The Rogue and His Flower (Princetown Heirs #2)

Chapter 5

DAISY

CHAPTER FIVE

“I love that dress on you, Daisy,” Lia says grinning at me as I step into the kitchen the following afternoon. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Lia,” I reply, feeling out of sorts as I smooth my palms over my red knee-length woollen dress. Ordinarily this outfit, which I’ve paired with red stockings and pink ankle boots, would make me feel particularly happy. Truth be known, right now I feel like a fraud, like there’s a dark cloud hanging over me, just like the heavy snow clouds floating in the sky outside.

“Is Dalton picking you up?” she asks, resting her mug of tea back on the kitchen island as I approach.

“He’s sending a car. I’m meeting him at the restaurant. Where are Drix and Toby?”

“At the cinema,” she replies softly, happiness radiating from her. “Drix is so good with him, I’m incredibly lucky.”

“But you’ll be on your own,” I say, placing my clutch on the counter and chewing on my lip. “Perhaps I should cancel, keep you company instead?”

“Absolutely not. I’m fine.”

“But–”

She cuts me off with a shake of her head, her green eyes softening as she looks at me. “You don’t need to worry about me, Daisy. Martin’s in police custody. He can’t hurt me anymore. Besides, Drix has triple checked the security system. I’ll be okay.”

“Even so…” My voice trails off as I sit on the stool and stare at the worktop, by mind wandering to what happened in the spa yesterday. How could I let that happen?

“Daisy, do you want to talk about it?” Lia asks gently, her warm hand resting on mine.

We might have only known each other for a few months, but she has become a good friend ever since she moved in with us, more like a sister really, and I appreciate her more than she knows. I’m so thankful Drix fell in love and found his happiness, despite the challenges they’ve both had to face.

“Talk about what?” I hedge.

“Whatever’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” I reply, plastering on a smile. I seem to be getting good at doing that lately.

“Daisy, you don’t need to pretend with me. What you’ve done for us…” Lia lets out a sigh, her hand squeezing mine. “We’re so grateful, truly. But it’s a huge sacrifice on your part. I know Drix hates the thought of you being unhappy. I do too.”

“I’ve already told you both that I’m okay with my decision. Dalton and I have both signed the contract. It’s done. Besides, you, Drix and Toby mean so much to me. I want you to be happy. ”

“We are happy.”

“And you’ll continue to be now,” I say, placing my other hand over hers.

She sighs, lifting her pretty, pale green eyes to meet mine. “So you’re moving in with Dalton this weekend?”

“I am. Most of the things I want to take with me are packed and ready to be collected.”

“We’ll miss you being around,” she says.

“I won’t be far away, and you can bet your arse I’ll be coming back often for your beautiful home-cooked meals because let's face it, there’s no way Dalton can cook.”

“Doesn’t he have staff to do that for him?”

“Exactly, I bet he can’t even boil an egg.” I giggle at the absurd thought.

“Probably not,” she agrees, with a grin.

“Besides, I’ll need someone to vent to every time Dalton pisses me off, which I suspect will be often.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but my smile drops as I catch the expression on Lia’s face.

“Oh Daisy, I wish things were different,” she says, her voice catching.

“Stop that. Seriously, things are going to be okay. I may not like Dalton all that much, but I do enjoy pissing him off, and I’m going to make sure I do that on a regular basis. Silver linings and all.”

“Oh boy,” she giggles. “Don’t ever change, Daisy. You hear me? You are perfect just the way you are.”

“I have no intention of changing,” I reassure her just as the doorbell rings. “Well, that’s my cab. Are you sure you’re okay being on your own?”

Lia glances at her watch. “Drix and Toby will be home in less than an hour. Go and…” she hesitates, pulling a face, “Enjoy yourself?”

“I’ll do my best,” I retort, giving her a quick hug.

"I took the liberty of ordering for you," Dalton remarks as he greets me at the door of the traditional Japanese restaurant.

"Seems like taking liberties is something you’re skilled at," I mutter under my breath, as I follow him to our screened-off dining area. Tonight he’s wearing dark blue jeans, his neck tattoos just peeking up beneath the collar of his black cashmere sweater.

“What was that?" he asks, his eyes narrowing as we both take a seat at the low table, my feet pressing against the recessed floor.

“Nothing. I'm sure whatever you've chosen will be fine," I reply, casting my gaze out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer stunning panoramic views of the snow-covered valley below. On any other day, with anyone else besides Dalton, I might have been able to appreciate the beauty of it all.

“Only the best for my fiancé,” he retorts, his gaze drilling into mine as he presses his palms against the table. “So, how was your massage?”

I stiffen, my gaze snapping to his as a rush of shame floods my veins. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?” he asks, tilting his head with a mocking smirk.

My leg jitters uncontrollably beneath the table and I press my palm against my thigh, forcing it to stop. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“Don’t you have anything to add?” he persists.

“It’s still snowing,” I offer.

“That’s not what I was asking, and you know it,” he replies, steel in his voice.

“Dalton, I think–”

“You can imagine my surprise when I found out who your masseuse was. Did you enjoy his hands on you, Daisy?” Dalton asks as he glares at me heatedly.

“He’s very skilled at his job,” I reply, refusing to rise to the bait.

Dalton smirks. “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean, not anymore? Please don’t tell me you–”

“Fired him? Of course I fucking did. He put his hands on you, Daisy. My fucking fiancé,” he hisses.

Guilt washes over me, and I shake my head in disbelief. “You didn’t!”

“I did.” He cocks a brow, daring me to object.

“Because he was doing the job you paid him to do?” I counter, feeling my own anger rise. “What is wrong with you?”

“No, because he had the audacity to touch what’s mine!” he grinds out, his clenched fist bashing against the table top.

“I am not yours,” I hiss, glaring at him.

“That ring says otherwise,” he says, pointing to my finger.

“This ring is just for show,” I object.

His jaw grits, anger flaring in his eyes as he leans towards me. “Let’s get one thing straight, Daisy. You are mine whether you want to be or not.”

“The only person I belong to is myself,” I argue. “You can go around acting like you own me, but we both know that’s bullshit. So get it into your thick head, I am not yours, never will be.”

“If you ever let another man lay his hands on you, I’ll–”

“You’ll do what, fire them?”

“No, Daisy. I’ll break their fucking legs.”

I blanch, my face draining of colour. “You’re insane.”

“No. I’m possessive. Another ugly attribute to add to your very long list. Get used to it.”

Exhaling deeply, I lock eyes with him. I hadn't planned on telling him the truth, but now that he's fired Tomasz, I have no choice. If I could go back and change what happened in the massage suite, I would, but that's impossible, and I can't let Tomasz suffer for my mistake.

“Why are you pretending that this is all on Tomasz, Dalton?” I ask, my fingers gripping the material of my dress beneath the table, needing something to hold onto.

“Because. He. Touched. You,” he bites out, pressing his finger into the table roughly with every word.

“He was very professional at all times. He just gave me a massage,” I say, pinning him with my gaze. “It was you who touched me. It was you who took liberties.”

“W-what?” Dalton stammers, the blood draining from his face as he stares at me. It’s the first time I’ve ever truly seen Dalton caught off guard.

“You can’t deny it, can you?” I insist. He remains quiet, his jaw clenching, so I continue on. “At first, I thought it was Tomasz who returned to the room, but after a while it felt different.”

“Different how?” Dalton grinds out, and for the briefest of moments I worry that I’m mistaken, that it wasn’t Dalton who stepped into that room after Tomasz left. But when he leans forward in his seat, his gaze piercing mine, I know I’m right.

“A combination of things. You have calluses on the palms of your hands,” I whisper, heat flooding my cheeks as I reach across the table and turn his hands over.

“From gripping the handlebars of my motorbike so tightly,” he explains, his voice low, controlled, as my fingertip dusts over his warm skin.

“You know, you really should stop racing. It’s dangerous,” I say, pulling my hands back and cursing myself internally for touching him willingly.

“Are you concerned I might get hurt, Daisy?”

“I’m concerned you might kill someone else,” I retort. “Aren’t you a little old to be racing motorbikes anyway?”

“So my rough hands gave me away? Good to know,” he replies, ignoring my question. “Anything else?”

“Your scent,” I confess.

He raises an eyebrow. “My scent?”

“You’ve been wearing the same aftershave for years,” I say, feeling the tension stretch taut between us. “It was unmistakable.”

“That’s very observant of you, one could assume you’re a little obsessed with me,” he says pointedly.

“Don’t read too much into it, the scent is overpowering. You might want to refrain from dousing yourself in it,” I reply snarkily.

“At what point, exactly, did you realise it was me, Daisy?” Dalton asks, the heat in his gaze replacing the earlier anger.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. You were turned on.”

“I was not!” I protest.

“You were moaning.”

“I was out of my mind, clearly.”

“With lust?” he insists.

“With stupidity.”

“So why not stop me?”

I flick my gaze away, staring out of the window at the beautiful view, hating that I didn’t stop him, that I let him touch me like that, that my decision got Tomasz fired.

“Daisy, why didn’t you stop me?” he persists.

“Because I’m an idiot,” I offer.

“Daisy,” he warns. “Answer me now or so help me?—”

“Because I liked it, okay?” I hiss. “Are you happy now? I liked the feel of your hands on me.”

“You liked it?” he questions, surprise lighting his eyes. “You like me?”

“That’s not what I said. I don’t like you like that.”

“Yet you allowed me to touch you. You enjoyed it. Explain.”

“It’s complicated,” I admit, pressing my eyes shut as tears prick the back of my eyes.

“So uncomplicate it. Tell me what you mean,” he adds, a little softer now.

I force myself to look at him. “Please, Dalton. Don’t make this any harder than it already is. I should have stopped you the second I realised it was you. In fact, you should never have touched me. Why did you?”

“Because I was angry.”

“You touched me because you were angry with me?”

“Yes.”

I nod, my heart clenching at his honesty. Why do I always end up with men who want to hurt me? Am I really that unloveable?

“And I chose Tomasz to give me a massage because I was angry with you. So I guess we’re even,” I sneer, shoring up my defences.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Daisy. Tell me what you meant about this being complicated. If you want me to touch you, I will touch you.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“So you want me to touch you again?” he persists, swiping a hand through his hair in frustration, pointedly ignoring the fact that I’ve made it clear that I will never have sex with him.

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I meant what I said, I will never sleep with you, Dalton. I still hate you.”

“But you’ll let a man you hate give you a massage?”

“It was a mistake,” I whisper, hating how my stomach coils with anxiety, how tears prick my eyes once more.

It’s not that I wanted Dalton’s touch per-se, it’s just that in the moment it felt good. In that moment it felt like the exact opposite to everything I ever experienced as a child from my abusive parents who loved nothing more than to punch and kick me, to be cruel. I crave human contact. It’s why I’ve forgiven so many men for their shitty behaviour. I overlook their flaws, desperate for their affection. So rightly or wrongly, for a few minutes I foolishly let myself submit to Dalton’s touch, to his firm but gentle caress, and when he left the room I was so worked up I made myself orgasm, knowing it was wrong even when it felt right.

“The only mistake was me walking out of that room and not making you come,” Dalton snaps, as he pushes up from his seat and rounds the table, settling down beside me.

“What are you doing?” I whisper as he rests his hand on my thigh.

“Finishing what I started.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“I don’t want you too,” I say, my chest heaving as his fingers drift towards the hem of my dress, slowly dragging it up my thigh.

“Then stop me,” he replies, his lips brushing against my cheek, the heat of his touch burning into my thigh. “Stop me like you should’ve stopped me yesterday.”

“Please, don’t do this,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I fight that part of me who craves human affection, knowing that this is just some twisted game to Dalton, a power-play on his part.

“You want this,” he persists, his fingers edging higher, crackles of electricity erupting between us from his touch.

“You have no idea what I want,” I whisper, my breath catching as his fingers reach the top of my stocking.

“Fuck, Daisy, are those stockings you’re wearing?” he asks, the gravelly timber of his voice making me shudder.

“Get your hands off me,” I insist, hating that my request sounds so feeble.

“If you don’t want my hand on you, remove it then,” he rasps, his fingers slipping higher.

“I don’t want this,” I whisper, all the while parting my legs.

“Tell me what you want then,” he persists, the tip of his nose nudging against that sensitive spot just below my ear as his fingers draw teasing, soft circles so close to my core that I’m left panting.

My eyes drift shut at his touch, and I know, I know this shouldn’t be happening, but I can’t seem to stop him as his fingers graze higher, tantalising close to the apex of my thighs. His lips burn against my skin, lighting me up in a way I wish he wouldn’t.

I don’t want this. I don’t want him… Do I?

“Daisy…” he laments, and the catch in his voice, the need, it sends me spiralling.

In this moment I know that the decision I make will determine not just our future, but my own sense of self-worth. I could do what I’ve always done and ignore the red flags and let him touch me or I could stand up for myself and put an end to this toxic cycle I always seem to find myself in. With a surge of determination, I push Dalton away.

“I should’ve stopped you yesterday, but I won’t make the same mistake twice,” I declare, my heart pounding in my chest as I put much needed space between us. “I deserve better than this, and Tomasz didn’t deserve to be fired. Make this right, Dalton.”

His nostrils flare, and for a moment I think he’s going to ignore my request, but eventually he nods and says, “I will provide him with a substantial severance pay, but I will not offer him his job back. That’s the best I can do.”

“Thank you.” I move to stand but he rests his hand on my arm.

“Will you stay? Eat with me at least?”

“I’m suddenly not very hungry.”

“Daisy…” His voice trails off as I shake my head.

“I’m going home. I’ll see you Saturday, when it’s time to move in.”

“Daisy, wait!”

But I’m already heading towards the exit, and this time Dalton doesn’t follow.