Finally when he could breathe more evenly, he pushed away from her. He was still hard and thick, slick with her juices.
Sophia watched him, her back against the wall for support. Her legs felt like jelly after such intense orgasms. “Your turn,” she said, licking her lips.
He shook his head and wordlessly bent and pulled up his pants. He didn’t look at her, not even once. “Now you got what you wanted. Hope you can sleep well tonight,” he said in a low, deadened voice and walked out.
The heavy-limbed euphoria vanished like somebody had poured a bucket of ice water over her. Her chin trembled, and she pressed her lips together. Her eyes prickled. Gasping, she looked up at the ceiling, but the tears fell anyway.
Wiping her face, she grabbed her torn panties. Then gathering herself, she left the room.
She was through with this.
She’d never allow Dane to hurt her again.
* * *
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Dane made his way to the manmade lake in the grove. The ducks were resting on the water, their soft murmurings soothing. There was a fair amount of moonlight, but he didn’t need it. He knew the terrain from all those summers his family had spent there when his parents had been faking their happiness.
If he had it his way, he’d run, but going full speed with a dick hard enough to break a brick wouldn’t be very smart.
Pulling away from Sophia had almost killed him, but he hadn’t been able to continue. It wasn’t even because she might win. Such trivial things had never concerned him. But he didn’t want to give her false expectations.
He’d never, ever set incorrect expectations with anyone he dealt with.
“Dane.”
He stopped at the voice.
Blake was reclining on a blanket spread on the grassy field. He’d changed his dress shirt and slacks for a casual t-shirt and shorts. He raised a bottle of bourbon and waggled an eyebrow. “Wanna join me?”
Not particularly. On the other hand, nothing else presented itself at the moment.
Dane plopped down next to his best friend and cousin and opened his palm.
Blake handed the bottle over, and Dane took a few swigs. “You should’ve taken the scotch. We have some good stuff.”
“I was in a hurry. Grabbed the first bottle I saw.”
Dane nodded. People had thought they’d bonded because they were cousins. Wrong. They’d bonded over the copious amount of alcohol consumed to escape the family circus.
“What’s the deal?” Blake said. “You were pretty tense at dinner. Not like you.”
“I was thinking about some…a hypothetical scenario.”
“Like?”
“What would you do if somebody destroyed something you’d worked all your life for?”
“A hypothetical revenge scenario, eh? I like it.” Blake pursed his lips. “Dunno. I guess it would depend on how badly I wanted it.”
“How about something you wanted more than life itself?”
“Oh, I’d ruin the son of a bitch. By the time I was through, he’d wish murder was legal.”
Of course. Dane would’ve done the same thing.
“What did Salazar do?”
“It’s not him,” Dane said. “It’s me.” He took the drink from Blake and swallowed another mouthful for courage. “I screwed up.”
Dane then told Blake what had happened in Paris. How his family—Shirley and Salazar—had kept it quiet, along with cooperation from Rick. Blake listened, then shook his head.
“Five’ll get you ten Rick blew the money. He was terrible with it.”
“Probably,” Dane said. “But that’s not all. There’s Mexico.” He explained what had happened there as well in a few succinct sentences. “So it’s…complicated.”
“Tangled,” Blake agreed, nodding judiciously. “Are you going to offer her money?”
“She won’t take it.” Dane didn’t have to make the offer to know her response.
Blake regarded him. “I’d say you want her to take it…but you’re also secretly glad she won’t.”
Dane said nothing. His friend knew him well.
“Since you gave me some good advice that time, I’ll give you some now. You need to decide what you’re going to do about this whole thing. She likes you. No idea why, since you can be a nasty bastard, but who knows what goes on in the female heart? Plus, I could tell from the way she was looking at you during dinner. As for her career, seven years is a long time. She should have gotten over it by now.” Blake took a short draught from the bottle. “Figure skaters retire when they’re young anyway. And there’s the possibility that she’ll never find out who was driving that red Italian number in Paris.”