Page 24 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
My skin crawls at the suggestion in his tone, and pride has the words spewing off the tip of my tongue, but dignity has me biting them before I can make a monumental mistake. Speak my mind—give him attitude—and I risk losing this account. I hang tight to the knowledge that I will not have to deal with Cal after the end of the month. “I think it’s best we stick to the contract. I’ll figure something out for the event. No worries.”
There is silence on the other end of the line, and I’m not sure if I should be amused or pissed that he’s taken aback by the fact that I’ve completely ignored his unwanted and completely unwarranted advance.
“Well, good, then,” I continue, not letting him gain his bearings so he can prove to be the supercilious prick I know is hiding beneath the surface. “Unless you have something else for me, I’d best be going. I need to put in some added time to get you that something extra for Saturday’s event.”
I hang up the phone before he can speak and ruin my perfect exit. I drop the phone, the clatter of it against my desk filling the silence of the room, and drop my head into my hands. I sit there for a moment, hoping the buzzing in my ears will dissipate, but it just continues to rage incessantly until it becomes almost white noise.
My shoulders are tight, my body amped up with a Molotov cocktail of emotions just waiting to explode when lit by the right match. My mind leaps to Becks, and I curse myself for that damn ache he’s created, which isn’t going away no matter how many times BOB and I have reacquainted ourselves since Sunday.
It’s just not the same.
Not even close.
I groan out in frustration—memories of that one night together flickering through my mind as I hear Dante’s motorcycle pull up in the driveway. I really don’t need to be around him right now—primed alpha male oozing sex appeal and willingness for a quick romp in the bed.
Or on the kitchen counter.
God, yes, I know sleeping with him would be a huge mistake—huge—but damn he might be the perfect flint to spark this sexually frustrated woman’s fire. But no matter how much I know he’d be incredible in bed and pleasure me sufficiently, I’m not crossing that line.
I just can’t.
Not just for my sake or the satisfaction of my sex drive, but because when I think of sex and what I’m craving, I think of Becks. I see him standing between the V of my thighs, that sexy-as-fuck smile on his lips and how he lifts his head up in rapture just as he sinks into me. Yet the fact that I can’t stop thinking of him—of these things—means I just might do something stupid and use Dante to sate my simmering lust.
And that would solve nothing but prove how fucked-up my logic is.
I can’t use one man’s hand to scratch another man’s itch. Well, I could, but that would involve both of them being in the same bed with me, and that’s a whole different can of worms.
The chuckle comes on the heels of the mental image. The exhausted laughter at my ridiculously immature thoughts of two men and their cans of worms tells me I need to leave the house. I need to get out and get some fresh air and make my raging hormones simmer down. Grab hold with both hands and get a grip.
It takes me a second as I look out the window to the front yard to figure out what I need. And it is most definitely not the sight of Dante pulling off his shirt and wiping his hands on it after he adjusts something on his bike. Bare skin, defined muscles, etched ink.
I shove the chair back.
Time to go.
* * *
“See? Just what the doctor ordered, Maddie Haddie.”
Maddie giggles loudly as she takes another lick of the melting massive ice-cream cone in her hands. “Yes, Haddie Maddie,” she says reversing our names like Lexi used to do. “This is the best idea ever!”
“It is,” I agree, holding my own cone up to hers and tapping it in a toast. There’s nothing like time with Maddie to relieve any stress I may have. Clear my thoughts and make me forget about easy mannered country boys I have no business thinking about. I’m glad she was home when I called Danny to see if I could take her out for some ice cream. It made her smile, and it made me forget all the crap of my day.
She continues to chatter incessantly, filling me in on the minutiae of her elementary school life, and I love how the simplest things bring her joy. It forces me to realize how even though she’s been through so much, she’s persevered, and she is a bright and thriving, little soul.
Our spot on the grassy hill in the park overlooks a huge farmers’ market to the right of us, and off in the distance to the left is the beach. I reach in my purse to grab a napkin for her when my eye catches sight of the dandelion hiding nearby.
My breath catches momentarily. I know it’s there just because it’s a weed, but I can’t help but think it’s a sign from Lexi and a nod to our childhood fixation on them and their potential to make wishes come true.
I pull the weed, careful not to disturb its seeds and hold it out in front of me. Maddie tilts her head to the side and looks at me, curious what I’m doing. “Your momma and I used to love to make wishes on dandelions when we were little girls.”
“Really?” she asks on that edge of being too old so that it’s silly but at the same time thrilled to learn something new about her mom.
“Yep. We even had a phase where we’d pick them all and make potions with the seeds to try to make our wishes stronger. Then we’d let them dry from whatever we put on them, make a wish, and blow them into the wind.” I smile softly, the memory so bittersweet.
“Like what kind of potions?” She scoots closer to me now, the fascination to know more causing her eyes to widen.
“Hm … anything we could sneak from the house so Nana wouldn’t notice: perfume, glitter, salt, a little bit of everything all mixed together.” I laug
