Hottest Mess (SIN 2)

Some sort of self-preservation instinct kicks in and I slam my elbow into his gut, making him both release me and groan.

"Jesus, Jane. What the--"

"Hey, baby."

He goes completely still, then looks at the bed. Then looks at me. "What the fuck?"

I'm so tense I think I might shatter. "Actually, I think that's my line."

I grab his arm and yank him into the hallway, then turn back to Fiona with what I hope looks like a genuine smile. "Actually, I'll just talk to him now about that text our parents sent, and then I'll get out of your hair so you two can have your fun."

"Take your time," Fiona says easily. "I'm comfy, and your brother's most definitely worth the wait."

I do not race back to the bed and smack her for that. I also don't punch Dallas in the jaw. On the whole, I think I'm showing remarkable restraint.

What I do instead is drag him across the hall and into his study.

I slam the door behind us, then smack him in the chest with the heel of my hand. "What the fuck?" I yell. I know for a fact that this office was professionally soundproofed. I can yell as loud as I want and no one will be the wiser.

"You stupid, fucking son of a bitch," I rant. "Do you think sex games are going to prove some sort of point to me? Was that just a flat-out lie about not having them in your bed anymore? Or did you mean you weren't going to have them alone? Is this where you want us to go, Dallas? Is a threesome the kink you need? Is Fiona--Fiona--the dark you're going to take me down into?"

I see emerald fire flash in his eyes, and know that I've pissed him off. Well, good. At least that makes us well-matched.

A muscle in his jaw tightens, and when he speaks, his words are a little too crisp. "What happened to you'll go anywhere with me? Or did you only mean that you'd go if it was comfortable?"

I stumble back, his words shocking me. I'd expected an apology. Instead, what? He's admitting it? He really did intend to have Fiona and me in bed together?

I feel bile rise in my throat even as tears sting my eyes. I swallow in defense against the first, and look down at the floor so he can't see the second. I need a moment to think. To adjust. Because I did tell him I would go wherever he needs--and I meant what I said.

I just hadn't expected this.

Finally, I feel confident enough to speak. But, dammit, my voice still shakes. "I will go wherever you want me and do whatever you want. But I guess I thought you'd do me the courtesy of telling me what to expect."

"Jane."

His voice is tender and I can't handle that right now. I toss up my hand to silence him, then continue speaking because I need to get these words out.

"I mean it," I say. "I will go into the dark with you. But I just think--hell, Dallas, you blindsided me. You told me you only wanted me." I meet his eyes now, sure that mine are bloodshot and weepy. "That's what you said, and I believed you."

"Oh, baby." He pulls me against him before I can react, and I stand stiff in the circle of his arms. "I do only want you."

I tug free of the embrace, hating how vulnerable I feel. Hating that this man has the power to hurt me so very deeply. "Do you think I don't have eyes? I saw her touch you. Even from where I was standing I could see how hard you were."

"Shit." He turns away from me, then goes to sit in one of the guest chairs in front of the huge mahogany desk. I watch him, thinking that I've won this round of the argument and wondering why the hell I don't feel victorious.

It seems to take forever for him to speak, and when he does, it's low. Almost monotone. As if he has to hold in the emotion, because if he lets go the words will burst out of him. "Do you think getting hard is only about desire?" he asks. "Goddammit, Jane, do you think I wanted to get a fucking erection with Fiona? How about back when the Woman touched me?"

I suck in a breath, his words conjuring memory and pain. And regret, because I pushed this, and I know how tied up sex is with the kidnapping for him. I may have suffered in captivity, but it was Dallas who truly went down into hell.

"Look at me," he demands, and I realize that I am studying the pattern in the carpet. I lift my head, and feel a tear snake down my cheek. "Do you think I wanted her? That bitch who tormented us? Do you think that I wanted to be aroused?"

The monotone is disappearing, giving way to a hard edge honed by pain.

He pushes himself out of the chair, then sweeps his arm violently over the desktop, sending papers and pens flying. "I fucking hated my body. Hated myself."

He crosses to me, his stride

s long, then grabs me by the shoulders. "I was fifteen, and I thought that if my cock was hard then I must want sex. Must want her. I thought that I was royally fucked up because she was turning me on."