Broken Beast

"You're a persistent young woman."

"Thank you." She motions to the glass again.

I shake my head.

She makes an exaggerated pout, but she still launches into a story about Adam playing chaperone at her high school dance, and him awkwardly saying no thank you to ever girl that asked him to dance.

Which was pretty much every girl in the school.

I keep one eye on Adam and Mr. Fitzgerald. They don't drop their smiles, but there is something about their exchange.

Some tension.

Adam walks Mr. Fitzgerald out.

Then he joins us at the table.

Then it's Liam and Briar.

And even Simon.

After another drink, I forget about everything except how much I adore Adam and his dysfunctional family.

I don't feel like a fake fiancée.

I feel like I'm a member of the family.

Or at least, on my way.

Liam keeps me laughing all through dinner. He walks us to the car. Whispers a request for dirty details in my ear. Winks show Adam a good time tonight, huh?

We don't make it to the bed.

I climb into his lap on the couch.

He keeps his suit on.

But then I keep my dress on too. I don't have the patience to strip.

I need him.

All of him.

The next day, I wake tired and sore and happy.

I meet Remy at the apartment with coffee. He gushes over my ring as we watch Blood Borne and eat takeout French toast.

Then take out Thai curry.

We talk until I fall asleep on the couch. I wake early, take the subway to Adam's apartment. Our apartment.

He's still asleep.

He looks right in his bed, in the soft glow of sunrise.

Peaceful and powerful in equal measure.

I can already see it. A life for us together. For real.

But I still haven't told him about my scars.

I still need to reveal myself to him.

Soon.

Really fucking soon.

It stays in the back of my head all day. On the ride back to his house. All night.

Through a week of lazy days and perfect nights.

Even as we set plans to return to the city for dinner with Remy and the rest of Adam's family.

All week, until the morning of our dinner, when I wake up to news on my cell phone.

The difficult artist who's supposed to show next month pulled out.

If I can be ready next week, the spot is mine.

Which means I need to tell Remy about my photos tonight.

Fuck.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Adam

"My brother is going to see my boobs." Danielle presses her cell phone to her chest. "Or maybe he's seen them. Maybe he knows. Do you think he knows? Is it better if he knows? Or worse?"

"What would he say, if he did?" I ask.

"Probably something about you being hot," she says. "And my pictures needing more dick."

A laugh falls from my lips.

"It's not funny."

I raise a brow.

She drops her phone on the bench seat of the limo. Brushes a stray hair behind her ear.

She looks gorgeous in her low-cut black dress, her wavy hair pulled into a loose updo, her long neck on display.

But I need those clothes gone.

I need us to be in that perfect, beautiful place where we fit together like puzzle pieces.

There, I know exactly what she needs.

Here?

I don't have a fucking clue.

"Okay. It's a little funny." She crosses her legs. Smooths her short dress. "I just… what if he thinks I'm a whore?"

"What if he does?"

She frowns. "Well, he'd probably say 'good for you, Danny.' And then something about naked pictures of women being boring."

That sounds like him.

"And then, he'd bring it back to dick. And ask if there are pictures of your dick," she says.

"There are."

She flushes. "They're private."

"Do you look at them?"

"Yes."

"What do you do?"

"Do I fuck myself?"

I nod.

"When would I do that?"

"You're working all day."

"Is that work now?"

"It's how I imagine you," I say.

She smiles. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or delighted."

I shrug as if I don't care.

"You're teasing." Her smile widens. "I like when you tease. I like getting the Adam Pierce no one knows." She brings her hand to my cheek and pulls me into a slow, deep kiss. "Do we have time?"

"No."

"Can we drive around the block?"

I kiss her with everything I have.

"Adam." She pulls back with a sigh. "Please."

"Please?"

"Don't torture me."

I shake my head. "No, angel." I bring my hand to her inner thigh. Push it higher and higher, until my palm is flat against her. That thin layer of silk in the way. Under that, all her. "I live to torture you."

"Adam."

It steals my self-control. It always does. But she doesn't realize it.

She kisses me back, digging her fingers into my neck, groaning against my mouth.

"Fuck." She settles into her seat. Finds her lipstick in her purse. Applies another coat. "You're distracting me."

"From?"

"I forgot."

The car stops.

"Are we really here?" She looks outside the tinted window.

"Are you ready?"

"No. But it's now or never."

I nod and offer my hand.

She takes it. Follows me into the Midtown hotel.