Chapter Three

Dalton

" F uck. Just knock already," I mutter to myself, pacing outside Tempest's hotel room, my heart pounding like a goddamn drum.

She's all I've been able to think about all, locked in that fucking cell all night. Knowing some prick put his filthy hands on her nearly sent me over the edge. The fear in her eyes when I saw her standing there with that asshole raising his hand to her… I've never wanted to kill someone so badly.

But what's really fucking me up is the guilty look on her face as she watched them hook me up. Like she'd done something wrong.

No, sweetheart. Not even close.

I know Priest brought her back here, but I need to see her. I have to know that she's okay. I'm a little bit fucking worried what I'm going to do when I set eyes on her, though. The way I've been feeling all day… Jesus Christ.

Who knew one woman could twist me into so many goddamn knots?

I certainly fucking didn't.

I rap on her door, holding my breath—not entirely sure she'll open it if she sees me on the other side.

The muffled sound of shuffling slips through cracks and then silence.

"Please open the door, Tempest," I murmur, my voice a gritty rasp. "I know you're standing on the other side right now, watching me."

No response.

"Please, sweetheart. I just need to know that you're all right."

To my surprise, the door swings open.

My fucking heart clenches at the sight of her standing there, eyes rimmed in red and puffy, tears still streaking her face.

Fuck . Has she been crying all night?

She throws the door wide, her bottom lip wobbling. "They let you out."

Of course they let me out. I'm a billionaire, and the fucker who put his hands on her is a tourist who had a pocket full of pills. There was security footage of what went down, too. Since the cop opted not to add charges for attempted assault of a law enforcement officer, my only charges were inciting a damn bar fight.

Memphis Hughes bailed me out an hour ago, giving me hell the whole goddamn time. The prick thought it was hilarious that I spent a night in jail for a bar fight. Friend or not, I wouldn't have called the asshole just to spare myself the lifetime of amusement he's going to get out of this, but there's no way I was calling the old man.

Priest and Brantley both have their own shit. Priest just found out about the entire goddamn life that was stolen from him when he was abducted. Brantley's got his father's murder and his wife to deal with. They don't have time to deal with my shit. And the last place Lena belongs is anywhere near a jail.

Jake wasn't an option, either. He can't keep a goddamn secret to save his life. My grandfather would have shown up five minutes behind him.

"Yeah, they let me out." I lean against the doorframe, checking for injuries, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms. Jesus. Even tear-stained and trembling, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on. I want to touch her, taste her, bury myself so deep inside her that nothing can hurt her again.

"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask instead.

She stares at me, her amber eyes wide. "I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine, Tempest," I promise. I'd endure a hell of a lot worse than a night in a cell to keep her safe. God. Six fucking weeks and one day, and she's completely unraveled me.

"Um, I tried to bail you out last night, but they wouldn't let," she admits, looking away. "They said you had to see the judge first."

I stare at her, my heart pounding like a fucking drum. "Why?"

"B-Because it was my fault that you were there in the first place," she says, still not meeting my gaze.

Bullshit. We both know that isn't why she did it, dammit. Just like we both know she isn't running from this marriage because of any of the crap she spouted this morning.

I step closer, crowding her. "Why?" I ask again, my voice low. Demanding. Just once today, I want the truth from her.

"Because it was my fault you were there," she repeats stubbornly.

"Why?" I growl, clenching my hands at my sides, desperately fighting the urge to reach for her. To drag her into my arms and kiss the truth from that perfect, lying mouth.

"Because I care, okay?" she cries, those gorgeous eyes finally locking on mine. "Because I care about you even though I'm going to be the one who pays for it in the end."

And there it is. The truth.

She isn't running from this marriage for any of the bullshit she said this morning. She's running because she wants me. Because she feels something for my sorry ass, even though she knows I'll probably fuck it up.

She's running scared, just like I am. But unlike me, she actually had the balls to fly out here.

And I fucking let her down.

Christ, I'm an asshole and a fucking coward. But if there's one thing I'm not, it's a liar. I can't lie to her or to myself. She's the only thing I've ever wanted this badly. The only woman who has ever gotten under my skin or even made me want to consider the shit I'm thinking about right now.

Going to jail for her was easy when I'm pretty fucking certain I'd blow my entire goddamn life apart just for a taste of her.

I groan, the sound ripped from deep in my chest as I yank her into my arms, causing her to topple into me. The heat of her body against mine sears me, burning a path right to my fucking heart, lighting me up from the inside out.

I crush my mouth to hers in a bruising kiss, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire into it. Every fucking second of longing. Of denial.

She gasps against my lips, but she doesn't push me away. Hell no. She kisses me back just as fiercely, her fingers sinking into my hair—tugging, demanding more.

She's sweet, so damn sweet. Not even the salty taste of the tears on her lips masks that underlying sweetness. I groan like a dying man, licking into her mouth to steal every fucking taste of it for myself. I want it in the back of my throat and in my lungs, so when she isn't in my arms trying to climb my body, I'm still breathing her in, tasting her on my tongue.

We stumble backwards into her room, a tangle of groping hands and drugging kisses. I can't get enough of her. I break from her mouth only to go back again and again like an addict in need of his next hit, his next high. And every goddamn one sends another jolt straight through my veins to my cock.

I kick the door shut behind us, not giving a single fuck who might see or hear. Let them. It's not going to stop what's happening here. At this point, I'm pretty certain not even the end of the fucking world could stop what's happening here.

She's in my head, in my veins, racing straight for my fucking heart.

"You want me, don't you, baby?" I rasp against the velvet skin of her throat.

She shudders in my arms, a breathy little moan escaping her kiss-swollen lips.

"No," she lies, stubbornly clinging to her defenses as if they'll save her. As if I don't intend to lay waste to every fucking one. But her body tells a different story. I feel her melting against me—soft and pliant and so fucking perfect it hurts.

I bite her throat, a tiny punishment for her defiance. I want the truth, not more lies. One way or another, I intend to get it. "Don't lie to me, Tempest," I warn, rolling one hard little nipple between my thumb and forefinger. "I'll punish you for it and love every goddamn second."

Her amber eyes flash molten gold as she meets my gaze. Defiant. Challenging. "Then do it, Dalton. Punish me."

Fuck. I'm so hard it hurts, need pounding through me like a second heartbeat. I crush my mouth to hers in another savage kiss, pushing her up against the wall, pinning her to it. She's trapped. Right where I want her.

And she still isn't telling me no.

My hands skim down her side to grip her hips, yanking her flush against me. Electricity crackles beneath my fingertips where I touch her.

When she chokes on a sob—my name a plea on her lips—I know she feels the same damn thing I do.

I dip my head, sucking one pert nipple into my mouth through the thin silk of her blouse. Grazing the tender peak with my teeth until she cries out, arching into me.

"Dalton…" Her head falls back against the wall, exposing the elegant column of her throat. It's the sweetest offering and a plea all wrapped in one.

Her skirt inches up beneath my palm. I trail my fingers along her inner thighs, higher and higher. Teasing. Claiming.

"Stop me," I demand, my mind so clouded by lust I can barely think straight. "Tell me to get my goddamn hands off you."

"No."

Christ, this fiery, gorgeous creature with the defiant eyes and sassy mouth is going to be the death of me. I'm lost to her. Destroyed by wanting her.

I catch the edge of her panties, shoving them aside. She's hot and slick against my fingers. Dripping for me. Cum drips into my boxers, making a fucking mess.

"Fine. Then keep your eyes on me so you know exactly who you belong to when you're coming undone for me, Tempest. Watch me as I make you mine."

I circle her little hole with a fingertip, teasing her, toying with her. I want her mindless with pleasure, until I'm the only thing she's thinking about. Until pleasure is the only thing she remembers.

"Dalton, please!"

I plunge one finger inside of her as soon as that perfect plea leaves her lip—stroking, twisting. Fuck. She's so goddamn tight. So hot.

She watches me through glossy eyes, panting, trembling. Moaning my name like a fucking benediction as I play with her.

I add another finger.

"Look at you. So gorgeous. So fucking perfect," I tell her, laying my filthy praise against her skin between drugging kisses. "Can you feel how badly I want you, baby? How fucking much I love this perfect body?" We're clearing that shit up right now, just in case she still thinks those perfect curves are a problem for me.

"Yes. Yes, I feel it. Oh, God, I feel it."

I work her harder. Faster. Curling my fingers inside her tight little cunt until she's quivering on the edge, endless sobs pouring from those perfect lips.

"Come for me, Tempest. Now," I rasp against her throat. "I want you squeezing my fucking fingers like the good girl you are."

"Dalton!" She shatters on a ragged, broken cry, her pussy clenching greedily at my fingers, milking them.

She's so fucking beautiful unraveling around me that I don't stand a chance. My balls draw up tight, and I come all over myself with a choked groan. Cum spills into my boxers, making a fucking mess.

Jesus, this woman.

I press my forehead to hers, both of us breathing hard. My heart pounds like a war hammer. I'm wrecked. Obliterated. And yet I've never felt so alive or so consumed. By her—a beautiful little tempest.

"Jesus, baby," I breathe.

As soon as she hears my voice, it's like the spell is broken. She pulls away, bolting from my arms as if she's in danger of catching fire.

"Tempest, dammit." The words come out harsher than I intend, frustration vibrating through me.

"I told you not to curse at me." Her cheeks are flushed, her amber eyes wild as they find mine.

"Fuck." I shove a hand through my hair, instantly feeling like an asshole again. I heard somewhere that men are usually wrong in relationships. Seems this one is not going to beat that stereotype. I've been wrong all since she strolled her gorgeous ass into my office. "I'm sorry."

Her expression softens slightly at my apology, but her voice is firm when she speaks. "What just happened doesn't change anything, Dalton. I'm not marrying you."

Christ, she's killing me.

"Whatever you think you know about me, whatever has you running scared…you're wrong about me."

"No, I'm not." Sadness filters through her eyes, deflating her, and I want to fucking howl at the sight of it. "You don't want me, Dalton. You just hate feeling like you lost."

Is that what she really believes? That I don't want her? That this is some fucked-up game to me?

"You think I don't want you?" I pace toward her, my voice a dangerous growl. "The cum in my pants says otherwise, baby."

"We both know you don't want to marry me," she retorts, her chin lifted in stubborn defiance as she slips around me. "Marriage is a prison to you. Tell me I'm wrong."

I open my mouth. The words are there, right fucking there on the tip of my tongue, demanding release. But I can't seem to force them out. My goddamn mouth won't form them.

Defeat slumps her shoulders. "That's what I thought," she whispers, her voice shaking. "Just get out."

"I'm not leaving," I growl, frustrated. Desperate. Christ. What is she doing to me? I don't know. I don't fucking know, but she can't just dismiss me like what happened between us doesn't matter. Like we're nothing.

"Fine, then I will," she says, spinning for the door. She flings it open, slipping out before I make it two steps.

"Tempest!" I rip it open, fully intending to chase her down and shake some damn sense into her. But I step out just in time for my fucking blood to freeze in my veins as she flings herself into the arms of a man just a few doors down.

"Triton!" she cries.

He has his back to me, but I watch as he catches her, hauling her up against his chest. She clings to him like he's the only thing keeping her upright.

Jealousy roars through me at the sight. So does soul-crushing fear.

Is she in love with this motherfucker? Is that the real reason she keeps running? Because she'd rather have him than me?

Fucking Christ. Why does that thought hurt like a motherfucker? Like she just ripped out my goddamn heart and left me bleeding?

I don't fucking know, but it does.

When he ushers her inside his room a second later, I'm gutted, fucking carved hollow, and left spinning.

I stumble out of the hotel, my mind a tangled mess of confusion, rage, and jealousy. I need to know who the fuck he is. I need to know everything about him. And then I need to destroy him—dismantle his world piece by piece.

He can't have her. I don't care how she thinks she feels about him. I'm not letting her go. I'll burn the whole fucking world down before I let that asshole have her.

She's mine, dammit. She's under my skin, in my blood. Mine .

I punch the wall, welcoming the pain that lances through my knuckles. It's grounding. Centering.

Fucking hell. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to keep my distance, guard my heart, and make sure this goddamn marriage never happened.

But Tempest snuck in when I wasn't looking. Even before she ever set foot in Nashville, she'd slipped through the cracks of my soul and made herself at home.

And now I'm fucked on a level I can't even begin to comprehend. Because I want the one thing I swore to myself that I would never, ever accept. Marriage. And I'm not fucking quitting until I get what I want.

I rake a hand through my hair, a harsh laugh bursting from my lips.

Everyone says karma's a bitch. Shit. I'm starting to believe it. All this fucking time I spent running, and now I'm the one chasing after a woman who's running scared.

And I'm not at all sure I'm going to catch her.