Finally, Dallas simply stops. "Come on, folks," he says. "There's not a damn thing to see here. You people know my reputation. Bad boy billionaire, right?"
"Are you fucking your sister now, Dallas?" one bold reporter asks. "Doesn't get much more bad boy than that."
Dallas points a finger at him, and I watch as his face changes to the personable media whore that he plays so well. "You have to admit she's gorgeous, even as sisters go. But what you guys witnessed was a dare--nothing more. Somebody dared me to kiss my sister like I kiss all my women." He lifts a shoulder. "I'm sure she'll give me shit for it later, but I never turn down a dare. Especially when money's on the table."
"How much money?"
"Who dared you?"
"So is your brother a good kisser, Jane?"
As they shout questions, Dallas takes my elbow and leads me toward the waiting limo. I can tell from his expression that he knows the story that he made up on the fly is completely absurd. And, frankly, I'm in a little bit of shock, because even though I know it won't last, in this moment, they actually seem to believe his bullshit story.
And suddenly, surprisingly, that pisses me off. I know Dallas was trying to protect me. That he manufactured this story of a dare to try and keep the press away from me. To keep me safe. And while I love that he tried, at the core, I'm annoyed with myself. I've spent a gazillion dollars and at least as many hours in self-defense classes and strength training, and I'm still a damn victim, too scared to stand up and fight for what I want--and what I want is Dallas. A real life out in the open, the judgment of the world be damned.
And yes, I hate the thought of the media attention that will inevitably follow. And yes, it makes me twitchy knowing that I'm tossing away privacy in exchange for a life as tabloid fodder.
But it would be a life in the light. A life with Dallas.
And with him at my side, I know I can get through it.
"Jane." Dallas's voice cuts through the dialogue in my head, and I realize I've zoned out, lost in my fantasy of freedom. Even freedom at a price. "Go on. Get in."
We're at the door of the limo, and I start to comply. But then I shake my head and turn around to look out at the crowd that has gathered around us.
And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I blurt, "It wasn't a dare."
"Jane."
I take his hand, but otherwise ignore him. I have to say this fast before I lose my nerve.
"It wasn't a dare," I repeat. "It was a kiss. And it was real." I turn so that I'm looking straight at Dallas. "And it was right."
For a moment, I think that he's going to argue. Then he inclines his head. For a moment, our eyes lock. Then he takes my hand and urges me into the limo.
He follows, then shuts the door, firmly cutting off the shouted questions and camera flashes from the crowd we're leaving behind.
"Oh, god," I say as he pulls me close.
"You're amazing. Absolutely amazing." He bends to kiss me, but is interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone.
I meet his eyes--we both recognize the ring tone. The caller, I know, is our mother.
Dallas answers on speaker. "Mom," he says.
But it's not Mom, and I cringe when Daddy's very formal, very cold voice comes across the line.
"Imagine my surprise when my business manager calls and tells me that I need to tune in to TMZ, of all things."
"Daddy--" I begin, but he doesn't let me get a word in.
"So here is what's going to happen. You're going to instruct your driver to take you to the NBC affiliate. I've already got my team making arrangements. You'll go on air. Jane, you'll explain that you were irritated at being jumped by the press on your birthday. You'll say you decided to bait them. That you don't know what came over you, but of course there is nothing between you and your brother. A stupid dare. Foolish and silly but not real. Then you will end the statement and you will come immediately home to New York. I'll arrange for a longer appearance on a few talk shows. We'll have to spin this, but it will be spun. And this family will not be destroyed in the media because of the stupid, ill-conceived actions of my children. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I say, looking hard at Dallas. "And I'm sorry, Daddy, but I don't think we're going to be doing that."
"Dammit, Jane, you--"
"She already answered you, Dad."