are damn well going to do the same for me. I love who you are. I love everything about you, including your ability to get into the most ridiculous situations. I also love how you brazen your way out of those situations. And how you have this great big heart that you hide behind a tough-girl bitchiness. And I absolutely adore the need you have to take care of everyone in your life, especially me. Thank God.”
He raked his hands through his hair again. “So if you can’t see that, if you can’t see all of the wonderful things that make you who you are, then that’s not on me. That’s on you.”
“You’re just saying that because—”
“Why? Why would I just be saying anything like this if it wasn’t true?” He wanted to touch her but shoved his hands in his pockets. “I love you, Harmony. I’ve told you that numerous times over the last few days, but you don’t seem to believe me, and I can’t quite figure out why that is.” He thought about it for a second. “It occurs to me that you’ve never said it back. Not once have you given me any indication that you are actually in love with me.”
“Don’t you dare change the subject here—“
Dalton looked like he’d just lost a battle with himself. He moved closer, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her into the circle of his arms. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m broadening it, trying to get the big picture of what exactly is going on in your head.”
“I do …”
“What?”
“I do, l …” She froze, unable to get the words out that she’d been planning on saying to him just that morning. It wasn’t because she didn’t love him—because she did. So much. Even more so after he’d just said all those things about her.
Something was holding her back. Something was making it impossible to say the three little words she could see he was so clearly dying to hear. The three little words she’d never said to a man that wasn’t her father.
When they didn’t come, he stepped back, the devastation on his face heartbreaking. “Is this going to be my fault too?” he wondered. “The fact that you don’t love me? Or the fact that you can’t trust me enough to say that you love me even though we both know it already?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t … know?” Clearly, it wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting to hear.
“I don’t know why I can’t say it. I just know that I can’t.” Even as she said the words, she could feel adrenaline hitting her system, and not in a good way. It was panic because this was the end. This whole conversation sounded final, when that was the last thing she’d expected—or wanted—it to be.
“Harmony.” Dalton’s voice dropped, became the low, soothing murmur that she loved so much. But it was too late. She was already freaking out. Already backpedaling across the carpet as fast as her Louboutins would carry her.
“I have to go.” The walls were closing in on her. She had to get out … she had to get away.
