What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

“Nothing really.”

“Try again.”

I hesitate and reach in my purse, showing him the necklace box and watching him closely as I open the lid. There’s no recognition in his face, no reaction. His gaze lifts to mine. “Is that for the auction and if so, why are you carrying it around?”

“It fell out of my purse and your father saw it, and no, it’s not for the auction. It was delivered to Allison W. with a note, but I got it at the museum. That’s how I ended up at your offices, asking for her.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I swear his energy read likes an invisible flinch. “What did the note say?”

“That seems private and—”

“What did the note say?”

“Forgive me.”

His chest expands and his jaw tics. “Don’t walk around with something so obviously expensive, Ms. Wright. It’s not a smart or safe idea.”

The latter comment feels a bit like deflection, despite the fact that he’s really not wrong. “Did she call you?”

“No,” he says. “She didn’t call me, but we’ll assume she’s occupied.”

“Do you know who sent the necklace? Maybe we can call him and check on her?”

“No. No, I don’t know who sent the necklace.”

“Should we be worried?”

“She’s a free woman, Ms. Wright. And she’s made a choice. Unless you want to get in my car, and go to my home with me, get in your car so that I know you’re safe. Therefore I can leave.”

I open my mouth to argue and he says, “Don’t,” and there’s something in the way he says it that cuts and not me. Him. He cared about Allison, and I’m not sure he knew, until now, just how much. I’ve sideswiped him in the worst of ways. I get in my car and lock the doors. He’s already walking away. And he seems to know that Allison walked away. Because freedom is a right and a choice, I remind myself.

I start the car, but I’m uncomfortable in every possible way.

CHAPTER SIXTY

It’s finally time for Dash to arrive home and I’m alone in an empty airport wing, awaiting his flight, so nervous it’s really kind of ridiculous. It’s not like we haven’t been naked together, many times at this point, and talked and texted every day. Just last night we spent an hour talking about his week and my weird encounters with both Tyler and Jack Hawk. For a moment, I calm myself by thinking back to that conversation:

“He didn’t act like he’d ever seen the necklace before,” I tell him.

“I told you Tyler would not have sent that necklace to the office, which was the sender’s intent.”

“I think maybe he loved her,” I say, thinking about Tyler’s reaction to the note sent with the necklace.

“I think it’s a little more complicated than that with Tyler. He likes control. He doesn’t have it. That’s a problem for him.”

“Maybe. He did say she was a free woman and chose to leave, I’m paraphrasing slightly, I think.”

“And she didn’t choose the way he wanted.”

“What happened between you and Tyler?”

“That’s a complicated story, Allie.”

I come back to the present with the same conclusion I’d had last night. Dash has secrets or perhaps not secrets, but things he’s just not ready to tell me, and perhaps never will. But then, don’t I have the same? How do I judge him when I’m guilty of the same?

It’s right then that Dash’s plane taxis to a halt under a private hanger. My heart is exaggerating every beat again at this point, and I pace about a bit, before returning to the window.

Finally, Dash is walking across the tarmac, and my God, the man is the kind of sin that drives a girl crazy. In black jeans, and a black leather jacket, with so much swagger, he puts swagger in the swagger, and my heart is literally in my throat. I don’t remember any man ever affecting me in such an over-the-top way. Willing my pulse to calm, I move center to the door where he can see me when he enters the building.

The door opens and his eyes find me instantly, a smile sliding over his face, and then we’re moving toward each other. We come together in an embrace and he’s kissing me, a long, deep kiss that is highly inappropriate, but neither one of us seem to care. The smell of him, the feel of him, and I’m alive when I wasn’t just moments before.

“Miss me, baby?” he asks when we come up for air. “Because I damn sure missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I say, surprised at how much I mean those words.

“Then how about we go home, order takeout, and get naked?”

I don’t miss the way he references home as if it’s my home, too, when of course, he doesn’t mean it literally. “You do remember we have the Jason Aldean thing tonight, right?”