Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Dakota
“ L et me go after him,” I plead with Wyatt as I place my hand on his arm, holding him back. Even though I don’t know the man at all, I know the look of one that’s about to do some physical damage, and I think there’s been enough of that tonight.
“Are you sure? He’s even more of an ass than usual when he’s like this,” he says, not looking at me. His eyes track the slimy fucker that thought he had more swagger than Chance. I’ve known men like him; hell, I’ve had to represent men like him, and they always make my skin crawl. It took everything in me not to recoil and shiver when he kissed my hand.
We watch as Todd shrugs off the man holding him, spewing curses and claiming loudly he was only defending himself against the big, bad Chance Declan.
As if. If Chance wanted to hurt him, he could have taken this rat.
“Yes, you deal with—him.” I nod my head to Todd, who is now boasting about how differently he would run Whiskey Canyon Ranch, since Chance is so incapable of doing so. “I’ll go to Chance.”
Todd is really testing my nerves. I narrow my eyes at him, cursing him in my head while taking notes of everything about him to make sure that Hammond Law never represents him or his ranch.
Wyatt nods and stalks toward Todd, grabbing him by the collar and leading him away from the crowd and through the side gate.
“What are you doing? Get your hands off of me!” Todd protests but is no match for Wyatt’s pure strength.
“Fight me, Jones, and I swear I’ll do more than just throw you out.” Wyatt gives him another shove.
“I won’t give you a cent after this! Do you hear? You’ll never be able to run your little rodeo without Three Hills Ranch!” Todd stammers as Wyatt pulls him away.
The two stop suddenly with Wyatt saying something to him I can’t make out, but whatever it is, it makes Todd stop yelling and his face turn ashen. Wyatt gives him a sinister smile before pulling him around the corner.
I want more than anything to know what Wyatt whispered to him, but the lawyer in me knows it’s better if I pretend I didn’t see it.
The rest of the guests watch in shock, chattering while the women fan themselves and act scandalized, but their eyes never leave the men as they haul Todd out of the yard. I gather this is quite a lot of drama for a rodeo gala—and for the small town.
Now that Todd has been dealt with, I need to turn my attention to Chance. Not only was he bleeding, but he’s madder than hell and is probably nothing short of a ticking time bomb inside his own house.
I follow the door he stormed through, finding it leads to the kitchen, flooding my memories of Chance and I where the chefs are now standing. I feel a flush reach my cheeks as I think of how sexy he looked standing at the counter, hands gripping the countertop.
I want nothing more than to feel those hands on me. Have them run over my body. Through my hair.
“He went that way,” a young woman in a white suit squeaks, pointing down the hall.
I give my head a shake, pulling my gaze away from the hurried chefs and waitstaff, no doubt hustling to get more food out to distract the guests from the near fight.
“Thank you,” I say, giving her a polite smile. The poor girl looks as if she has been put through the trenches and if she was outside when it all happened, she undoubtedly was.
The woman cowers again, leaving me to wonder what Chance did as he stormed through the house. I imagine it was bit like a bear with a thorn in his paw; yelling and threatening as he barrelled through everyone.
But he doesn’t scare me. I’ve had to deal with my fair share of people like Chance working in law. Hell, I’ve dealt with much worse. I know I need to prepare myself for his wrath, knowing it’s highly unlikely he’s cooled off during his few minutes alone.
I slip off my heels and dangle them off my finger by the straps as I stroll down the hallway, remembering the way from when I walked through it the other night.
The farther away from the kitchen I get, the more I notice the rest of the house is eerily quiet. I’m left with just the echoes of the kitchen staff working, and the faint laughs and voices from the people outside ring around me.
The only guide I have to find where Chance went is a soft light coming from under a doorway ahead of me. Taking a deep breath, I grab the knob and turn, sneaking through the door and closing it behind me as quietly as I can.
“Get out,” Chance grumbles, not looking up from the tumbler in his hand.
I drop my shoes by the door and walk carefully toward him. The room is darkened, except for a lamp on his large wooden desk. I don’t take my eyes off him, but in my periphery, I notice floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with old looking books. I would give anything to know what types of books fill Chance Declan’s shelves, but that’s a temptation I can’t give into right now.
There’s a bigger one ahead of me, and I need to make sure I don’t get too close and get burned.
Chance sits in an oversized leather seat, his suit jacket discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone. He’s rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, making him look every inch the successful billionaire he is.
And hot. So damn hot.
“How’s your chin?” I ask, taking another soft step forward.
He grunts, taking a sip of the amber liquid in his glass, never taking his eyes off me.
I feel like I’m prey being watched by a predator.
I’m probably not that far off.
“He’s an ass, you know.” I stop in the middle of the room, assessing him.
He scoffs as he takes another sip. He finally breaks his gaze, looking down at the glass in front of him.
“Wyatt got rid of him. Might even have a black eye or two the way they were going.”
“Good. He deserves it.” His voice is low and gruff. It reminds me of the smoky, gravelly drink he has in his hand. Like a burn that is so smooth it both hurts and feels good at the same time.
“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” I take a tentative step toward his desk; my eyes remaining focused on him. He continues to avoid mine.
“Do you think I want to talk about it, Dakota?” He slams the tumbler down, making drops of whiskey cascade on the desk around it. “If you’re looking for a guy that will talk about his feelings, you’re in the wrong place.”
“And if you think you’re going to scare me off with being an asshole, you’re wrong.”
“You should be scared,” he seethes, meeting my eyes again. “Everyone else is. The playboy billionaire with anger issues. Chance Declan, the man failing at filling his father’s shoes. The asshole farmer who’s about to lose the town’s rodeo.”
“Is that what you think you are?” I stand still, not daring to take another step further.
The office is cool, but a lone bead of sweat drips down my back. I don’t know if it’s his intense stare or what he does to me.
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” He lifts his glass and takes another sip. “It never does.”
“You’re none of those things, Chance.”
“You don’t know that! You don’t know me!” He stands, slamming his hand against his desk.
“Because you won’t let me fucking try!”
We stand staring at each other, chests heaving as our anger rises. I wish I could shake sense into him, let him see that he isn’t the asshole people believe he is.
Well, he is, but for different reasons.
He’s still firmly in place on my asshole-o-meter, but I can see the pain and guilt he carries along with the chip on his shoulder. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that he can’t see it, but everything inside me screams he needs to see himself differently. That maybe if he saw himself as more than just a billionaire playboy with a shit attitude, he could do amazing things with his ranch.
“Why do you even care, Dakota? This is fake, remember? After what happened out there, there’s probably no point in even trying.”
And that was like a knife in my fucking heart.
Of course I know it’s fake. I’m reminded of it every time he crosses my mind. Every time my body heats from his deep voice. When his hazel eyes always tucked under his black cowboy hat, cross my mind.
When I think of our kiss in the bar parking lot.
Believe me, I know nothing about this is real.
“You don’t know that. Plus, from what I saw, it didn’t look like anyone was coming to Todd’s rescue. Think of it as PR. Maybe we can spin it as you only wanting sponsors that uphold a sense of integrity. A real family establishment. Just like you’re trying to promote.”
“I’m not sure anyone would believe that. In case you forgot, I almost threw the first punch.”
“Defending my honour. He was clearly not respecting the fact that I’m here with you.”
“I’m sure they’ll really think this is a ‘family establishment’ with you being here as my fake girlfriend,” he sneers.
“Whether or not this is fake is irrelevant. We’ve come out as a couple, and we stay out as a couple until this is done. As far as everyone else is concerned, we are a real couple. No one needs to know otherwise.”
Chance rounds the desk so fast I barely register it until he’s in front of me. His height is imposing, especially since I kicked off my shoes. It doesn’t stop me from straightening my spine, raising my chin and meeting his gaze with my fists on my hips.
“And you think what you say goes? I could just as easily discard you like the other women. At least with them, they shut their mouths and open their legs for me.” He takes a step towards me. I instinctively take a step back.
I know he’s acting this way to make me leave—to scare me. And if I’m being honest with myself, it’s working. But I won’t let him see that. Instead, I stand straighter and square my shoulders, tipping my chin up.
“You’re being crude to push me away, but it’s not going to work.”
“You don’t have the faintest idea why I do what I do.”
He takes a step forward and I instinctively take a step back. We continue this dance until my back hits the door; his body pressing against mine, letting me feel the hardness of his chest and his lengthening arousal on my stomach. It’s a relief to know I’m not the only one angry and turned on at the same time.
I look down from his eyes, seeing a cut on his lip that has scabbed over already. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he grunts.
I raise my hand to brush along his chin, but he moves, not letting me touch him.
“Then let me in,” I whisper, barely a breath between our lips.
“Why do you care?” His voice is lower but still holds a hard edge. The smoky aroma of his whiskey washes over me, wrapping around me, drawing me closer to him.
“You need someone to talk to, Chance.” I draw my gaze away from his lips and focus on his eyes.
“And you think that someone should be you?” He smirks, his eyes turning colder. “Have me spill my guts to you, divulge all my emotions, only to have you gone in a couple of weeks? I don’t think so.”
There it is. The reminder of our limited time again. I don’t know why I always feel like it’s a punch to the gut knowing our time is coming to an end, but it is.
“If not me, talk to Wyatt. Talk to someone.”
“What if I don’t want to talk?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he crashes his lips to mine, winding his fingers through my hair, gripping me so tight it hurts.
I clutch at his shirt, my nails clawing along his exposed chest. I don’t fight him, instead, I give in to his kiss; deepen it, desperate to make him hurt like he’s hurt me. The taste of whiskey on his tongue is intoxicating; hypnotizing me to forget what an asshole he’s been.
His hands roam from my hair, down my sides, and to the hem of my skirt. “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy in this dress.” His fingertips brush the skin of my thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps.
Heat pools in my core at his caress. He has no right to be this soft and gentle with me after how he was just a moment before. It’s not him, and I don’t want it. I want the asshole Chance Declan. The one that uses women and tosses them aside. I want it, because I need to treat him the same way, or I’ll never survive this agreement.
I wrap my leg around his waist as his hand creeps higher, slipping under the fabric of my dress.
He curses as he reaches my ass, making me smile.
“I fucking knew it,” he groans. “Did you do this to torture me?”
“Do what?” I ask breathlessly, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. I’d purposely gone without underwear tonight. It wasn’t just because I knew the tight-fitting fabric would show my panty line—I also knew it would show my lack of one.
His hand explores higher, proving his point. “What was your plan here, sweetheart? Forgetting your panties at home. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he growls, dropping his lips to my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “I noticed. Everyone at this fucking party knows you aren’t wearing anything under this dress.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. While I wanted him to notice, I didn’t realize anyone else would be looking at me that closely.
“I had to.” I whisper. “No matter what I tried to wear, there was a line. Plus, torturing you would mean you care, wouldn’t it?” I run my hands through his hair as he runs his nose along the length of my neck. “I thought this was fake.”
For once, I don’t want it to be. I wish this could be real. That I could do what I want to him, right here, right now. I wish I was the type of woman he would seek out and choose to have on his arm.
Hell, I wish I was a woman that didn’t care.
“Not everything is fake, Dakota.” He grinds his hardening length against me, proving his point.
I groan as I roll my hips against him.
“I want you, Dakota. You don’t have to fight this.”
His hot breath on my neck mixes with our bodies moving against each other, making it impossible for me to form any rational thoughts. “Chance…I…wait.” I push against him. He lets me have a little space, but not too much.
“What are you waiting for, Dakota? You want this. I know you do.”
“I do. No, I don’t. I can’t think!”
I need air. Space. A drink. Something to help me clear my head.
There’s something about being in close proximity to Chance that makes my mind run in overdrive. I seem to forget the rules I set in place to avoid getting hurt—like I know he will do to me.
I know he has the ability to hurt me worse than Laughlin ever did.
“So don’t think,” he continues, bringing his hand up and taking out the pins in my hair one-by-one, throwing them to the ground. “You think too much.”
I want to give in, let him have me.
With my hair now free, his hands are free to trail along my shoulders, down my arms and along my sides. His hands on my body feel just as good as I imagined. No, better.
My hair brushes along my back, electrifying my already oversensitive skin. I want to do anything that will keep his hands on me. Keep his soft kisses grazing my collarbone the way they are right now. Keep the stubble from his chin leaving a delicious burn in its wake.
Can I do this? I know we have an end date. I know not to get emotionally involved.
But I also know it’s too late. I’m already emotionally involved, or at least, mostly on my way there.
What really scares me, though, is that I’m on the verge of not caring. I’m ready to throw away every rule and worry I’ve ever had to spend tonight with Chance. I’m willing to throw myself at him just for a night to know what it’s like to have Chance Declan. Have all of him.
“Help me not to think, Chance.” I moan as he kisses the crook of my neck. “I’d give anything not to think.”
“That can be arranged,” Chance growls before sliding his arm behind my knees, another behind my back, and carries me out of the room.
I let out a small squeak as I throw my arms around his neck, holding on to him as the lifeline that he is.
I’m breaking all my rules. I’m doing everything I told Addie I wouldn’t do. I wouldn’t get emotionally involved. I wouldn’t sleep with him. I wouldn’t fall for him.
Anxiety should be filling my body with every step he carries me, but it’s not. It’s as if every step leaves another worry—another concern—farther behind. Instead, all I feel is excitement and heat. Yearning. Desire.
When he reaches the base of his staircase and looks me in the eyes, giving me a chance to fight him, tell him to put me down and return to the gala. My brain tells me to stop him. To return to the sponsors and townspeople. To put on the show that they need from us, but I can’t do that. Looking into his eyes, I know the only place I want to be is in his arms. In his bed.
With a slight nod of my head, his lips crash to mine as he takes the stairs, and I know that any sense of logic and reason I hoped for is long gone.
As of tonight, I belong to Chance Declan.