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Before she could speak—though she had no clue what to say—he crouched at her side, his fingers exerting a tender pressure as he turned her face to his. “You asked me why. Let me explain. No more lies. Just the truth.”
“What is there to—”
She jolted as he fisted his hands in her hair, wrecking her careful updo, and dragged her toward him, nearly upending her chair in the process. Her gasp at the pull of gravity that slammed her into his chest turned into a moan when he swept his tongue between her lips and simply took what she’d been trying so hard to lock away.
The familiarity almost broke her. His touch, his smell, the way his nose bumped hers in his urgency to seize her mouth. He took possession of her with confidence, the kind she’d found so sexy once upon a time. If she’d only tasted his skill in the kiss, she would’ve shoved him back and told him to go to hell. But she could sense the desperation in each conquering stroke of his tongue and every strangled groan trapped in his throat.
His teeth scraped her lower lip as he drew back, his eyes steady on hers. Wildly blue and hot with need, those eyes made her want to believe. “I love you, Alexa. You were the only thing worth risking you for. If taking back what I did means I couldn’t be there to watch you succeed, I wouldn’t do it.”
Her head pounded, making his words rattle around like pinballs. She simply couldn’t process what he’d said, not after he’d already shaken her down to her toes with that scorcher of a kiss. Her lips were still tingling. Everything was still tingling.
The sound of clapping made her glance around the banquet hall. Everyone seemed to be grinning at her and Dillon. She, the woman who was so aware of how she was behaving at all times, hadn’t even noticed that they’d created a spectacle.
“Don’t look at them. Look at me.”
His demand might’ve rankled, had she not been breathing hard and close to seeing spots. The heavy weight of everyone’s gazes burned her skin, as if every guest had a personal stake in her reply. It was all too much. “You stole my painting,” she blurted out.
“No, I didn’t,” he said, his voice low. Rough. “I painted it for you. I
t’s yours.”
“You misrepresented yourself to me. You’re one of them.”
His grimace helped mitigate the sting in her eyes. A little. But a woman in a teal pantsuit walked over before he could respond, a brown-paper-wrapped package in her hands. “Here you go, Dill. Thanks.” She cast a quick glance at Alexa. “Lucky lady,” she said with a smile before walking away.
He set the package in her lap as the auction resumed behind them. “They aren’t so bad, I swear. My stepfather likes that you don’t back down.” His warm breath against her ear elicited a shiver she was powerless to stop. “He’s impressed by how you marched in here and gave me hell. Said I deserved it and more for what I did.”
It would be so easy—too easy—to let herself be swept along by that kiss and how much she already missed him. His grand gesture and attentive expression didn’t hurt, either. It was as if he really cared, as if he hadn’t just played her because he could.
As if he loved her.
“Come with me,” he said, dragging his thumb over her lip. Then he added that magical word. “Please.”
His nearness had a disturbing way of making her want to lean into him, to let him caress her hair and take care of her as he had so many times already. “Where?”
He rose and extended his hand only long enough to help her up. The hope in his eyes, the soft vulnerability of it, prompted her to stand as well. “I have something to show you.”
She followed him outside to the parking lot, her throat oddly tight. She’d grown used to him grabbing her hand when they walked together. For him not to felt weird. And awful. “Can you just leave? It’s your benefit. They gave you a fancy award.”
“We’re leaving. I’ll make my apologies later.” He gestured to his bike, hulking in the darkness. “Are you okay to ride in that?”
She looked at her gown. The appropriate answer was “hell no” but she didn’t want to be appropriate tonight. She was too pissed off, too raw, too desperate for him to have any sort of explanation that made sense. “Yeah.” She held the picture under one arm and hiked up her dress. “I can do it.”
“Christ, you’re hot,” he muttered, sounding somewhat dismayed by the fact. Then he marched over to his bike and held out his spare helmet. Before she tried to fumble it on, he set it on her head and did the strap up himself. Which was when she realized that shit, she was actually going to have to ride his bike.
Wind. Fast speeds. Certain death. Did she really feel like playing the odds tonight?
“We could take my car instead.”
He frowned. “You are worried about the dress.”
“I’m worried about me.” She tossed a glance at his bike. “That thing’s huge.”
Lots of other guys would’ve winked and made some sort of joke. Dillon only nodded. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” He tipped up her chin and stared down at her, his features silvered in the moonlight. “You’re important to me, Alexa. I know you don’t believe that yet, but I hope you will eventually.”
She didn’t reply, just followed his instructions to get on behind him. Her arms locked around his muscular torso and she pressed close when he kicked the bike into gear, both out of sheer terror and to protect her painting. She would’ve shelled out five grand for it, she’d be damned if it got crushed or broken.
Not that she cared about the painter. Or the reason he’d chosen that subject. Not at all.
