Page 39 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
“And he makes messes,” she said. “Messes you clean up.”
He shot her a dark glance. He wasn’t impressed that she’d remembered what he’d said.
“Listen, princess, the less you know about everything, the better you’ll sleep at night.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Don’t be a pain in my ass.” Another button came undone, exposing the white collar of his undershirt. Apprehension slid through her.
“What are you doing?”
Cal’s hands dropped to his sides. He stuck them in his pockets and stared at her. Waited for her to piece it together: He’d stopped his brother from taking her into his office. Convinced Rodney to lethimclean up the mess.
Fern’s bare heels rubbed against the wall. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she reminded him. “You were lying?”
The hollow of his throat seemed to reflect the lamplight like a mirror. Fern averted her eyes.
“I’ve lied about a lot of things.” He left the side of the bed and came toward her. “But I’m not square with rape, okay? If I was, I’d have finished my drink downstairs and let Rod take you out back, instead of risking my fucking neck to get you up here instead.”
Her pulse slowed as Cal held himself a few inches from her, his jaw shifting. His eyes ran down the side of her face. Fern didn’t want him to touch her, but seeinghis revulsion felt like swallowing hot glass. She dropped her eyes to the floor. His polished black shoes braced her bare feet.
“Can’t you just take me home?”
“He’s pissed I interfered in front of Francis and Tink. I know my brother, and he knows me. He’ll be sending someone up here soon.”
Jagged streaks of electricity combed down her arms, and she hitched her chin, meeting Cal’s eyes. “For what?”
“Proof I didn’t lie to him.”
“Have you?”
“Never.”
Cal closed another inch of space between them, and Fern realized she’d made a mistake. Somewhere, sometime—probably at the Pier—she’d started to trust him. A small part of her heart fissured.
“I’ll fight,” she whispered.
He weighed the warning with a bob of his head and a frown. “If I was going to attack you, I hope you would.”
She pulled back, her head knocking against the wall. “But you said?—”
“I never told him I was gonna fuck you. All I told him was that I clean up the messes. And Fern Adair, you’ve been one big fucking mess. Now, stand still.”
As Cal lowered into a crouch in front of her, she felt like she’d been spun around a dozen times then jerked to a stop. He took the hem of her skirt into his hands and yanked hard, ripping the silk and scattering some beads. “What are you?—?”
He gave another yank, making the ripped slit in her dress higher, up to her knee.
“Stop that!”
Cal let go of her skirt and stood to loom over her. “I have to make you look the part, all right? Lean your head to the side.”
His hand touched her chin, and she jerked away, knocking her head against the wall again.
“Hold still, already. All I’m gonna do is mark you up a little. It won’t hurt.”
She pushed at his chest. His hands caught her wrists and pulled them down. She stomped on his foot, and Cal swore but didn’t let go. He wrestled against her thrashing another few seconds, finally locking her wrists behind her at the small of her back. “Fern.”
Another tight contraction of his arms, and she couldn’t even twist.
