Chapter Seven

Dalton

" I need a favor," Riley announces as soon as I answer the phone on my desk.

"Name it," I say, smiling as I lean back in my chair.

"I need you to send Logan Hayes back out on tour. He's getting on my nerves again."

I laugh loudly, not at all surprised. Logan gets on everyone's last goddamn nerve. He's a stereotypical douche with rocks for brains. Unfortunately, his albums also fly off the damn shelves. "I'll see what I can do," I mutter, shaking my head. "Anything else?"

"Don't suppose you're willing to murder Memphis?"

"How much you paying to take him out?"

"I have to pay for you to kill him? I thought you'd handle it for free," she mumbles. "He busted you out for going to jail."

"Good point. But he also bailed my ass out so…"

"Fine. I'll just kill him myself."

I chuckle, shaking my head again. She's a savage, but she's the best damn manager in Nashville. Frankly, I'd rather work with her than anyone else. She knows her shit.

"Is Winter ready for tour?" I ask her, glancing at the stack of paperwork on my desk detailing the logistics. She sent it over this morning, but I haven't had a chance to go through it yet.

"Mostly. She's nervous."

"Can you blame her?"

"Not even a little bit," she says without hesitation. "I've already hired extra security."

"Send over the bill. I'll make sure it's taken care of."

"Oh, I already sent it." I can practically hear her bat her lashes through the damn phone. "It's in the stack of other bills I sent. Which you'd know if you'd been at work."

"Ah, so now we're getting to the real purpose of your call. Busting my balls."

"Not busting. I'm just curious. How are things with Tempest?"

"Private."

"Dalton!" she cries. "That's not fair. You can't invite me to be the witness at your wedding and then tell me nothing. It's cruel and unusual."

"Only if you're nosy."

"Which I am. So spill," she demands.

"Things are good." That's a lie. Things are fucking incredible. "She's…"

The door to my office bursts open, and my grandfather barges in, his face red with fury. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he roars.

Fucking great. With Lena holed up in the mountains, refusing to come home or tell us exactly where she is, I actually thought I might manage to avoid him for a while longer. But I should have known he was going to show up eventually to piss me off.

I shoot a sharp glare his direction. "I'm going to have to call you back," I say to Riley, keeping my voice calm and level even as my temper spikes.

"Yep, sounds like it. Good luck," she murmurs before disconnecting.

I narrow my eyes at my grandfather as I place the desk phone in the cradle.

"Don't even fucking look at me that way, Dalton," he snaps, stomping across the room. "I had to find out through someone else that you were in jail."

Motherfucker. Someone ratted me out.

"Who told you?" I ask, resigned. I should've known the stubborn old bastard would find out about that one way or another. Honestly, I'm a little surprised it took this long. Nothing ever stays secret long, not in this goddamn town.

"Doesn't matter. What matters is that you didn't tell me." He jabs a finger at me. "What the fuck were you thinking, starting a bar fight? You're the goddamn CEO of this company. If this gets out—"

"Let it," I snap. I don't give a fuck what people think about the fight. They can say whatever the hell they want. I don't regret what I did. That prick put his hands on Tempest and then tried to hit her. He's lucky he's still breathing.

My grandfather rocks back on his heels like I hit him. "What the fuck has gotten into you, kid?"

"Does it matter?" I retort, crossing my arms and glaring right back at him. Of course he assumes the worst. Why would I expect any different? "Jesus Christ. You didn't even ask if I did it."

"I know you," the old man says, pinching the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. "Of course you did it, boy. Probably don't regret it, either." He scrubs a shaking hand down his weathered face. "Starting bar fights because you want to knock my goddamn head off isn't the way to solve it."

"Jesus fucking Christ. You really think that's…" I snort derisively, shaking my head in disgust. "Of course that's what you think." I jerk to my feet, blood pounding in my ears. "For someone who swears he knows me, you don't seem to know a goddamn thing, old man."

"Really? Then tell me," he challenges. "Explain it to me. Why the fuck was the CEO of my company in jail for starting a bar fight?"

I open my mouth to tell him everything—about Tempest, about the marriage, about that motherfucker at the bar raising his hand to her—and then I snap it closed.

What's the fucking point? He had me convicted before he ever walked in the door. In his eyes, I'll always be the little asshole who told his parents he wished they were dead. He'll never see anything but that when he looks at me. And the most fucked-up thing about it…as much as I hate it, I don't even blame him for it.

"You're absolutely right," I mutter instead, lying to him, perhaps for the first time ever. "I'm pissed at you, so the whole goddamn world might as well suffer for it."

The old man sighs heavily. "When are you going to learn? Destroying your life won't change anything, Dalton. You can dismantle it brick by brick. It won't bring them back. It won't change the way it ended."

I spin on him, my hands clenching into fists at my sides as rage rips through me. "You think I don't fucking know that?"

"Do you?" he asks, his eyes narrowing, searching my face like he's trying to see inside my goddamn head.

I just glare at him, breathing hard, my pulse pounding in my temples. I'm so fucking sick of this bullshit. Every conversation lately ends up here one way or another. It's like he's hellbent on beating me to death with it.

I never should have told him about that final argument with my parents. Half the time, I'm not sure if he hates me for what happened, if he wants me to hate myself, or if he's genuinely trying to help. It's all a goddamn jumble.

"Let it go before it destroys you," the old man snaps. "Marry the girl and give yourself a break for once, kid."

I shove a hand through my hair, a harsh laugh ripping from my chest. "Not that I deserve her or ever fucking will, but I married her two fucking days ago."

His eyes widen, shock registering on his weathered face.

"Happy now, old man? Is your life complete?" I ask, my heart jackhammering against my ribs as I stare him down, too pissed to think straight. "Can you die happy, knowing I danced on your fucking strings yet again?"

He blinks at me, wary. "Dalton, what are you—?"

"It'll be the last time because I'm not fucking doing it again," I snap, cutting him off. "You can shove the company up your ass for all I care, but I'm done being your puppet, trying to atone for taking your kids from you."

He's been using the past as a fucking yoke around my neck for long enough. What's between Tempest and I has nothing to do with Grady Records or Evernight. Both companies can burn to the fucking ground for all I care. At this point, I almost wish they would. Because I'm done trying to atone to him. I never can.

"This was never about me!" he roars, slamming his fist on the desk. "It was about you, boy! You think I want to punish you? You've been punishing yourself for long enough. It's time to stop."

"Or maybe it's time for you to mind your own damn business, go to hell, and butt out of my fucking life," I growl, striding toward the door, my blood boiling in my veins.

"Dalton, dammit—" he shouts after me, but I ignore him, slamming the door behind me.

I storm down the hall, his words bouncing around in my head, fucking taunting me. He's right, dammit all. I have punished myself for long enough. I'm fucking trying to stop, to move on.

But shit like this—arguing with the old man, reliving the worst day of my life over and over— doesn't help. Because every goddamn time, it just reminds me that he lost everything too. His daughter and son-in-law, his son and daughter-in-law, his whole fucking world.

And no matter how hard I try, I can't outrun the little voice in the back of my head that whispers it was my fault. That I fucking willed it into existence when I told my parents I wished they were dead. I had no control over that fucking plane, but I tempted fate, screamed defiance at the goddamn gods…and I lost.

I just want to be free of it. I want Tempest and a future that isn't the same fucking thing as the last twenty-one years. But I'm starting to wonder if that's even possible. Maybe I'm too fucked up, too broken, to ever escape. Maybe shutting it the fuck off and refusing to let anyone in was exactly the right choice.

I don't fucking know. All I know is that it doesn't feel right. Loving her feels right. Holding her, kissing her, giving her every piece of me— that feels right.

I'm trying like hell to find my way out of the guilt that's eaten away at me for so fucking long—to be worthy of her. But goddamn, it's hard.

Half an hour later, I stride down the hall toward her hotel room, my mind a tangled mess, my emotions raw. I can't fucking think through the roar. I just want to shut it off and get lost in my wife.

I shove the key card into the lock and push open the door, my pulse pounding with the need clawing through my veins.

She looks up at me with those big, amber eyes, smiling like I hung the moon, and my fucking cock throbs.

"Hey, handsome." She practically launches herself into my arms, looping her arms around my neck. Her mouth lands against mine, her kiss soft and sweet.

Fuck, she's so beautiful it hurts. I want her so badly it's a physical ache. Her hands prowl across my body as she nuzzles into my throat, kissing and biting like she can' help herself. And fucking Christ, I want to push her up against the door and fuck her raw.

But I can't, not like this, not when I'm so fucked up in the head.

"Tempest, stop," I growl, my voice harsher than I intended as I try to contain her.

Her smile falters, hurt flashing in her eyes before she blinks it away. She drops back down to flat feet, her arms slipping from around me.

Goddamn it, I'm such a fucking asshole.

"Christ, I'm sorry," I rasp, shoving a hand through my hair, trying to get my shit together. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm an asshole."

She glances up at me. "It's okay."

"No, it's not okay. It's definitely not fucking okay."

Her gaze shifts across my face. "What's wrong, Dalton?"

"My grandfather came to see me," I mutter, grimacing. "He's got my head all fucked up, and I'm afraid if I touch you right now…"

"What? You're afraid of what?" she asks softly.

I blow out a breath, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "That I'll hurt you," I admit. Just saying the fucking words makes me want to howl in fury. But they're true. I'm so fucking angry right now, and I don't want to fuck her because I'm pissed. When I'm in her, it shouldn't be about anything but me and her.

She stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. And then her eyes narrow on me. Fuck. Now, she thinks I'm an asshole who can't even control himself enough not to hurt her, and she's mad as hell about it.

She stalks toward me, all sexy curves, golden brown skin, and barely contained fury. Before I can say anything, she shoves me up against the wall, her hands fisting in my shirt.

"Don't treat me like a breakable little girl, Dalton," she snaps, fire blazing in her eyes. "If you don't want me, say that. But don't tell me you're afraid you'll hurt me. It's bullshit."

Bullshit? Jesus. She thinks I'm lying to her? That I don't want her?

Oh, hell no.

I spin us around so she's pinned against the wall, trapped between it and my body. I wedge my thigh between her legs, pressing against her hot little cunt.

"You think I don't want you?" I growl, nipping at her jaw. "Take my fucking cock out, Tempest. See for yourself how hard I am for you; how desperate I am for any piece of you I can get."

I drag my lips down her throat, feeling her pulse thrumming wildly beneath my tongue. "Every minute of the day, I think about you—fucking you, consuming you, pounding into you so deep no one else ever even exists to you."

"Then do it," she breathes, slipping her hand between our bodies to grab my cock. She squeezes me through my slacks like she fucking owns me. "Consume me, Dalton. Ruin me. But don't you dare tell me that you're afraid you'll hurt me. I know you, and you aren't capable of that."

Christ, the way she touches me, the way she says my fucking name, the way she looks at me. The complete faith she has in me even when I have none in myself…

She sets my blood on fire, turns me into a slavering, unruly beast.

I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss, my tongue plundering, claiming. She kisses me back just as fiercely, her teeth sinking into my bottom lip and spurring me on.

I need her naked, now.

I reach for the flimsy straps of her top, snapping them to peel it from her delectable body.

"Get your legs around my waist, wife," I growl, boosting her up into my arms. My hand slips beneath her skirt, already seeking out her perfect pussy.

She trembles in my arms, practically shaking with desire, and I want to slam into her right here and now, fuck her until she can't move. But I force myself to slow down. Her faith in me is unshakable. I won't jeopardize it for a rough fuck against the wall.

I want to savor this, to savor her. No matter how loudly the past screams, she deserves to be worshipped, cherished…loved.

"I want you so high on me that you can't take anymore," I rasp, running my lips down the side of her throat. "I want you so fucking out of your mind with pleasure that nothing else exists, wife."

She shudders against me, a needy little moan escaping her kiss-swollen lips. "Yes, Dalton. God, please…"There's that fucking word again. Please.

I nudge her panties to the side. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already, aren't you, wife?" I growl against her throat as I plunge two fingers inside her tight little body.

She whimpers, her hips rocking against my hand, desperate for more as she fumbles with my zipper before pulling my cock out.

My head falls back on a groan as she wraps that perfect hand around me, stroking.

"I need you inside me," she begs. "Please."

I slide my fingers out of her way. "Then put me inside you, baby. Take what's yours."

She whimpers, guiding me to her entrance, the heat of her pussy searing me. Slowly, achingly so, she lowers herself onto me. Her soft whimpers bleed into a sultry moan as I sink into her heat inch by inch.

Her eyes snap open, a look of pure ecstasy etched across her face.

My eyes slam closed as I bottom out inside her, buried to the hilt in her perfect body. I let my head fall back, trying to catch my breath, to regain some semblance of control over the wild need raging through my veins.

But then she starts to move, rocking her hips against mine, taking me even deeper. Pleasure explodes through me, wiping out any hope I had of maintaining control.

"Fuck, Tempest," I groan, my hands tightening on her hips. I open my eyes to the sight of her—head thrown back in ecstasy, full breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips, smooth skin glistening with a sheen of sweat.

She's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen.

I dip my head, capturing one hard nipple between my lips. I suck hard, flicking the sensitive bud with my tongue until she's writhing against me, whimpering my name.

Her pussy clenches around my cock, and I nearly lose it right then and there. I want to pound into her, take her hard and fast until we both shatter. But more than that, I need to worship her, to show her with my body all the things I can't say.

Keeping one arm lashed tightly around her waist, I walk us over to the bed. She bounces on my cock with every step, moaning my name.

I lower her down gently until she's spread out beneath me like a fucking offering, trembling and sweet. I take a moment just to look at her, to memorize every curve and dip and mark. I run my hands over her reverently, seeking out every spot that leaves her quivering beneath me.

"Please, Dalton." She arches up into my touch. "I need you."

"I've got you, baby," I rasp, nudging her thighs further apart with my knees. Slowly, I push back inside her, savoring the way she wrap around me so fucking perfectly. I pull nearly all the way out before surging back in, hitting that sweet spot deep inside her that makes her claw down my back and whimper my name.

Her head lolls, her eyes rolling with every deep thrust.

I keep one hand on her hip, holding her in place while I explore with the other—pinching her nipples, massaging her breasts, dipping between her thighs to circle her clit.

She moves with me, meeting each thrust with a roll of her hips or a clench of her inner muscles. Our eyes lock, emotions passing between us that neither of us dares put into words. I know she feels it, though. Christ, it's right there in her eyes, blazing like the sun. This woman is in love with me. That's her secret, the reason she was running scared.

Her heart was mine before she ever stepped foot in my office.

I feel her quivering around me, and I know she's close. Determined to send her flying, I reach between us, rubbing tight circles on her swollen clit, fucking her hard and deep.

My lips trail across her body, kissing every perfect spot.

Her moans grow louder, her body trembling beneath mine as I stroke and rub and thrust, trying to drive her out of her mind. I feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her, the pleasure building.

"That's it, baby," I growl against the shell of her ear. "Let go. I've got you." I pinch her clit as I strike deep, grinding against her in just the right way.

She shatters with a keening cry, her head thrown back, her pussy clamping down on my cock like a vise. The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her clenching around me so tightly, sends me hurtling over the edge with her.

I let go with a groan, thrusting into her one last time as I empty myself inside her. Pleasure rockets through me, so intense it borders on pain.

I bury my face in her throat, breathing her in as the past and the future blur, choking me. And I almost say it—almost tell her that I'm so goddamn in love with her that I can't think straight, can't see anything but her.

But the words lodge in my throat, stuck. Because I'm so goddamn afraid if I say them, I'll lose her the same way I lost my parents.

I'll be alone, destroyed, and this time, I won't survive it.

So I tap the words against her inner thigh with a fingertip instead—like fucking Morse code, writing my love on her perfect body.

Mine , I think desperately, holding her tightly as she goes boneless beneath me with a little sigh. You're mine, Tempest. Don't leave me. Don't ever fucking leave me.

"I love you," she mumbles, nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck as she drifts off to sleep, still wrapped in my arms.

And hearing those three little words whispered from her lips, makes me feel like I defied fate and the Gods, and won.