Chapter 10
DALTON
CHAPTER TEN
The rest of the week passes without incident, thank fuck. My father has restrained himself from making any snide remarks towards Daisy during our dinners together, even though it’s obvious her clothes still bother him.
In contrast, I’ve grown to secretly enjoy seeing what outfit she’ll pick out each night, all of them carefully chosen to defy my father. I particularly liked the rainbow striped mini skirt she wore last night paired with a red t-shirt, bare legs and fluffy yellow socks. There was something both frustratingly sexy about her outfit and insufferably cute. Not that I’d ever let her know how much she’s beginning to affect me, mostly because it’s been almost three weeks since I’ve had sex and I’m starting to get major fucking withdrawal symptoms. In fact, that kiss we shared at Bandits Bar after that prick tried to molest her has only added to my discomfort, and has made things even more strained between Daisy and me.
I probably shouldn’t have kissed her, but I was angry.
No, fuck that. I was incensed.
She’d ignored me all day, refused to answer my texts, and I couldn’t fucking stop myself from storming out of my home in search of her. Yes, her defiance had angered me, but when I walked into Ben’s bar and saw that man’s hands on her, I’d seen red. It was as though a veil of violence had fallen in front of my eyes, and all I wanted to do was rip him apart for daring to touch her, to scare her like that. Because underneath her anger, I’d seen her fear, and it did something to me. I would’ve done a lot worse than hit the bastard if we didn’t have so many witnesses. Luckily for him he wasn’t alone.
Deep down, I know I acted no better than that jerk had towards her, and if I were a better man I wouldn’t have attempted to kiss her at that moment, but fuck me, this possessiveness had unfurled inside of me and I couldn’t fucking stop myself.
Truth be known, I don’t regret kissing Daisy. Not one bit. That kiss was electric. It was potent, and I’ve not stopped thinking about how she’d felt in my arms, how she’d moaned and kissed me back despite her anger.
The mere thought of her lips on mine has my balls tingling and my cock hardening. Daisy might drive me fucking crazy with her sharp tongue and infuriating stubbornness, and I know she fucking hates me, but my cock? My cock hasn’t gotten the fucking memo.
I’ve since tried making conversation with her, but she’s become even more unreachable, and has avoided being alone with me at all costs. Like today, she’s gone out of her way to avoid me at work, refusing my offer of a lift this morning even though we’re working the same damn hours.
Truthfully, it’s not something I’m used to. Most of the women I’ve been with in the past are willing to at least pass the time with surface level conversation before we fuck, and whilst I’m well aware that’s never going to happen between us, we’re going to be married soon and the least she can do is keep to her word, given she made such a big deal about it.
But Daisy remains closed off, and frankly, it’s beginning to grate on my patience. After all, it was she who wanted to find common ground, to communicate, but despite my attempts of doing exactly what she suggested, I’ve been met with bland responses and curbed emotions. Where has the snarky woman who enjoyed nothing more than putting me in my place with her witty comments and sharp retorts gone? Fuck, I’m beginning to miss our spirited interactions.
Shutting the lid of my laptop, I decide that enough is enough, and reach for my phone, making a couple of quick calls. Then, ignoring all the jobs piling up on my desk, I go in search of my fiancé, finding her sitting alone in the staff break room.
“Daisy, we need to talk.”
“My lunch break is over. I need to get back to work,” she replies, placing her half eaten sandwich back on her plate.
“Caroline has agreed to cover the rest of your shift. I want to clear the air.”
“So it’s okay for you to rearrange my breaks, but not me. That figures.”
“I’m not below using my powers as the manager of this hotel to my advantage. We need to talk,” I repeat.
“There’s no need.”
“I beg to differ,” I reply, refusing to back down. “Come with me.”
“No.”
“No?” My nostrils flare at her stubbornness.
“Like I said, I have work to get back too. Caroline shouldn’t have to cover for me.”
“She was happy to do so. Besides, this is non-negotiable.”
Daisy stands, lifting her chin defiantly as she glares at me. “What are you going to do, Dalton, throw me over your shoulder like some caveman?”
“If I must,” I retort, blocking her path as she tries to sidestep me.
“Get out of my way!” she insists, trying to skirt around me.
“You really are a stubborn woman!” I grind out.
“And you’re an arse. I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps back, shoving her palm against my chest. “Now move!”
I smirk at her aggressive tone, enjoying that spark lighting between us once more. I’d take her anger over avoidance, any day.
“Dalton!” she warns when I grin mercilessly at her.
“You asked for this,” I say, and before she’s had a moment to react, I bend at the waist, wrap my arms around her thighs and haul her over my shoulder.
“DALTON GUNN PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!” she screeches, her fists bashing against my arse and thighs as I storm across the staff room, kicking the door open with my foot. I’m not sure what has possessed me, but what I do know is that I’m not backing down, damn the consequences.
“If I put you down will you come with me?” I ask, striding towards the exit that leads to the staff car park at the back of the hotel.
“No, but I will punch your lights out!” she screams in response, slapping her hands against any spot she can reach.
“Then I guess I won’t put you down,” I reply snarkily.
“You’re breaking our agreement to respect each other’s personal space!” she argues.
“And you broke it by ignoring me,” I retort in frustration.
“With good reason, you jerk!”
“Still angry about our little tiff, I take it?”
“Which one? We’ve had a few,” she snaps, thumping my arse with her fist.
“Just let it go, already.”
“Fuck you, and put me down this instant! People will see!” she protests, her body wriggling as she tries to free herself.
“Let them.”
“But the contract!” she hisses out.
“Fuck the contract,” I reply, pressing my shoulder against the door that leads outside, more than ready to show her just how far I’m willing to go. We might’ve gotten lucky that there was no staff in the hallway, but I’d bet a year's wage that there’s at least one person outside this very door, given that’s where all the smokers gather to have a sneaky cigarette break.
“You’re an imbecile!” she growls.
“I just want to clear the air between us. Is that really too much to ask?” I reply, nudging the door with my shoulder.
“Okay, okay!” she replies, pressing her hands against the small of my back, and pushing upright. “I’ll go with you. We’ll talk. Just, please, put me down!”
“Is this just a ruse? Are you going to run off the moment I put you back on your feet?” I ask her, unable to hide the teasing tone to my voice. “Because, believe me, I rather like the chase.”
“Dalton. Just. Put. Me. Down!” she replies, enunciating each word.
“I need your word, Daisy,” I urge her, not in the least bit hurried to put her down. In fact, I’d go as far to say that I rather like having her pert arse in such close proximity to my face, and her hands on me, even if it is with violence.
“I promise, we can talk.”
“Excellent,” I reply, reaching for her waist, allowing her to slide down my body. My hands fall to her hips, steadying her as she drops to her feet. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“And you’re an ignoramus,” she counters, glaring up at me, her face flushed pink, her body trapped between me and the door.
“Another one to add to the list,” I muse, our breaths mingling as I inch my face closer to hers.
For the briefest of moments her eyes flare with heat, and this intense kind of connection snaps to life between us. Whatever the fuck is going on, I’m pretty sure I like it.
“You’ll pay for that!” she suddenly shouts, shoving me on the chest before fixing her dishevelled blouse and skirt, breaking the tension.
“I’d expect nothing less. Shall we?” I ask, pulling myself together as I reach behind her and push open the door.
A member of staff greets us, his eyes widening in shock as he exhales a puff of cigarette smoke, and wafts his hand in the air to dissipate it. “Mr Gunn, I was just?—”
“It’s fine,” I snap as he steps aside.
Daisy strides past him, wrapping her arms around herself tightly to ward off the cold air as I fall into step beside her. “We’ll be taking my car,” I say, gesturing towards the spot where my black, Aston Martin Valour is parked.
“Fine,” she mumbles. “You can drop me back off later to pick my car up.”
“No need. I’ve arranged for one of the staff to collect it.”
“I don’t have my bag or coat,” she counters, her teeth chattering as she waits for me to unlock the door to my car.
“I took care of that too. They’re in the trunk,” I explain, opening the passenger door and motioning for her to get inside.
“You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you?” she asks, settling into the seat.
“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” I reply, shutting the door and rounding the car.
“So where are we going exactly?” she asks, as I pull out of the car park and drive down the winding lane towards the main road.
“It’s a surprise,” I reply.
“I don’t like surprises,” she retorts, pressing her palms against the leather beneath her arse, presumably to warm her hands on the heated seat. Either that or to prevent herself from punching me just like she had threatened.
“I know that’s a lie,” I counter. “Drix said that you love surprises.”
“So you’re back to being friends again?” she asks me, not bothering to deny it.
“Not quite, but we’ve known each other for years and have had plenty of conversations during that time. Believe it or not, some of them were about you. He mentioned once that you love surprises, so here we are.”
“Chucking me over your shoulder was a surprise. I didn’t like that,” she snaps.
“To be fair I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t mentioned it yourself. Perhaps it was a Freudian slip on your part.”
“Are you actually suggesting I wanted you to throw me over your shoulder?”
“You tell me,” I reply, smothering a smile.
“I can categorically tell you I did not.”
“Noted,” I reply. “Won’t happen again, unless of course, you change your mind. I’ve been known to throw plenty of women over my shoulder in my time.”
“You wish,” she huffs.
Half an hour later we’re pulling up to a quaint, ivy-covered storefront on a quiet cobblestone street in a neighbouring village. The dressmaker’s boutique has a beautiful window display showcasing two stunning tailored gowns. One is a deep purple with crystal beading across the bodice, and the other is a pale green with layers of chiffon skirting and thin beaded straps.
“Why are we here?” Daisy asks, as we step out of the car.
“You’ll see,” I reply, pushing open the door, a tiny bell tinkling with our arrival.
Inside, the boutique is scented with lavender and rose, and gowns in every shade imaginable line the walls. The dressmaker, and owner of the boutique, is an elegant woman with silver hair tied up in a neat chignon.
“Are you Mr Gunn?”
“Yes, thank you for fitting us in at such short notice.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she replies, before turning her attention to Daisy. “And you must be Mrs Gunn.”
“Not yet,” Daisy replies softly, her attention drawn to the stunning array of gowns.
“Of course, how silly of me. You’ll have to forgive me, my mind is not as sharp as it used to be. This appointment is to find you a dress to wear for your engagement party tomorrow night, is that correct?”
“It is?” Daisy frowns, cutting a look my way.
“Whatever you want, it’s yours,” I offer, taking a seat on the armchair situated just outside the changing room.
“I’m sure there will be something suitable,” the dressmaker says, the lines around her eyes crinkling as she smiles. “What colour were you thinking?”
Daisy chews on her lip, flicking her gaze between me and the rack of dresses to her left as she trails her fingers along the material. “The theme is black and white,” she murmurs, staring wistfully at the colourful dresses.
“You’ll wear whatever dress you choose, regardless of the colour,” I say firmly.
Daisy’s head snaps around. “But your father was very specific.”
“I don’t care. This is our engagement party. You should wear what you want.”
“I’m not sure your father would appreciate his money being spent on a dress for me that doesn’t meet his expectations.”
“It isn’t his money buying the dress, it’s mine,” I explain, pulling out my credit card and passing it to the dressmaker. “Apologies, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Matilda,” the old woman replies.
“Well, Matilda, charge anything Daisy chooses to this card, please.”
"Of course,” Matilda replies, taking it from me, and heading towards the back of the shop where her cash register is located.
“Why, Dalton?” Daisy asks, uncertainty filling her voice. “I can pay for my own dress.”
I look at her, my gaze never wavering from her eyes. “In answer to your question, you told me that colour makes you happy. So choose a dress that will make you happy. And in response to your statement, I know you can pay for your own dress but it’s the least I can do given I seem to be doing a piss-poor job at making you happy.”
“You don’t have to buy me things,” she protests softly.
“I know I don’t, but I want to. Let me do this for you, Daisy.”
“But—”
“I’ll buy you every damn dress in this shop if that’s what it takes to make you smile.”
She stares at me for long moments, and it isn’t until Matilda clears her throat that she finally nods in agreement.
“Okay.”
“Wonderful. Now where should we start?” Matilda asks.
For the next couple of hours, I keep myself occupied by logging into my work email and responding to messages whilst Daisy tries on a multitude of dresses, her laughter lifting up in the air as she chats with Matilda. By the time she’s made her decision the sky is darkening and my stomach is rumbling loudly.
“Thank you so much for all your help, Matilda. You truly are very talented,” Daisy says as she emerges from the dressing room in her uniform.
“You’re not going to show me what you’ve chosen?” I ask, pocketing my phone as I look up at her.
“It’s a surprise,” she replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright, making her whole face light up. As much as I enjoy her snarkiness when she’s mad, it actually feels surprisingly good to see her happy.
Behind her Matilda emerges from the dressing room holding a zippered garment bag that hides the chosen dress inside. She hands it to Daisy with a warm smile. “There we are, dear.”
Daisy gratefully accepts the bag, gingerly folding it over her arm like a precious treasure. “Thank you again.”
“You are very welcome,” Matilda responds graciously, before adding, “I often believe that it isn’t us who choose the dress, but the dress that chooses us. This one was made for you.”
Daisy’s beaming smile widens even more at this sentiment. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask as I place Daisy’s dress in the trunk, and hand over her coat.
Daisy nods, pulling it on. “I could eat.”
“Let’s find somewhere then,” I suggest, scanning the quaint village street.
As we stroll along the cobblestone pathway, the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and rich sauces wafts through the air, leading us towards a small Italian restaurant nestled between a flower shop and a bookstore. The restaurant’s exterior exudes an old-world charm, with a worn wooden facade and string lights twinkling above a sign that reads Trattoria della Nonna.
“What about here?” I ask.
“Sure, I love Italian food,” she replies, as I push open the heavy wooden door and we step inside.
The interior is adorned with chequered tablecloths, flickering candles in wine bottles, and soft music playing in the background. A friendly waiter greets us with a smile, leading us to a cosy corner table by the window.
“Today’s specials are listed on the chalkboard,” he explains, pointing to his left. “Of course, you can also choose from the menu.”
“Thank you,” I reply, scanning the menu he just handed to us both. “We’ll need a moment to choose.”
“No problem. Would you like some water, olives, bread?”
“Yes, to all three,” Daisy replies, smiling up at him.
As the waiter walks away, I focus my attention back on the menu and not on Daisy, whose bright eyes, flushed cheeks and plump lips are, admittedly, becoming more and more of a distraction.
“Dalton…” Daisy begins, her voice trailing off as I meet her gaze.
“Yes?” I ask, sensing her unease as she fidgets with her napkin.
“Thank you for the dress.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, my cock stirring to life as she chews on her lip nervously. Fuck, I really need to get myself in check. “What is it?”
“You said that you wanted to buy me the dress because you wanted to make me happy.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“But things don’t make you happy, Dalton,” she says softly.
“I beg to differ. You looked pretty happy earlier.”
“Because you were being thoughtful. It wasn’t about the dress per se, it was because you’re supporting my right to be an individual, to express myself with colour, that made me happy. I would’ve felt the same if you’d supported my right to wear one of my own dresses.”
“Well now you have a new dress, and you have my support,” I reply with a shrug.
“I do. Thank you for both, it means a lot.” She hesitates, and I realise that she has more to say, so rather than interrupting her, I give her the space to continue. “I want to apologise too.”
“For what?”
“For ignoring you. For being distant.”
I cock my head to the side, regarding her. “I can’t deny that it’s pissed me off, but I do understand it,” I reply begrudgingly.
“You do?”
“Of course. I think we both needed some time to come to terms with our… arrangement,” I say, carefully. “I guess I’m not used to having someone?—”
“Who doesn’t follow your orders? Who refuses to fall at your feet the moment you give them your attention?” she offers, her lip tugging up into a smile.
“That wasn’t quite what I was thinking. Though I guess there is some truth in that,” I admit. “I guess, if nothing else, this whole situation is a test of my control.”
“Control?” Daisy echoes, her brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m used to being in control of everything around me. My work, my social life, and especially my relationships.”
“Relationships?” she snorts out a laugh. “Booty calls, you mean?”
I give her a look but don't rise to the bait. “When you didn’t respond to my texts the other day, I was angry, and then when I saw that prick manhandle you, I lost it,” I explain, offering her the truth. “You defied me, and put yourself in danger.”
“I’m my own person, Dalton. You can’t control me. I won’t let you, so you really should stop trying.”
“You don’t bend to my will,” I continue. “And admittedly, that’s both frustrating and intriguing. It’s not something I’ve had to deal with before.”
“Do women really throw themselves at you?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” I counter.
“I know they must, given your reputation. I guess I just wonder what you get out of it, what they get out of it. I mean, apart from the obvious,” she says.
“People like to fuck, Daisy. I like to fuck. I don’t really need anything else.”
“What about friendship?”
“I have male friends for that.”
She frowns. “Okay then, what about connection? Don’t you want more than just a long list of one night stands?”
Silence descends between us as I contemplate her question. “I think I’ve just never really found someone worth building a relationship with,” I finally say, and whilst it’s not the complete truth, it’s as much as I’m willing to share in the moment.
“I see, and now here you are stuck with me,” Daisy replies, her attention drawn to the waiter as he returns to the table, setting down a bottle of sparkling water, a bowl of juicy green olives smothered in oil, and some warm bread.
“Are you ready to order?” he asks.
“Ladies first,” I offer.
Daisy briefly flicks her gaze to the menu. “I think I’ll have the Capricciosa pizza,” she says, handing the waiter her menu. “And a glass of Chianti, please.”
“Make that two Capricciosa,” I add, passing him my menu as well.
“Some wine for you, Sir?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m driving. Water is fine.”
“Coming right up,” he replies.
I wait for him to be out of earshot before I continue with our conversation. “Just for the record, I’m not stuck with you, Daisy. Despite our differences, I do like you when you’re not spitting and hissing at me like some feral cat,” I add with a smirk.
“Feral cat?” She laughs at that.
“You have to admit you do have sharp claws. Despite that, I like you. Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Who are you, and what have you done with the real Dalton Gunn?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
“I mean it,” I insist.
“Look, I know Drix has warned you not to make me completely miserable, and I do appreciate the effort you’ve made today, but you don’t have to tell me things you think I want to hear.”
“I’m not declaring my love for you, but I’m not lying. I like you, even if you do drive me fucking crazy at times. Besides, anyone who has the balls to put my father in his place is someone I can respect.”
“Well, then I want you to know that I like you when you’re not acting like an obnoxious prick.”
“Thanks, I guess,” I reply with a chuckle, feeling some of the tension that has been building between us dissipate.
She nods and reaches for an olive, popping it into her mouth. “These are delicious.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You don’t like olives?”
“Not particularly.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she says, popping another one into her mouth, her lips glistening with oil.
I have the sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss her, willing to taste the tangy bitterness on her lips just to feel her soften against me like she did for the briefest of moments the other night, but I curb that desire with a mouthful of icy water instead. It does nothing to cool my desires.
“Given we’re being honest with each other, I need to explain why I reacted the way I did the night we watched TV together. I think I owe you that much at least.”
“Go on, I’m listening,” I say, glad for the distraction given my dick seems to think it’s getting some action tonight.
“That night, when I asked you why it was important for you to know what makes me happy, you replied that if you knew, then it would earn you brownie points when you buy me the perfect gift for my birthday.”
“And that’s wrong? Explain,” I ask, genuinely bemused.
“Because you wanted to know purely to make yourself look good. It didn’t come from a place of genuine care,” she finishes, her eyes searching mine for understanding.
I lean back in my chair, taking a moment to process her words. She’s right, I was more focused on scoring points than truly understanding her. “I see your point,” I admit. “I never meant for it to come across that way.”
“Today, even though you bought me something, it came from a place of care. Can you see the difference?”
“I can,” I admit begrudgingly.
“That’s why I accepted this gift, and why it means something to me. So thank you for thinking of me.”
“And I apologise for my lack of understanding before,” I say, reaching across the table to gently grasp her hand. “If nothing else, I’m learning some things here.”
“The right way to treat women, you mean?” Daisy asks, smiling a little.
“No, the right way to treat you,” I reply, squeezing her fingers before releasing her hand.
“Because I’m your best friend’s little sister, and he’ll murder you if you treat me badly?” she questions.
“No, because you’re my fiance, my soon-to-be wife, and the future mother of my child, and I don’t want to be an arsehole to the person who is going to carry a piece of me inside of them,” I reply.
Daisy’s eyes widen, then she breaks out into a wide grin. “Seriously, have you been abducted by an alien and had your brain rewired?”
“Funny,” I grin back as she chuckles to herself. “So, are we friends then?”
“We’re a step up from enemies I think,” she muses. “Frenemies?”
“I can live with that.”
For now.