Page 70 of Pretty Little Threats

ROSE

My heart is still slammingagainst my chest when Dare casually drops into his seat. The driver gets in and shuts his door. The privacy window between the back and front is enough to save me humiliation when Dare says, “Never again, Rose.”

I look at him. “That was unnecessary.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re wrong.” Scooting closer, he gently grabs my left hand and draws it across my body, holding it up to my face in a way that makes it impossible for me to avoid noticing the massive diamond on my ring finger. “I told you to remember what this means.”

“I’m not yours.”

Still, the vetiver of his scent curls around me, murmuring words of seduction, teasing me with the prospect of belonging.

The devastating smirk cutting across his face makes my heart skip. “You are.”

“I’m not a piece of property,” I snap.

“No, but you’re a Richardson, and no one, not even the great Joseph Miller, gets to hurt my family and get away with it.” He strokes his thumb over the back of my hand.

There’s something deeper behind those words. They strike through my defenses and speak to the little girl who always wanted family but only ever had her dad. They whisper promises of safety to the teenager who stood before the mirror, trying to convince herself she wasn’t worthless or stupid. That she was smart and strong. That she could be as powerful as her dad one day.

I know that Dad was doing what he needed to do to raise me right. As a teenager, I was defiant but too emotional. He made me stronger. He taught me how to work through being pathetic, so I would have the courage to stand as the majority shareholder of JD Miller & Co and face whatever the world threw my way.

Not only was Dare annoyed with my dad insulting me, he was so angry when he saw the marks. Enraged. As if my dad’s actions were wholly unacceptable. My heart clenching, I look at the beast next to me, wondering how he continues to make me question everything I’ve ever held to be true.

“Too loud,” he murmurs.

Swallowing, I search Dare’s face. “What did you whisper to him?”

“Do you really want to know?”

No.

“Yes.”

“I told him if he ever touches my wife again, I’ll kill him.” Dare’s lips ghost over the back of my left hand, but then he drops it, almost as if the act surprised him as much as it did me.

The rest of the ride back to his house is silent. Too quiet. The confrontation with my dad, the crack of his palm across my cheek, the way he almost threw up when Dare threatened him...it all plays over and over in my mind, but one memory is more vivid than the rest.

Dare forcing my dad to apologize, the retribution burning in his brown irises when he glanced at me and snarled my name as I tried to intervene. The fierce, almost feral, way he put my dad in his place, simply for daring to touch what Dare considers his.

The feminist inside of me hates the way Dare insists I’m his, but a sliver of my being revels in it. The Beast of NYC defended my honor. As terrible as he is, I can’t help looking at him differently.

If this is what it’s like to be his wife when he despises me, I can’t imagine what it would be like if he were to ever love me.

But there’s too much between us, and for the first time, I hate that we’re enemies.

A few hours later, I can’t get those words out of my head.

If you ever touch my wife again, I’ll kill you.

I don’t know why my mind seizes on them, but the way Dare pulled my dad across the desk, the way Dad’s eyes widened with fear, softens me to Dare. Then there’s Eric. Dare stumbled in and took in the mess, my face, the knife at Eric’s throat. And he didn’t question me. Didn’t try to reason with me. He saw what Eric had almost done and helped.

Dare saw what Dad did and made sure he knew exactlywhat would happen if he ever hit me again. He protected me in a way no one else ever has.

Sighing, I get off the guest room bed, thankful Dare’s given me privacy to work through my thoughts, and head to shower. I strip out of my clothes and step under the hot spray of water. As I wash my hair with the products I brought, the tension in my shoulders eases. A dark bottle that doesn’t belong to me snags my attention. Grabbing the body wash, I study the label. Midnight Vetiver. I lather up my body, avoiding the bruises on my arms, and breathe in.

My eyelids fluttering closed, I fight a soft moan as the rich, earthy, and smoky scent surrounds me. Creates a shield between myself and reality. So, this is what makes Dare smell so good. I sit under the spray of the water, simply basking in the scent, trying to extract every thought of him from my mind. It’s impossible. Maybe my mind is avoiding everything else, but Dare is all I can think about.

The way he wanted to protect me.

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