Dash’s money and power, as well as his fame, is everywhere, much like my father’s money, power, and fame. Perhaps that should scare me, sending me running all over again. But it doesn’t. Those things don’t define Dash’s character as anything close to my father’s. Dash is a man who can be confident but not arrogant, blessed and therefore generous, gifted, and yet humble. My father is his polar opposite.
The door shuts behind me and when I would rave about how pretty it is here, Dash is pulling me into his arms, folding me close, his hand on the back of my head. “In case I haven’t told you, I’m glad you’re here with me, Allie.” His mouth closes down on mine and with what I can only call a wicked sweet heat that sweeps over us, and consumes the very air around us.
He scoops my backside and lifts me, my legs wrapping his waist as he carries me to the living area, and sets me down in front of the couch.
We undress each other then, no words spoken, but there is a tenderness between us that I have never quite felt before, a shift, a growing intimacy. And when he sits down and pulls me on top of him, straddling his hips, when he’s inside me, pressed deeply, I know that we are making love, perhaps really making love for the first time ever. I ride him with a slow sway of my hips, and his eyes and hands are somehow hungry, and yet, there is a tenderness to every moment we share. And when I collapse on top of him, my face buried in his neck, my breasts pressed to his chest, I don’t want to move. I want to stay just like this for the rest of the night. And I know now that Dash and I are not two ships passing in the night. We are two ships sailing together, navigating stormy waters, but finding the calm with each other.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The next morning, I dress in a multi-toned, form-fitting pencil skirt and a silk blouse while Dash is the cool, confident writer in jeans, boots, and a sleek, tan leather jacket. And he makes it work. He owns the look. He owns the room. He owns me, I think. Most definitely me. Once we step outside the hotel into a biting wind, I decide Nashville, even during an unusual cold spell, is not even close to this bitter. Dash and the driver escort me to Riptide, where Dash walks me to the door. “I’ll only be a few hours. Then I’ll come and get you?”
“Yes. Perfect. I don’t need more than a few hours.”
His fingers close around my waist, under the Burberry trenchcoat I’m wearing, and he walks me to him. “You look beautiful today.”
My cheeks heat despite the cold wind. “Thank you,” I say softly.
“I’ll show you how beautiful in a few hours.”
With that promise, he kisses me and opens the door to Riptide. I hurry inside and I’m greeted first by the security guard, and then by the receptionist. Many other greetings follow, but my path is a straight shot to Mark’s office. I stop at his door and knock, peeking inside. He sits behind his desk, a combination of good looks and absolute control of all things around him, that no one would deny. He’s present. He owns the room.
He motions me forward and I claim the seat in front of his desk. “You’re glowing, Ms. Wright. Nashville has done right by you. Why do I believe that means you are not going to do right by me?”
“I would never do wrong by you, Mark.”
“Leaving is doing wrong by me.”
“Nothing has changed as of now. I’ll be back in January.”
He arches a brow. “As of now?”
“It’s hard to leave my mother, but she’s healthy now. There’s no reason I should hang on so tightly. How is your mother?”
“She’s a fighter,” he says tightly, offering nothing more. But of course, he wouldn’t. This is, after all, the stoic, Mr. Compton.
“If she would like to talk to my mother, another cancer survivor, and a nurse, I can connect them.”
His expression, even his shoulders, visibly soften in an unfamiliar way, for such a hard man, his mother’s illness continuing to offer just a hint of something gentler beneath his surface. “Yes. I do believe she could use an ear and voice from someone who understands what she’d gone through.”
“Of course. I love your mom. And my mom. I think they will connect in a positive way. I’ll make it happen.”
“Tell me about the auction,” he says, his tone turning hard again.
“You got my message about Hawk Legal paying you for rush validations?”
“I did. We’ll donate the time and energy for the press, and for a promise of your return.”