She didn’t care.

She wouldn’t let herself care.

“No response?” Dallas asked silkily.

Oh, she had a response, all right. “Why now?” She drained one of her glasses, then the other, and handed them both to him. “First few months we knew each other, you treated me like a mischievous kid sister. Lately, I’ve been a diseased gutter rat.”

He lifted one finger, the universal sign for one sec, and trotted off to set the glasses on a passing waiter’s tray. When he returned, his hands were empty. Probably a wise thing, not plying her with more liquor. She’d start babbling about her kisses with Hector, her dreams about Hector.

Hector, Hector, Hector. Where the hell was he? Why had he stormed out of the chapel?

Dallas jumped back into the conversation as if he couldn’t wait another moment to engage her. “Let’s just say there were complications, and leave it at that.”

Intriguing. “Little known fact about me. I can’t leave anything at that. So, staying with the topic. What were the complications and how do they no longer apply?”

One strong shoulder lifted in a deceptively casual shrug. “I won’t tell you what they are, but I will tell you that they’re diminishing in importance.”

“Why?” Damn, but her curiosity was piqued in a huge way.

He released a wary sigh. “I’m certain I was wrong about one aspect of the—I was wrong, that’s all. And don’t you dare ask about what.”

“About what were you wrong?”

“Huh-uh.” Grinning like the imp he was, he shook his head, dark hair falling over his brow. “I’m not telling, and you can’t make me. Not dressed, at least.”

Clearly, he was an expert at flirting, and yet still she didn’t soften toward him. “I took a class on interrogation, you know. There are ways to make a guy talk that involve a handful of thumb tacks and, drum roll, being fully clothed.”

“Why don’t you dance with me instead?” Not giving her time to protest, he twined their fingers and ushered her to the dance floor, where he stopped and drew her into the hard line of his body.

He must have cued the band, because the music instantly turned soft and slow. For a long while, they swayed, silent, each lost in thought. Hers: this was almost nice. He smelled good, like soap and the after-sweetness of a rainstorm. Heat radiated off him, enveloping her.

And yet, still no attraction.

Sighing, she flattened her hands on his chest and pushed. Just a little, just to achieve a few inches of distance. He pulled her back in, closer … closer … until their chests were flush.

“There, isn’t this better?” he asked in that seductive tone, his breath fanning her cheek.

“Depends on what you’re comparing it to. Better than a root canal? Yes. Better than a pedicure? No.”

“Ouch. Harsh, Elle. Harsh.”

“Honest.” Elle. All the men in her life eventually called her Elle. A soft nickname for the soft girl they assumed her to be. Or rather, wanted her to be. Little wonder she longed to punch every one of them in the face when they used it.

Not that she’d ever admit the truth, however. Expressing your displeasure with something was tantamount to begging to be tortured by it.

Dallas’s hand slid down her back and landed on the curve of her ass. His fingers splayed, covering as much ground as possible. “Besides the pedicure, what do you consider better than this?”

Where to begin? “Long walks on the beach, even if it’s freezing outside. Good—or cheap—wine in front of a crackling hearth. Chicken noodle soup. But it has to be made from real chickens, and not that syn-shit, or I’ll have to strike it from the list. A lukewarm bubble bath, a mediocre book, a—”

“Okay, okay. God,” he said with a laugh. “You are hell on a guy’s ego.”

“Yours needing some stroking?”

“Something of mine needs stroking,” he muttered, “but it’s not my ego.”

“Yeah, I can feel your something,” she replied dryly. “Can you move that thing already? It’s annoying.”

“Annoyingly big, you mean.”

“Define big.”

Another warm, rich chuckle left him. “Fine. Give me a minute.” He pulled back long enough to reach into his pants pocket. Her mouth fell open.

“I didn’t mean—” She stopped. He was readjusting his erection in front of everyone!

Only he withdrew a pyre-gun, the crystal dull rather than sparking, indicating the safety was on, and stuffed the weapon in the waist of his slacks, behind him. Then he drew her back into his embrace.

“Now. Is that better?”

The shock had yet to leave her. “Now who’s hell on an ego?” she grumbled, her cheeks just a bit hot.

“Then let’s help each other out and revisit the whole stroking issue, hmm?”

Incorrigible sex fiend. And she wished, really and truly wished, she desired him. Even in the minutest amount. He was fun, funny, and probably a damn good lover.

“You know, Dallas,” she said, straightening to gauge his reaction. “I have this friend …”

The light in his eyes expanded, only to be crushed a moment later as his pupils expanded, too, the black pulsing. Just as Hector’s had done each time before they’d kissed, and then again yesterday when he’d eyed her black leather. “Is she a mild-mannered AIR agent by day and an insatiable nymphomaniac by night?”

Why wasn’t Noelle attracted to him again? Because this shit was amusing. “Her name is Hope Van Der Pyke.”

“And does she—wait.” The pupils retreated to normal size, and he lost his glaze of excitement and desire. “What?”

“She’s very pretty. Very wealthy. Kinda snobby, though. Anyway, you’re exactly her type.”

“Are you trying to set me up?” he said, nearly choking on the words. “With someone else? While I’m laying my best moves on you?”

“These are your best? Wait, never mind. Don’t answer that. I’d just have to feel sorry for you. So, to answer your question, yeah. I am.” His incredulity was adorable, and she couldn’t help but twist the knife deeper. “Is there a problem?”

“But I saw … we’re supposed to …”

One of her brows rose. This was more interesting by the moment. “We’re supposed to what?”

A pause. Then a heated, “Fuck.”




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