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“We were just dancing, man.”
“You dance with lots of married women, then?” Dash sneers until the other man looks close to pissing himself. “Do you see my ring on Bianca’s finger?”
“Y-yes,” he stutters.
“It means she’s mine. My wife. My woman,” Dash growls, with so much emotion that it takes my breath away and I can’t look away from him. “She will never be yours. Not in this lifetime or any other. Touch my wife again and I’ll cut off your hands. Speak to her and I’ll take out your tongue. You see where I’m going?”
“Yes. Yes, I understand.”
“Run before I change my mind.”
Dhruv scurries away like those cartoon characters leaving a cloud of smoke in their wake. Except, nothing about this is funny. The silence and the tension in the room is deafening with every pair of eyes on us. Some even boldly record us, like we’re a source of entertainment they can’t wait to share stories about. Or probably sell the inside scoop to the media. They observe Dash like he’s a caged animal, afraid yet oddly mesmerized.
The one thing I was absolutely worried about happened. My parents have to be watching among the crowd. Yet they are the last people I’m concerned about. My whole being is attuned to my husband, who I feel is fighting an inner battle. His fingers dig into my waist while the other is clenched into a fist. Facing him until he’s forced to meet my gaze, I’m not prepared for the tumultuous emotions flashing in his eyes. A pain I’ve never witnessed in all these weeks with him.
It’s not jealousy. Or mere possessiveness, but something far deeper and darker.
“Dash,” I take his fist and slowly uncurl his fingers, “talk to me.”
The darkness doesn’t fade from his features. If anything, it burns brighter and something twists in my gut when he tugs his hand free.
“I need some air.”
As brusquely as he came, he walks away. Leaving me bereft, cold, and wondering what the hell just happened. I don’t even think before I chase after him. His broad shoulders disappear around the corner at the other end of the room and into the back hallway.
I walk as fast as I can in my skirt while my heels clack on the shiny floor. From my periphery, I catch my mother walking in my direction and shout my name but I ignore her. I will be dealing with her later. She went too far this time.
As soon as I’m in the hallway, I look left and right and curse when I don’t see Dash. The lobby is deserted and I know he wouldn’t just leave, so I go in the opposite direction of the exit. An instinct guiding me, like some invisible thread connects us.
There is a double door, leading to the garden, and that’s where I see his silhouette through the glass wall. His back is facing me when I enter, my heels ruining any attempt of disguising my presence. He still doesn’t turn around, not even when I’m within touching distance.
It stuns me because it is so very unlike him.
Ever since we met, not a day has gone by when he isn’t holding me one way or the other. Like touching my skin breathes life into him.
“Look at me, Dash.” My voice carries over the chilly air while darkness cloaks us.
“Get back inside, kitten.”
Every syllable is underlined with a tangible warning. A sane girl would heed it but nothing about us has been in the spectrum of sane. So, of course, I ignore it.
“No,” I growl. “You don’t just threaten a man for touching me for a few seconds and then walk away like it never happened.”
His shoulders bunch and tighten. “Walk. Away.”
“What have I told you about bossing me around?”
He whirls around to face me with a ferocious heat in his eyes and I almost stumble back from the power of it. The green pupils, reminding me of a dark, rainy forest, seconds away from swallowing you whole. Instead of running, I ache to be swept into them.
“And what have I warned you about letting another man touch you?”
“He was nobody.” My words don’t penetrate past the storm playing havoc in his eyes.
“Why does every man think they can have you? I can’t fucking stand it. Especially when you stubbornly refuse to admit we are real.” His voice is low, pained, as his head tilts, the light from the nearby lamps playing over his chiseled face. The scruff on his tight jaw, giving him a roguish look. My gaze drops to his lips as he growls darkly, “First it was Niall, and now some random stranger.”
“I can’t change my past, Dash. You can’t be jealous of every man I’ve dated,” I whisper softly. “It’ll only drive you mad.”
A non-sarcastic laugh spills from his mouth and he takes a step back when I inch closer. His gaze softens tenderly at the hurt on my face when he distances himself. “You don’t want me touching you right now, kitten. Because if I do, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”
