Chapter 36 Villain #4
Dirk said in an incredibly smooth and cultivated voice, “Good evening, Celeste, Mrs. Hilliard. This is my wife, Daniela Delavigne Prescott. Beg your pardon, but we have an appointment we must keep.” He slipped my hand over his arm and walked with me around the two sputtering females, completely shedding off the rough fighter persona and being the smooth sophisticate that I’d never really seen before.
It was shocking, and somehow even more attractive than every other version of him, except the campfire version.
That was my absolute favorite. Nothing could possibly top that.
We left the hall, and there was a black sedan with an open door, just waiting for us to slip into the back seat and drive off.
I didn’t look at him, not for a long time, and he didn’t say anything either. “Is she the girl your mother thinks you’re going to marry?”
“Not anymore.”
I turned to frown at him. “But she is the one you dated five years ago?”
He hesitated and then nodded. “I escorted her to a few formal events.”
“Ah. How distinguished of you. Does she know that you’re Dirk Dagger?”
“I don’t know. She never mentioned it. It’s not polite conversation to talk about what a man does when he isn’t enjoying polite society. Your friends are much better.”
I frowned at him. “They are genuine people, motivated by music above anything else. What is Celeste’s motivation?”
He smiled slightly. “I imagine increasing her status and wealth, but she might be a closet animal rights protester. It’s not polite conversation to talk about what a woman does when she isn’t enjoying polite society.
Now, my beautiful bride, whom I have displayed as requested, do you want a public dinner, or can we eat in private?
Ever since the second movement, I’ve wanted to wrap you in an oversize sweatshirt and hold you on my lap. ”
I blinked at him and looked down at my gorgeous gown. “We could get Chinese, and a sweatshirt, and eat on the plane back.”
“We could. We will.” He pulled me onto his lap, crushing the skirt of my dress and sliding his hand over my cheek as he pushed back the tendrils of hair. “You know how beautiful you are.”
I swallowed hard at the sudden closeness, the feel of him beneath all those slippery skirts. “Thanks to the excellent work of Jordan and the stylist. Most of beauty comes down to presentation, although a certain amount of symmetry does help.”
He started tugging the pins out of my hair gently, then massaging my scalp with slow circles of his strong fingers, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.
“I retract my statement. You don’t know how beautiful you are.
The way you feel music is beautiful. First you lean forward, chin up, like you’re going to taste the notes with your parted lips, then you swallow, and goosebumps break over all over your skin while you soak in those falling notes, like a flower under a tender rain, beating against your skin until it echoes in you, and you grip your seat with white-knuckles, which is the only reason you don’t fall out of your chair you’re leaning forward so far.
Then, when the music has filled you to the top, your whole body trembling from the force of it, it comes out your eyes, glittering diamonds of emotions that trail through the makeup revealing the real beauty underneath.
You are beautiful down to your soul, Daniela.
I never thought that I would want to make you weep, but it is exquisite, you are exquisite, and I intend to watch you weep from music on a regular basis.
” He kissed my chin, a soft kiss that sent a thrill of aching through me.
If only those words were real, but how could they be? It didn’t matter; I’d take them at face value, because this was the last night we’d have together like this.
I took a shaky breath and tugged on his lapels.
“The first time I heard music that no one else had written was that day you caught me, hanging from the cliff. I spent all night capturing it on Othello, the storm, and you, my hero. I’m so sorry about your sister.
I know that you’ll never forget her or forgive me, but—”
He kissed me, cutting off my words with lips against mine that burned with urgency.
It’s like he knew that this was the last night we’d have together, and wanted to make it as beautiful as the concert had been.
When he pulled away, I was breathless, and he was heavy-lidded, almost as though he really did want me.
Perhaps he did. Perhaps he could compartmentalize his feelings that way.
The door opened, and I realized that the car had stopped. A man in a baseball cap handed Dirk a shopping bag, the cheap plastic kind, and then Dirk handed it to me. “Pull it over your head, and I’ll unfasten your dress.”
I pulled an extra-extra-large pink sweatshirt out of the bag, the logo from a community college, like pink wasn’t a bad thing for some boys.
I pulled it over my head, while Dirk unzipped my dress, letting it slide down my body while the sweatshirt covered me, so he never saw an inch of skin.
Didn’t he want to see my skin? I had very good skin, slightly worse after my accident and all the bruising, as well as how much chocolate I’d been eating, but still, not terrible.
No, he was being a gentleman because he was wearing his tuxedo.
I kicked off the dress once my arms were in the sleeves and pushed his jacket off his shoulders then started on his bowtie and buttons while he held very still.
“What are you doing?” he asked, stilling my hands while I knelt on the seat, the sweatshirt nearly covering my knees.
I pressed my lips together. I’d never really told anyone this story, but I needed to tell Dirk something real.
“My cousin Philippe drowned me when I was eleven because I wouldn’t kiss him.
He gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, so I woke up like that, and afterwards I was sure I’d never want to kiss anyone else ever again.
And then on top of that building, you kissed me to help me defeat my fear.
You transformed kissing from something terrifying and revolting to something that saved, something that defeated fear and replaced it with happiness instead.
” I swallowed hard with the way he was looking at me, face a mask of emotionless perfection.
He wasn’t the languid socialite anymore, and he wasn’t the rough, blunt fighter, either.
He was looking at me with all of his attention, listening to every word and analyzing it with the full faculties of his serum-enhanced being.
And I was talking about the person who had killed his sister.
There was rage beneath the polished veneer.
I studied his chest, the skin between the two white panels of his silk shirt. His skin was much better than silk. He must hate me so much.
I shouldn’t say this, but when would I see him again?
I had to want something, to admit what I wanted even if I couldn’t have it.
Him. I cleared my throat, feeling very small.
“I don’t know how much you knew about my ex-fiance, but I learned how to seduce him with leather and bondage equipment before I’d ever done anything with a man more than kiss you.
It felt like someone else, like I stepped away and let my training take over while I played music in another room with Straw.
Intimacy?” I shook my head. I couldn’t keep talking about this, or I’d start crying, and I wouldn’t be able to stop.
Ever. And it wouldn’t be tidy tears rolling down my face, but messy gut-wrenching vomiting pain that wracked me to the bone.
“I want you to fix intimacy for me like you fixed kissing.” There.
I’d said it, and I hadn’t started crying.
I kept staring at his chest, unable to look up, to see his reaction to my most idiotic and desperate wish.
He released my hands and gently touched my chin, tilting it up until his eyes met mine.
Soft eyes. Compassion mingling with anguish.
He cared about me, or he put on the best show I’d ever seen.
My heart beat faster and butterflies flew around my stomach as he said, “Daniela, I want nothing more than to help you recover from the trauma you received at the hands of those who should have been your protectors. Intimacy isn’t something I’m terribly good at, not when I’ve spent a long time, even before my sister died, keeping people at arm’s length, but I will try.
I will give you the care and tenderness that you need. ”
Yes?! That was a yes. Right? I hesitantly started to pull up the oversize sweatshirt, but he grabbed me, rolling me so that he was on top of me, gazing down at me with burning intensity that set all of me on fire.
His voice was a low growl while his eyes burned. “You asked for intimacy. Too much skin will unravel all of my self-control, and I promised you tenderness.”
I blinked up at him, frowning. “Intimacy means sex.”
“It means more than sex. It means that you feel treasured and adored with every touch, that you feel safe and comfortable with me on every level, physically as well as emotionally.”
I bit my bottom lip while tears rose in my eyes and panic fluttered in my chest. But we didn’t have time for that kind of therapy. I wanted one night of perfection before everything ended. “I meant sex, not therapy.”
“But this is a therapy marriage.” His lips twitched, like he was laughing at me.
I glowered up at him, helplessly pinned beneath his weight unless I found some super strength somewhere inside my hurt pride. No, that came out to save, and not my pride. “You could at least pretend that you want me.”