Breaking Her

Nothing had changed between Tiffany and me. I still saw her as the enemy. Time and distance hadn't altered that, though this was the first time I'd caught her infringing on my territory while I was away.

  Twice she'd come to visit while I was still living with Dante. I wondered with no small amount of furious dread just how often she came to visit now that I was gone.

  "Tiffany," I said without an ounce of friendliness. "What are you up to?"

  "Oh, you know how it is. Still attending Barnard. Family tradition and all that, but at least I'm almost finished. Soon I'll be able to visit as often as I please."

  Comforting that.

  "But enough about me. What have you been up to? Still waitressing?"

  I looked at Dante. I didn't have to say a word. My face said it all.

  "I was here studying," he told me, tone careful. "She found me here a few hours ago. I didn't know she was coming to town."

  "Does she visit you like this often?" I asked, voice sharp, my wide smile sharper. It was a grin meant to dazzle. And cut. It captures the eye and blinds it.

  "Never," he said succinctly, fervently, with the intent of a man set on avoiding disaster. "Not since you left."

  I looked at Tiffany.

  "Oh yeah," she waved her hand in the air. "Whatever he says."

  I knew she was trying to goad me, trying to make me think Dante was lying to me. I knew that and it didn't surprise me. It was very typical Tiffany. What I found interesting was Dante's reaction to her words.

  He started, staring at her like he was finally starting to fucking get it.

  Yeah, you ass, I wanted to say. That's who she is. An instigating piece of work just like your mother.

  But even with the inner tirade, his reaction was gratifying enough to act as a last ditch effort at averting the fallout that I felt building up in my chest like a scream that just had to escape.

  I hated that she was here. Hated it. But maybe it would serve some purpose, if it helped Dante see just what she was.

  With that thought in mind, I pulled up a chair. "So what are you doing here, Tiffany?" I asked her bluntly, my tone as unfriendly as I felt.

  She feigned surprise at my hostile manner. "Oh my. Is something the matter, Scarlett? You seem upset." She smiled.

  And just like that. There it was again. Hello, temper.

  "What could possibly be wrong?" I asked her, heavy on the sarcasm. My eyes swung to Dante, who'd just taken the seat across from me. "Whatever could be the matter?" I asked him mockingly.

  He folded his arms across his chest, jaw clenching, eyes hard on me. I could tell that his own hellish temper was ready to come out and play.

  "Again," I said bitingly, "why are you here, Tiffany?"

  She pursed her lips and answered, "Just visiting my friend. Is that a crime? He doesn't mind when I visit. And who made you his boss? He's not your property, Scarlett."

  I smiled at her, bringing up my ring hand to tap a finger at my jaw, making sure the huge as hell rock on my finger was given proper notice. She saw it, oh yes. Her eyes widened, and for a second she couldn't hide an honest look of dismay.

  My smile grew even as I heard Dante let loose with a soft round of cursing.

  "Funny you should mention property," I said. Yeah, I was being a bitch.

  She needed to be put in her place.

  Bitch was about the right speed for that.

  She'd gone pale. She looked like she might become ill. "When did that happen?" she asked, nearly spitting out the words.

  I didn't even try to touch that one.

  "Aren't you going to congratulate us?" I countered with instead.

  She didn't bother. The engagement bombshell had been enough to knock her off kilter. It was refreshing to see her usually serene facade slip so completely.

  I hoped, quite wholeheartedly, that Dante was taking note.

  "It doesn't matter," Tiffany said derisively. "You still don't own him."

  "It doesn't make you happy," I said with relish. "But it matters. And yes, I fucking do."

  Her reaction was interesting and if I was being spiteful (newsflash: I was), amusing as hell.

  She got up and practically ran from the place, fleeing without giving me so much as a backward glance.

  I was still wearing a triumphant grin when I caught the look on Dante's face.

  "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he asked, looking beyond pissed and into desperately furious. "My mother will know about that ring within the hour. Do you even understand the kind of hell she's going to raise for this?"

  "My God," I said slowly, tone as disbelieving as I felt. "You're turning this on me? Somehow you're going to get out of having to explain the fact that I found you at a bar with fucking Tiffany!"

  "You're the one that left. I wouldn't have been alone for her to join if you'd been with me."

  Oh hell no.

  If he wanted to fight, he'd come to the right place.

  "Is that right?" I asked, tone dangerous.

  He was feeling lucky, apparently. "Just stating facts, tiger. If you'd kept your promise and stayed here, you wouldn't be so worried about whether Tiffany was paying me surprise visits or not."

  A fight it was. "If I can't trust you—" I began.

  "That's not what I said. Don't twist this. It was strange timing. I was here reading—"

  I rolled my eyes. "Really? Reading at a bar?"

  "Yes. I do it a lot, actually. I don't mind the noise. It's nicer than being alone."

  Ouch. Yes. Point taken.

  "And she just walked up, sat down. I was as surprised to see her as you were."

  I studied him with narrow eyes. "And this is the first time she's visited you? Since I left, I mean."

  "Yes," he said without hesitating, eyes meeting mine squarely.

  "Where is she staying?"

  "I have not a clue. I never asked."

  "How long was she here before I showed up?"

  "A few hours. We mostly talked about everyone from high school. It was a boring conversation, to be honest. I was just being polite."

  His straight answers were getting to me. I could barely hold onto my anger when he just told me the truth without prevaricating.

  "What would you have done if I hadn't showed up? Would you have let her crash at your place?"

  The look he turned on me was real annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of affront. "Of course not. What are you even thinking?"

  And just like that, I felt my anger deflating. I bit my lip. "Were you surprised to see me?"

  And just like that, he let go of his own anger and smiled. "Yes. How long do I get you for this time?"

  "Three weeks."

  His smile grew. "Best news I've had in a year. Holy hell, let's go home and celebrate."

  And we did. Oh yes, we did.

  I woke up the next day with a nasty cold. Fucking airplanes.

  If I'd been back in L.A. I'd have just ignored it until it went away. No such luck with Dante. He nagged me until I went to the doctor, who did nothing but give me a ten day round of antibiotics. I bitched and moaned about it, but three days in, I was feeling human again.

  It was a minor thing, quickly forgotten, though I'd have reason to dwell on it later.

  The three weeks went by in a flash, and it was harder than ever to leave him again, even knowing he'd be joining me in mere months.

  Before I left, we went to a local jeweler and found a ring for him. We had it sized to fit his finger, but he wore it around his neck, right next to the key to the cabin we'd shared on our very first time.

  I fingered the key as we said our goodbyes in the airport. "I wonder how that old cabin is doing," I mused.

  "Gram tells me it's the same as we left it. The locks have never been changed and only we have keys. But it's not about the cabin. It's the memory this holds for me."

  I smiled up into his eyes. I loved his sentimentality. It never failed to touch a nerve. A good one. "Oh yes, I know. And you're never going to take it off, a
re you?"

  "Never." It was heartfelt, that one word, and I felt it deep in my chest.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  "Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity."

  ~George Carlin

  PRESENT

  SCARLETT

  Dante and I were weeks into our addictive, tentative truce when the shit hit the fan.

  He'd found out about my visit from Bastian. I wasn't sure if he knew the reason for the visit or if he was suspecting something worse, but his reaction was bad.

  I didn't even have to ask him how he'd found out. I knew. His mother had told him. She'd learned a thing from her spy that would hurt him so of course she'd had to share.

  "So Bastian, huh?" he said unexpectedly one night over dinner.

  I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. Well, shit. Bringing up Bastian was bad, the look on his face was worse, and I had no idea what to say, because I didn't know what he knew, and I wasn't going to accidentally tell him more.

  "I know he came to your house," he added, tone gone black, his hellish temper out to play.

  "Fuck," I said softly, with feeling.

  "He came to your house, and you left with him." His rage washed over me, hot enough to scald.

  But it's a fact that sometimes I like to burn.

  I squirmed in my seat. "We only left to talk. Calm down."

  "It was Bastian who told you about the blackmail," he guessed. The words were low, almost soft. He was trying very hard not to raise his voice. "Of course it was."

  I didn't answer, kept my face perfectly blank, but he didn't need my confirmation.

  "It was him," he said, sounding certain. Dammit. "If it were anyone else, the shit would've hit the fan by now. Sneaky son of a bitch."

  I just stared at him, trying to gauge just how angry he was. He'd betrayed his rage with the first few things out of his mouth, but he was doing a very good job now of hiding it.

  "It was when he came to see you in Seattle, wasn't it?" he asked. The question was filled with the fire of his temper, warm and awful.

  I froze.

  "I don't know what you're—" I tried, because when you're just not sure if you're about to set a crazy, jealous ex off into a jealous rage it's always best to lie.

  "Save it. I know he came to see you, and that must have been when you found out about the blackmail."

  I processed that. "Who told you all of this?" I asked, but I knew. Oh, I knew.

  "My mother called me earlier. She's been saving this little bombshell for a while. As you know, Farrah keeps her well informed. Adelaide thinks you and Bastian are sleeping together, and she couldn't be more pleased about it. And of course she wanted to make sure I knew every little detail."

  "We are not sleeping together. We never have."

  "Not even in Seattle? When you went up to his hotel room. For hours."

  His eyes were scary, his hands clenched and shaking on the table between us. If I were anyone but myself, I'd have been worried for my safety.

  Dammit. This was all going to end up in Bastian's lap, when all the guy wanted to do was help us.

  "Nothing happened," I said, tone as unflappable as I could manage, eyes steady on his. "We did go off together, but all we did was talk. About you. About what your mother's been up to."

  "You kissed him at the bar." There was the finest tremor in his voice, but it was a crucial one, like the very first crack in an unsteady foundation. "You were all over him. You rubbed your tits against his chest. She told me everything."

  Fucking Farrah hadn't gone easy on the details. FUCK.

  I thought of that night, the state I'd been in, and my own temper rose to the occasion. I knew I had to be mercilessly honest to take the blame away from his brother. That, more even than Dante's feelings, was what I needed to salvage here. "I was in bad shape, Dante. Because of you. Yes, I kissed him. Yes, I rubbed up against him. I have no doubt I'd have done more, just to fucking spite you, but your brother had your back. While you're going over the details, go over this: He turned me down. Not because he didn't want me, but because he wouldn't do that to you. He came to see me because he wanted to help us, and that was as far as he let it get."

  He wasn't looking at me, his eyes on his fists. They were full of cruel, dark things, not the least of which was anguish.

  "We have enough things to hate each other for," I added harshly. Honestly. "We don't need to embellish or invent any. I did not sleep with your brother. And you can thank him for it. Not me. Him."

  "Jesus, you never did know how to pull any punches," he said in a voice that ached.

  I felt my upper lip tremble, eyes blinking rapidly, stinging with the urge to tear up as I fought to look anywhere but at him.

  Because wasn't that the brutal fucking truth.

  "It's worse with you," I said when I'd regained my composure, trying hard to make my voice light. "You're the only guy who ever dumped me."

  "Don't do that," he said, and there was agony in it, enough to fell us both. "Don't put us all into a group like we're the same. There's me and there's them."

  He made a very good point. Moreover, this was a subject to avoid at all costs. Why the hell had I brought it up? I was a mess just then is why. Not thinking clearly, not speaking clearly, though I needed to start doing so in order to get my point across.

  I tried to get back on topic. "There's nothing your mother would love more than to keep you estranged from the one family member you have who's worth knowing," I said as reasonably as I could. "The one person alive that shares your blood and wants to help you. Let me guess: She knows you two have been getting along lately. She knows there's been a truce. Stop me if I'm wrong here."

  He didn't stop me.

  "Don't let her win," I implored. "Have the sense not to let this tactic work for her. Don't turn this on Bastian."

  "I don't trust him," he told me bluntly.

  My mouth curved sardonically. "I don't trust anyone. What's that got to do with anything?"

  He winced and I didn't blame him. I felt the sting of it myself.

  "What are you going to do?" I asked him eventually, when I couldn't stand a second more of the silence.

  "It was not his place to tell you anything. He had no right to do that. To put you in danger."

  "He didn't know that's what he was doing. He's your brother—"

  "Half-brother," he corrected stubbornly.

  I glared. "He's your blood, and he's trying to help us. Let him, Dante. Please." It was as close as I'd come to begging, because it was a thing worth begging for. We needed any allies we could get, and there was no doubt in my mind that Bastian was a strong one. He was motivated, resourceful. Spiteful. All things I admired. All things I related to. All things we'd need in spades if there was any chance we'd come out on top of this mess.

  Also, any enemy of Adelaide's was a freaking best friend of mine.

  I couldn't tell if he was still angry, or rather, how angry he was. He was being very quiet, very still, not looking at me.

  "I suppose I see your point. As always, Adelaide is trying to manipulate me." His voice was calm enough, but I didn't trust it.

  "As always," I agreed.

  "And it is a sore subject." His eyes flashed at me and I saw the full force of what was still there, simmering under the surface. He wasn't going to lose it, but he was still furious, and it wasn't just going to go away on its own.

  Lucky for us, I had just the thing.

  I shifted restlessly, biting my lip as I stared right back. His rage was nothing new, nor my reaction to it.

  He glared at me, and it didn't help.

  Was I turned on?

  Absolutely and abundantly so.

  It was twisted. And captivating. Irresistible.

  He saw it too, and it seemed to piss him off even more. A flame that fed itself perpetually. No wonder we could never get enough of each other.

  "Are you done eating?" I asked him. Neither of us had touched our food since the vol
atile conversation had begun.

  He pushed his plate away. "I lost my appetite."

  My breath came faster as I pointedly pushed my own plate away, my eyes on his mean mouth. "I didn't," I said, voice teasing, provocative.

  He started cursing and I almost smiled. It told me plainly that, though he wasn't happy about it, he was going to listen to what I'd said, absorb it, comply with it.

  Round for me.

  He pushed his chair back from the table but didn't stand. "Come here." His voice had changed, gone soft and warm and vaguely obscene.

  I went to him slowly, leaving my clothing behind as I moved. This would not be the kind of sex that required foreplay, because that part was already over. The fight had been the foreplay. This next bit would be hell-bent, desperate, rough, quick, intoxicating, and straight to the point.

  My favorite.

  I reached him, and he was ready for me. I turned around, sinking down onto him, guiding him inside of me with one greedy hand.

  He bounced me like that on his lap, both of us facing the same way. His mouth at my neck, weaving pure sorcery, licking, sucking, biting, one hand in my hair fisting, stroking, pulling, aiming my face up at the ceiling, the other at my hip, gripping, pawing, operating in tandem with his thrusting hips to work me on his length in heavy, oscillating strokes.

  A liquid throb was beating through me. Faster and faster, heavier and heavier.

  I turned my head, felt his breath on my face, then his lips.

  I was close, so close, when three words panted out of his mouth and straight to my heart.

  With a needy cry, I came hard.

  He followed with a rough groan.

  It was some time later. I was gathering up the clothes I'd discarded all over the dining room. I'm not sure why it was on my mind, why I was thinking so much when I was sated and content, but it was circling there, always circling, waiting to come out.

  "Even after everything I did," I said it idly, almost casually, but that was deceptive if you knew how to read me. Dante knew. "You still never told me. Didn't some part of you want to stop protecting me, even from myself, after a while?

  He didn't even bother trying for casual. His voice was low, intense, emotional enough that it ached and I with it. "No. No part of me has ever wanted to stop protecting you. Even from yourself. I only wish I'd done a better job. I wish I could have protected you from everything."