by Faye Byrd
“Your methods?” she asks, nuzzling my hand.
I brush my lips against hers as a distraction before saying, “Yeah, ya know, getting your number and shit. Like I can know your every move … if I wanted to.” I shrug my right shoulder to make it seem like business as usual, but it’s not business as usual since I kind of do have her under surveillance.
Her body goes rigid and her eyes narrow, the first real sign of fire I’ve seen since those elevator doors opened earlier in the evening. “So,” she starts, dragging out the word, and I brace myself. “You mean you could’ve called, but you just chose not to?”
Of all the things I expect her to say, that isn’t it. I might even be speechless, just moving my lips with no words coming out. “Err,” I start but pause because how do I respond? She’s pissed that I didn’t get her number. I soften my voice and try sounding reasonable. “Piper, I was trying not to invade your privacy.”
Judging by her reaction, those are the wrong fucking words. She stands abruptly, moving so fast I don’t have time to stop her, and takes two steps away before turning on me with a furious expression.
She barks a hard, sarcastic laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she snaps, her arms becoming just as expressive as the rest of her. “Invade my privacy? My fucking privacy! Do you honestly think I’m so fucking stupid that I didn’t notice one of the club cameras was suddenly pointed directly at me? Or, or what about that greasy blond who tries to follow me home every night? I may be a fucking idiot for considering sleeping with you again, but don’t act like I’m stupid!” She’s agitated as fuck and has taken to pacing the small strip of carpet between the sofa and coffee table.
If I wasn't so pissed, I’d fall to the ground and latch on to her legs, begging for forgiveness, pleading with her not to leave, and apologizing for having ever treated her so flippantly. But I am pissed, fucking irate, and that’s the emotion I’m most comfortable with.
I jump up and take one step, positioning myself so that when she rounds from her angry pacing, she ends up right against my chest. “What. Do. You. Mean. Tries?” I say, and I can guaran-fucking-tee it is not a goddamn request.
Apparently, my words aren’t registering because her face transforms from outrage to confused pretty fucking quickly, but it only lasts for a second before her temper flares. She jabs her finger in my chest. “Oh, don’t you even try it! Breaking out the ‘I’m a big bad mobster’ attitude will only piss me off more. Where was that when you needed my fucking phone number?”
She tries to turn, but I grab both her arms and hold her in place. “Piper, I understand you’re upset, and I acknowledge it. I’ll even go so far as to say you’re right. Fuck your privacy. I should’ve goddamn called you.” At this point, my patience is a fine, flimsy thread stretched to its breaking point, but I keep my voice as even as I possibly can. “Now, tell me what you mean when you said he tries to follow you home.”
I watch as she works it out in her head, and then she fucking huffs as she snatches her arms from my grasp. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Dante. First, you try to act all decent and proper, like you’re doing me a favor. And then, when you’re called on your bullshit, you act like you’ve been fucking wronged. Well, I have news for you. This isn’t anywhere close to what I consider treating someone right. I know you’re not always a good guy, and I was willing to overlook that, but I won’t be treated like shit by someone I’m only considering fucking.”
She spins on her heels so fast her hair flies out and slaps me across the face. I don’t reach out because I might just wring her fucking neck. Instead, I breathe deeply through my nose. In and out. In and out. My teeth feel like they’re about to crack I have them clenched so hard.
But epiphany is a motherfucker, and it slaps me hard across the face when I watch her go to my entrance table and grab a backpack I haven’t even noticed sitting there. Slinging the straps onto her shoulders, she gives me one more scathing glare before turning and marching toward the elevator—which, might I add, automatically opens for my departing guests.
The ding echoes through the sound system, and her heels click across my marble, moving farther and farther away. I’m frozen fucking stupid, my mind screaming fuck that bitch, yet my heart is beating at a frantic pace. I’m torn between rage and yearning, already missing her presence.
My feet start moving without me even giving the order, and I come up behind her so swiftly she doesn’t know I’m there until it’s too late. Using my body, I push her against the back wall of the elevator, spinning her to face me at the last second.
“Please, don’t go,” I say gruffly as I fucking breathe her in, feel her body against mine, and savor the moment she’s allowing me. She stays stiff, unmoving, and I’m patient, giving her the time she needs to decide. When her body finally melts into mine, I breathe a fucking sigh of relief and pull back so I can see her face. “I’m sorry.”
She nods and lets out her own sigh. “Okay.”
I cup her jaw. “Piper, I wasn’t”—I shake my head—“not. I’m not mad at you. I swear. I’ll never let propriety keep me from you again.”
With an eye roll, she jabs me in the stomach, and on instinct, I jump back with a laugh—only it turns to a fucking grimace as my shoulder gives a little throb. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, even though she doesn’t look it.
I shake my head and grab her hand, leading her back into my penthouse. When we get to the living room, I pause. “I love that you’re here, even more, because you came looking for me, but fuck, Piper, I need a goddamn shower.” I motion over myself with the hand that isn’t holding hers. “I need to be me again.”
She tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Do you need help?”
I can’t even hide the fact that my eyes just grew ten fucking sizes—because I felt that shit. But my mind’s already processed that and moved on. “You gonna wash me, baby?” I give her one of the smirkiest smirks I possess.
“I think we both know that’s just asking for trouble,” she replies casually, totally squashing the images that had already invaded my mind. “I can help you get that shirt off, though, and I don’t know. Maybe a rain check?”
“Fuck yes!” I give a fist pump and immediately regret it. “Shit.”
“Come on.” Piper tugs my hand, and like an expert, she knows exactly where my bedroom is.
When we get to my room, the first thing she does is remove her backpack, sitting it along the wall by the door. I can’t help but notice it’s a Jansport. I briefly wonder how she’d feel about a Fendi instead, which leads to thoughts of all the other fantastic shit I could buy her.
“Get your clothes, and I’ll help with your shirt.”
“Could you run back to the kitchen and grab the scissors from the drawer to the right of the sink?” I ask as I head to the closet. Not willing to cut every shirt I own, I grab a pair of shorts to wear until I can crash naked in my bed.
Piper reenters right as I exit the closet. “There were a few take-out menus, also. Want me to order you some food?”
“I could eat, but only if you join me,” I reply, sitting on the edge of the bed and motioning to my back. “Cut this up the middle and toss it in the trash.”
She hands me the menus, and as I peruse them, her gentle fingers work to open my shirt. I can tell the exact moment she sees the wound because a small gasp escapes, even though she tries to contain it. “God, Dante. In another spot, this could’ve been fatal.”
I peel away the shirt and toss it and the scissors onto the floor before pulling her to stand between my knees. “This is me, Piper. The very core of me. I won’t ever not be this man.”
Those goddamn dark, expressive eyes bore into me. They’re looking for more, but she has to accept that it just isn’t there. A monster lives inside me, and these are the type of wounds that scar my soul.
She leans down and brushes her lips against mine so softly I barely feel it, but the sentiment behind it reverberates alo
ng my nerve endings and settles in my bones. Never in my life have I felt so much from so little.
I shake my head to clear away the fucking pussy bullshit and break the moment, moving her aside so I can go drown myself. I wave toward the discarded menus. “Order from any of those. Filet for me. Medium rare, please.”
I only use the rain shower head, afraid that a wayward jet might get ahold of my wound, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less thorough. The water stings for the first few minutes, and then my shoulder goes numb to the feel of the spray. I’m able to scrub almost every single inch of my skin and hair—twice. It even feels good when my eyes burn, because they’re my fucking eyes and not those goddamn contacts that went down the toilet as soon as I entered the room.
I don’t know how long I stay in the bathroom, but it feels like a long fucking time. So long that I have a fleeting thought of Piper bailing, but then I realize it’s probably for the best—at least until I’m in the shape to fuck. It may sound harsh, but that has to be the reason for these un-Dante-like qualities I’m exhibiting when it comes to her.
Get my fill and then tolerate. That’s the status quo, and I keep fucking it up royally—first alcohol and now a wound. The chase is all about the completion, and we just can’t seem to get there again. Maybe it’s time to cool off until we can.
I sigh, tossing my towel into the hamper, and slip on my shorts. It’s one thing to make nice, but this feels like something else, and I’m uncomfortable with it. With a clearer head, I make my way out to find Piper and ease her out the fucking door.
It’s time to quit playing house.
To Be Continued
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You can find Volume II here: MIM: Volume II
Volume III: MIM: Volume III
Volume IV: MIM: Volume IV
You can find my other books here:
Wanted: A Western Outlaw Romance
SHARP TURN SAGA: (A Switched at Birth Romance)
Sharp Left Turn
Sharp Right Turn
Final Sharp Turn
MEN OF RAPTURE SERIES: (Intertwined but not serial)
RUSH
ACE
NIKO
