“No,” Dallas says, pulling me toward him and catching me off guard. “I need you to hear me out.”

“What’s to hear? You’re an arrogant ass and I hate you.”

He gives me an infuriating smirk. “No you don’t. If that were true, you wouldn’t be this pissed.”

I struggle to find a reasonable argument to this so I say, “Fuck you, Dallas.”

“Yes, please. Come back to the hotel with me. The car service is already here.” I yank out of his grasp, causing a painful friction between our skin.

“Ouch.”

He pulls me to his chest and my anger is fading, too diluted by his scent and his intensity.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so damn sorry,” is all he says before kissing me brutally on the mouth. Mine pops open in shock when he pulls back to breathe. His gaze presses into mine as my mind tumbles over itself trying to process the abrupt turn of events. His thumb grazes my cheek gently. “I never meant to hurt you,” he says before devouring me again.

And Lord help me, I don’t even know which thing he’s apologizing for—the past or the present—because I’m melting. The rain, his fiery hot mouth, his hands scorching a trail over my body. I’m drowning in Dallas and I can’t stop.

Worse, I don’t even want to.

“You taste like maple syrup. I’m never going to be able to look at pancakes the same way again.” Dallas’s tongue tangles with mine and I can’t get enough. We’re spiraling quickly out of control. I need to breathe before I pass out.

“Dallas,” I mumble against his mouth. “We shouldn’t do this. Not here.”

The driver can hear us, could glance in the rearview and get an eyeful.

“It’s a ten-minute drive to the hotel. I’m probably going to spontaneously combust before then.”

I laugh against his lips. “You’re a big boy. I think you can handle it.”

I slide off his lap, leaving my legs draped over it, though, and lean my head on his shoulder.

“I can’t wait to show you just how big of a boy I am, and how well I can handle it.”

“Behave yourself,” I whisper in the darkness.

“Can’t,” is all he says, sliding his warm fingers beneath my skirt and between my thighs.

“Dallas.” I squirm as he dips beneath my panties.

“I haven’t forgotten, baby,” he murmurs against my hair. “I remember exactly how tight and hot and wet you are. I remember each and every place you like me to touch you. I am a dying man waiting to hear those sweet whimpers you make when I slide inside you.”

I whimper right then, because damn. He feels so good, smells so good, tastes so good. He’s familiar but at the same time, new, different from what I remember. Rougher around the edges, broader, and behaving more boldly than he ever has with me.

The boy version from my memories was sweet, polite, and somewhat distant. The grown-up version of Dallas Walker Lark is all hard edges, and intensity—sin wrapped in sugar sprinkled with lust. And I want to savor every single bite.

I am a throbbing, aching, needy mess and everything I should be thinking about—the past, the future, the insurmountable pain that this likely will cause—has fallen away. All I can concentrate on is the pleasure.

Because I know he can give it to me.

I’ve dated a little here and there when my job allowed. I’ve even fooled around pretty seriously with a few guys and had a one-night stand with a friend of a friend. But none of them ever managed to make me feel the way Dallas does.

Completely out of control.

I am at his mercy and while I should be terrified, all I feel is the thrill of adrenaline, as if a needle shot him into my veins.

Maybe that’s why I can’t stop this, because I know this is a sure thing when it comes to orgasms. I’m going to have them, lots of them, and Dallas is going to provide them in reckless abundance as he always has. He’s matured a great deal, but some things never change. Thank God.

When he sinks a thick finger into me, curling it forward at just the right spot, I arch my back and cry out. At least there’s a glass partition between us and the driver. Because I want to give in. I want to let go and shatter the way only he can make me.

“I hope you’re rested, sweet girl,” Dallas rasps with damp heat in my ear.

The town blurs by us, the city lights melting like I am in the rain.

“W-what? Why?”

“Because it’s going to be a long night.”

11 | Dallas

I’D BLAME THE PANCAKES, OR THE INTOXICATING COMBINATION OF blueberry and maple syrup that assaulted my senses when I put my mouth on hers, but it’s the sweet, sinful taste of Robyn that tosses me carelessly over the edge.

Seeing her tonight—those legs taunting me from beneath her dress, that mouth that spewed those angry declarations, gleaming eyes that told me what she was saying and what she was feeling were two very different things—has brought a man to life inside me that I forgot existed.

I’d invited her out for pancakes to try to make peace, to let her know that I wasn’t going to act like an asshole on this tour. She’d fucking slapped me. The sweetest girl I’ve ever known slapped me hard enough to make my ears ring and I’d never been more turned on in my life.

She said she hated me. Not that she was pissed or still holding a grudge—fucking hated me. I knew she didn’t mean it, but there was something about the challenge in the words, the defiance. I knew she didn’t mean it and I needed to hear that sexy mouth say sweeter words.

I couldn’t leave it like that, couldn’t leave her like that. Years ago I’d let Robyn go, walked away because she’d asked me to. Then I’d behaved like a complete ass afterward. And Robyn, my tough girl, had always just said it was okay. It was fine. She understood. She could handle it.

She could handle anything, always. Nothing rattled her or set her off. Robyn liked to be in control.

But tonight I’d caused her to lose that control, watched her let loose on me and everything I’d held in from the moment I saw her came roaring to the surface, possessing me and propelling my body to hers in a fusion of frustration and lust-filled fantasies come to life.

Tearing at her clothing as we make our way to my hotel room, I have no regrets.

“I want you so fucking bad, Robyn,” I tell her, because it’s the truth. “I barely made it through that fucking meal.”

“You have me,” she tells me before sucking my bottom lip into her luscious mouth.

I don’t even want to admit to myself how long I’ve waited for her to say those words.

“Not yet. But I will.”

Pulling apart long enough for me to slide my key card through the slot on the door, we both take the opportunity to catch our breath.

The last thing I want to do is to rush this. I want to take my time with her, show her my passionate appreciation for every inch of her body until the sun comes up. But I’m afraid if I give her too much time to think, she’ll remember all the reasons why this is a bad idea and the past will become a roadblock we can’t overcome.

The second she steps into the room, I pin her against the wall and tear the blazer, jacket, whatever the hell it is, from her shoulders. Taking advantage of its absence, I fasten my mouth hotly to her neck. The gratifying noises she makes in response send shocks of pleasure through my chest and straight down to my dick.

“You still smell and taste like strawberries.” My tongue ventures to the sensitive spot behind her ear that always rendered her boneless in my arms. Thank fuck it still does. “Let’s see if you taste the same everywhere else, shall we?”

Either she’s cold without the jacket or my words make her shiver. I don’t take the time to ask. Instead I drop to my knees with every intention of worshipping her in this position for as long as she can stand, both literally and metaphorically speaking.

“Dallas.” There’s a wary edge to her voice. She’s afraid. I don’t blame her. I’m the furthest thing from a safe bet that there is. I’m starved for her and she has to know that by now.