What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

Dash returns and helps me put on his jacket, and with it swallowing me whole, we head downstairs. Half an hour later, we arrive at my new temporary home, in his fancy sports car. “I completely forgot that my car is broken,” I say as Dash pulls into the garage next to my college ride. “It’s ancient. I don’t know why my mother kept it and I don’t want to buy a car for a few months.”

“I’ll look at it,” he promises, after being rather quiet on the short ride over, which doesn’t read as regret over the invitation. I’m not sure what’s on his mind. Maybe his book?

“Are you good with cars?”

“My stepfather is a NASCAR mechanic so he taught me a few things.”

“NASCAR? My gosh, you live in a family of exceptionalism.”

“Look in the mirror, cupcake. So do you.”

“My father doesn’t count. My mother’s a nurse. My stepfather’s a fireman chief.”

“Heroes,” he says.

“Yes,” I say, pride filling me, but I’ve got Dash talking and I want to know more. “How did your mom and stepdad meet?

“My mother sponsored a car. She loved NASCAR.”

“Do you?”

“I loved going with her. The sport itself, not so much now.”

In other words, it hurts. I touch his face and he catches my hand and kisses it, giving me a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, before opening his door to exit. I’m out of mine before he can help me and at the door, punching in the code. Dash opens the door and I enter, setting my purse on the counter. “I’ll grab my stuff,” I say. “There’s wine and diet soda in the fridge. The remote is on the coffee table. Are you sure you’re okay with me showering? I’m not as fast as you are at getting ready, I’m sure.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I brought my laptop.” He pats the briefcase at his hip.

“Good. You can get your words in.” Unsure why I do it, I close the space between us, push to my toes, and kiss him. “Read it. Start at the beginning.” With that advice, I leave him there.

I hurry into the bedroom, shower quickly and while my hair is partially drying, fill an overnight bag, and end up in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. My cheeks have color, my lips are swollen. I look like a woman who’s been fucked and fucked well. I’m not sure I’ve been that woman until now.

And I’m not sure what I’m doing with Dash, but I remind myself that he has the luxury of knowing I’m going back to New York. I can’t read anything into my overnight stay. We are good in bed together. Why wouldn’t two adults enjoy each other? It doesn’t mean we have to get married. With that thought, I shake myself, and finish packing, then quickly dry my hair and do my makeup, throwing on leggings and a sweater.

I find Dash standing in the living room, staring at the fireplace, the television above is not even on.

“Dash?”

He rotates and faces me. “This is at least a two-million-dollar home, Allie. You know that, right?”

I set my bag on the kitchen island. “I kind of guessed that.”

“And you think he gave you this, why?”

“HR told me it was for insurance purposes. He has to have someone in it. There’s a wine cellar and vault downstairs. Allison was—”

“Fucking him, Allie. She was fucking him.”

I swallow hard with the inference that there is something in my future with Tyler. And he’s wrong. “There’s nothing between me and Tyler. Nothing.”

He closes the space between me and him and catches my arms.

He’s jealous. Dash is jealous and I’m back to where I am with a lot of things with Dash. I don’t even know what to do with that information.

“He’s my boss. Nothing more, I swear. And my landlord. That’s all, Dash.”

He drags me closer. “And if he wants to fuck you?”

“He doesn’t.”

“And if he wants to fuck you? And before you answer, don’t be naive. You’re smarter than that.”

“I don’t want Tyler, Dash. Just you.”

His fingers tangle in my hair and he stares down at me. “We’re together until we decide otherwise.”

I know where this is headed, I know how this ends, and it’s not good for me, but I have no ability to deny this man. He’s jealous and once again, as if feeling this once wasn’t enough, as proof of how fucked up I truly am, I like it.

“Yes,” I whisper, and his mouth is on my mouth, his hands on my body, and everything about him right now is pure possession. We’re urgent with each other, tearing at each other’s clothes. His sweater lands on the floor and so does mine, followed by my bra. In a matter of what seems like seconds, I’m naked and sitting on the kitchen island and Dash is buried inside me, stretching me, pumping inside me. My hands catch my weight on the island, my breasts naked between us, bouncing with every thrust and bump—his eyes all over me. It’s hard, passionate, intense, and I tumble into bliss all too quickly.