What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

His mouth closes down on mine, his tongue pressing past my teeth in a sultry stroke that seduces every part of me. And just that easily, my arms circle his neck, and more than a year of recoiling into myself and licking my wounds, of protecting myself from being hurt again, evaporates as if the reasons I chose to do so never existed. Every part of me is done denying what I want. And what I want is Dash Black.

His hand molds me closer, a possessive touch that on some level, I know is dangerous. He is dangerous. His ability to affect me, to hurt me, is dangerous, but I can’t seem to care. Voices sound nearby and I want them to just go away, and leave us alone, but it’s too late to save the moment. Dash tears his mouth from mine and does so purposefully. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, catching my hand, his voice low and sounds as frustrated as I feel.

My reaction is an instant mental, yes, please. Let’s get out of here. But Dash tugs me in the wrong direction, toward the voices, not away, forcing me to dig in my heels. “I can’t go back out there.”

The voices are just around the corner now, and I quickly explain. “Rob Wright is my father. And he’s—”

“Here,” he supplies. “Yes. I saw him.” And he reads my rather obvious lead and adds, “But you don’t want to see him.”

“No,” I admit feeling no guilt at my words. Not after what my father put me through. “No, I do not want to see him.”

He studies me, searches my face, and when I think he might question why, he doesn’t. “Come with me.” And then he’s leading down the path again, but this time, away from the party and I go willingly. Every step that places distance between me and my father, allows me to breathe just a little easier. And every step, somehow, brings me closer to Dash.

Our escape leads us to a side gate exit in a shadowed corner of the garden. “Where is your car?” Dash asks.

“Tyler sent a driver. I need to call for a ride.” I reach for my purse to grab my phone.

He catches it and my hand. “I drove,” he says. “Come with me, Allie.”

It’s a question filled with promise that I will not end this night alone, nor will he.

Come with me, Allie.

Simple words, but when spoken by this man, on this night, are not simple at all. And while my first reaction is another, yes, please, there is a voice of reason and self-preservation that has me saying, “I think you’re dangerous, Dash Black.”

His hand settles on my hip. “More than is good for you, baby, but tonight, I say, why don’t you find out for yourself?” With the challenge, his hand slides to my lower back, fingers splaying there as he adds, “You need to know that I won’t take you to Tyler’s house. If you leave with me, you go with me, Allie.”

There’s a hint of something sharp in his tone, that I cannot name—jealousy, I decide. He’s jealous of Tyler. This sexy, talented, confident man is jealous. And as proof of just how fucked up I am, this pleases me. It pleases me to near excess. “With you,” I whisper.

His eyes warm, telling me, this pleases him.

He lifts my hand he still holds to his lips and kisses it, and somehow, it’s the sexiest thing ever. “Stay here. I’ll pull around and get you.”

And then he’s walking away, all confidence and swagger, leaving me alone to talk myself out of this. I wonder if he knows this, that time breeds regret and second thoughts.

But it doesn’t matter his motivation, not on this.

I just want out of this place. And I want out with him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

My coat is inside Tyler’s house, but I don’t have any intention of going back in that house to get it.

Instead, I wait on Dash to pull his car around and do so as I hug myself against the chilly night and the even chillier reality of my relationship with my father. I cannot believe he showed up here. I don’t know what Tyler’s role was in sideswiping me, but I do know that my father intended just that—to sideswipe me. And it worked. I cannot get out of here quickly enough, but I also don’t even know what car Dash drives.

I’m contemplating the need to exit the garden and walk out toward the driveway where I might risk a run-in with my father when the gate opens and Dash is standing there.

“Come on, baby,” he says, catching my hand and pulling me through the gate, my belly fluttering with the endearment.

But when I think we will finally escape this party, and my father, Dash has no such idea. At least, not yet. He halts, just outside the garden, his hands catching my waist. “Ready to back out?”