Chapter 13 Abby
ABBY
I’m still raw from the masked man’s attack, and Dane’s domineering aura sets off primal, feminine alarm bells at the back of my mind.
Who hurt you, Abigail?
My heart twists. I was right about his protective instincts, but my recent trauma is warping my responses to that fierce protective streak.
I’m sensing danger when I should feel comforted.
I’m not ready for this. As much as I want Dane, I can’t be with any man right now.
My resolve wavers when we step into the elevator.
The moment the golden doors close, erotic tension fills the space.
He stands beside me, just at the edge of my bubble of personal space.
Desire builds between us, making my skin tingle with anticipation of his touch.
He hasn’t made physical contact since I pulled away from him on the rooftop, but in this private moment, he might as well be trailing his fingers along my spine.
The elevator comes to a merciful stop, and the doors open. Cool air conditioning floods the desire-heated space, like the shock of an icy shower after a long summer run.
We step out into the gallery space, and I’m so focused on evading his allure that I don’t pause to glance at the art that’s on display.
He has other ideas. With the barest brush of his fingers around my wrist, he gently urges me to turn away from the exit, so that I’m looking at the red abstract piece again.
“What do you like about it?” he asks, his voice dropping to that seductive register.
I can’t resist the calm ring of command.
“I’m an impressionist, but abstract expressionism fascinates me,” I reply.
My focus centers on the painting, but I’m still hyperaware of his hand on my wrist. His thumb slides along my palm, tracing my heartline in a shockingly intimate caress. My senses come alive, and the painting’s varied shades of red become richer, as though someone has turned up the saturation.
He releases a low hum. “Explain it to me. I just see red.”
I blink at him in surprise, and he shoots me a devastatingly sexy smirk. “I like science; you like art. I want to understand what you see when you look at it.”
“You seem like you belong in spaces like this,” I say, puzzled. Dane is almost painfully suave, and I’ve imagined him to be a man who enjoys the finer things in life. “I can easily picture you at a glitzy gallery opening with a glass of champagne in your hand. Or at some sort of charity gala.”
It’s the kind of world I walked away from two years ago, and I’m surprised to realize that I don’t resent this impression I have of him. He embodies effortless elegance rather than putting on a show for others.
Maybe it’s just the sexy English accent throwing off my usual judgmental assessment of entitled rich people, but I can’t see Dane in the same negative light as I view my family’s social circle.
His eyes shutter for a second, and his smirk melts away. “I’ve attended my share of gallery openings and galas,” he allows. “It’s never meant much to me.”
His hand fully engulfs mine, and a thrill rushes through me, blanking my mind for a moment.
“Tell me what you see.”
Heat sinks from his hand into my flesh, warming me all the way to my core.
He’s not looking at the painting anymore, but I’m fixated on it as though it’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.
His intense focus is centered on me again, and I bask in it like I’m soaking up the August sun on Folly Beach.
The power of his will compels me to respond.
“Passion,” I breathe.
I gesture at a deep crimson splatter: “Rage.” A brighter spray with an orange hue: “Joyful abandon.” A swath that’s a rich shade so dark it’s almost purple: “Seduction.”
“Stunning,” he remarks. His other hand lifts to touch my hair, his finger twining in the amethyst curl again.
An echo of the giddy thrill at the beginning of our date tempts me to surrender. I recall the initial surge of desire for him in the elevator ride up to the rooftop—how excited I’d been to get to know him.
He’s touching my nape, his sure fingers sliding into my hair. He cradles the back of my head in one hand and urges me to turn, so that I have no choice but to face him.
His touch is gentle, but I’m locked in his hold as surely as if he had my hair tangled in his fist. He binds me in place with no more than his gaze, his powerful bearing keeping me thoroughly under his spell.
Molten honey drips down my spine to pool in my belly, and an insistent pulse between my legs echoes the beat of my heart.
“Dane…” His name is a plea, and I’m not sure if I’m begging for him to release me or for him to grant me the mercy of his kiss.
His remarkable eyes flare when I say his name, and his jaw tightens with masculine hunger. I soften in his hold, allowing him to cradle my head in his broad palm.
“I never want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, easily reading my tumultuous emotions. “But I’ve wanted you for far too long, and I fully intend to claim a kiss by the end of the night.”
I blink up at him, shocked at his fierce declaration and undeniably wet from his confident bearing.
He offers me an arrogant smirk. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
“You’re very self-assured.” I manage a breathy remark.
“And you like that.” His smile tilts into something a touch wicked. “We’re a good match.”
I resist the urge to squirm at his intense scrutiny. He’s looking at me with carnal hunger, and I feel like I might as well be naked before him.
I’m almost trembling with sensual awareness, as though all of my nerves are hypersensitive. The barest flex of his fingers in my hair draws a soft gasp from my chest, and his sexy smirk tilts in response.
Dane is confident to the point of arrogance, but I can’t deny that his cocky smile makes me melt inside.
And that confidence is well-deserved, judging by the way I’m drinking him in like the most compelling work of art I’ve ever seen.
He’s utterly gorgeous and hypnotically alluring, and it’s more than just his good looks.
The air of easy authority I’ve sensed in him draws me in.
I could easily see myself falling to my knees for this man. Worshipping his perfection like he’s my own personal god.
He lowers his face to mine slowly, his stunning eyes searching mine for silent invitation.
When his lips are an inch from mine, he pauses, his heat teasing across my mouth.
I’m not sure if he’s allowing me to make the final move, or if he’s relishing toying with me, but his motives don’t matter.
I can’t resist the magnetic pull between us, and I arch up to meet him.
His lips are just as soft and sensual as I imagined, and he caresses me with a tender kiss, coaxing me to open for him. I soften on a sigh, melting into him. My arms twine around his shoulders for support, and I cling to him as he claims my mouth deeply enough to take my breath away.
My mind begins to spin, and I’m swept up in the delicious heat of his powerful body and the sure, seductive strokes of his tongue against mine.
One broad hand pins my lower back so that I’m pressed tightly against his hard abs. The confident hold makes me flower open for him on a low moan, and his answering growl of desire vibrates through my body.
The masked man’s fierce growl rumbles through me, vibrating all the way to my core. My clit pulses, and my labia are wet with desire. My entire body softens and submits, preparing to accommodate my attacker so that he can slake his lust.
I freeze in Dane’s arms. I’m still melded close to his body, caged by his strong hands.
Desire shudders through me at the sensation of being trapped and helpless.
My stomach lurches, and I jerk away from him. For a fleeting instant, his fingers contract, nipping into my flesh in a punishing hold.
I’m burning inside for Dane, but my skin is chilled. The air conditioning turns frosty, and ice sinks into my heated flesh. Nausea churns in my gut as my twisted desire rises, threatening to consume me.
I’m perverted, broken. Something is deeply wrong with me, and it’s not just because of the masked man’s attack.
My body only finds this thrilling pleasure in moments of violation. My instinctive fear response makes me wet when I should be screaming for mercy.
Consensual sex has always been a painful experience for me; I’m too tense to accept a man, and my inner muscles won’t soften to accommodate a cock. But when I’m forced…
I shake my head, throwing off the terrible thoughts and disentangling my hair from Dane’s grip.
He releases me so quickly that I think I must’ve imagined the tightening of his strong fingers as part of my perverted fantasy. He allows me to step away and gasp in a breath of cool air.
“What’s wrong?” His low rumble is a touch gravelly this time, roughened by a dark emotion I don’t fully understand. Frustration? Disapproval? Residual lust?
My gaze fixes on the red abstract painting again. He might see some of the sickness in my soul if I allow him to look into my eyes.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “It’s too public here.”
I fumble over the almost-lie. It’s not entirely untrue that I don’t want to have a full panic attack in the gallery. But Dane will think I’m talking about disliking public displays of affection.
“What if I want people to see?” he counters, his voice dropping to the deep register that seems to thrum through me. “What if I want every man to know that you’re with me?”
Anxiety tightens my muscles, even as my core pulses for him.
Dane clearly likes control, and that prospect intrigues me as much as it scares me. I could so easily melt for this man, but he’s far too cultured and refined to understand the darkest parts of me.
Gathering my wits, I force my lips to curve at the corners.
He lifts my hand and brushes a featherlight kiss over my knuckles. The gesture is almost reverent, and my heart skips a beat. His intense attention is gratifying and more addictive than anything I’ve ever experienced, even though I’m still reeling from the awful flashback of the attack.
“More later,” he promises.
Desire is still pulsing between my legs, and sweat beads on my brow. I crave more time with Dane, but I need space to breathe without his alluring scent threading through my senses. The horrific, cloying scent of amber cologne still seems to saturate the air, warring with his.
“I have to go,” I announce. “You don’t need to walk me home.”
He frowns. “It’s dark. I’ll escort you.”
“It’s East Bay Street,” I counter. “And my walk home is well-lit. I’ve never had a problem before.”
“You were robbed this afternoon,” he reminds me. “I’ll feel better if I know you’re safe.”
My heart flutters even as my stomach turns. I want to be a good match for this protective, white knight of a man. I have to master my sick reaction to our kiss before I can spend more time with him.
“I really need to go. I have that early shift.”
A muscle barely flutters in his jaw, but it smooths quickly.
“All right,” he concedes, even though his eyes are still burning with dark green fire. “But I want you to text me when you get home.”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
He blows out a soft sigh and offers me that indulgent smile. “Is it so difficult to accept that I want to know you’re safe? I want to take care of you, Abigail. Let me.”
My heart tugs with longing. No one has taken care of me in years. Possibly ever, if I examine the truth too closely. I’ve been on my own for so long, resolutely standing on my own two feet. The prospect of leaning on Dane for support is terribly tempting.
“I can take care of myself,” I say, but the assertion isn’t sharp with resentment. I’m touched by his concern, even if I can’t allow myself the moment of weakness. “But thank you for caring about my safety.”
“I never said you aren’t capable of taking care of yourself,” he replies smoothly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to. Trust me, Abigail. I will never hurt you.”
I glance away from his x-ray gaze, hiding my secrets from him.
Instead of replying to his intense declaration, I focus my attention on my purse and find my phone. My fragile smile is back in place when I look up at him once again.
“What’s your number?”
His smile is sharp with something like triumph when he takes my phone and enters his number. He connects a call, and his phone vibrates in his pocket.
He has my number now too.
His fingers brush mine as he places my phone back in my waiting hand. The slow slide of his withdrawal is a sensual caress, and my cheeks flush as though he’s swept me up in another scorching kiss.
“I’ll text you,” I promise as my stomach flips. It’s a slightly queasy sensation.
My fingers are itching for my paintbrush. Tumultuous emotions surge within me, making me seasick. I need to purge them at my canvas. Then, maybe I’ll be capable of enduring Dane’s kiss without my trauma ruining the moment.
He offers me a short nod of acknowledgement. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The statement seals my promise; his firm tone brooks no resistance. He’s expecting a message confirming that I’m safe.
His protective instincts soften any irritation I might feel in response to his highhanded manner. I could throw myself into his strong arms and allow him to shield me from all the bad things in the world—including the horrors of my past.
I offer him a quick, slightly awkward wave goodbye and force myself to walk away from him.
As I put distance between us, I can practically feel the shadow of his imposing frame lengthening behind me, as reluctant to release me as I am to leave him.
It makes my skin prickle with residual awareness of his touch.
I resolutely ignore the unreasonable, thrilling sensation that he’s still with me, even though I know I left him behind in the gallery.