Breaking Her (Love is War #2) (36 page)

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
 
Well, shit.
 
Bringing up Bastian was bad, the look on his face was worse, and I had no idea what to say, because I didn't know what he knew, and I wasn't going to accidentally tell him more.

"I know he came to your house," he added, tone gone black, his hellish temper out to play.

"Fuck," I said softly, with feeling.

"He came to your house, and you left with him."
 
His rage washed over me, hot enough to scald.

But it's a fact that sometimes I like to burn.

I squirmed in my seat.
 
"We only left to talk.
 
Calm down."
     

"It was Bastian who told you about the blackmail," he guessed.
 
The words were low, almost soft.
 
He was trying very hard not to raise his voice.
 
"Of course it was."
 

I didn't answer, kept my face perfectly blank, but he didn't need my confirmation.
 

"It was him," he said, sounding certain.
 
Dammit.
 
"If it were anyone else, the shit would've hit the fan by now.
 
Sneaky son of a bitch."

I just stared at him, trying to gauge just how angry he was.
 
He'd betrayed his rage with the first few things out of his mouth, but he was doing a very good job now of hiding it.
 

"It was when he came to see you in Seattle, wasn't it?" he asked.
 
The question was filled with the fire of his temper, warm and awful.
   

I froze.

"I don't know what you're—" I tried, because when you're just not sure if you're about to set a crazy, jealous ex off into a jealous rage it's always best to lie.
 

"Save it.
 
I know he came to see you, and that must have been when you found out about the blackmail."

I processed that.
 
"Who told you all of this?" I asked, but I knew.
 
Oh, I knew.

"My mother called me earlier.
 
She's been saving this little bombshell for a while.
 
As you know, Farrah keeps her well informed.
 
Adelaide thinks you and Bastian are sleeping together, and she couldn't be more pleased about it.
 
And of course she wanted to make sure I knew every little detail."

"We are not sleeping together.
 
We never have."
 

"Not even in Seattle?
 
When you went up to his hotel room.
 
For hours."
 

His eyes were scary, his hands clenched and shaking on the table between us.
 
If I were anyone but myself, I'd have been worried for my safety.
 

Dammit
.
 
This was all going to end up in Bastian's lap, when all the guy wanted to do was help us.
   

"Nothing happened," I said, tone as unflappable as I could manage, eyes steady on his.
 
"We did go off together, but all we did was talk.
 
About you.
 
About what your mother's been up to."
 

"You kissed him at the bar."
 
There was the finest tremor in his voice, but it was a crucial one, like the very first crack in an unsteady foundation.
 
"You were all over him.
 
You rubbed your tits against his chest.
 
She told me everything."

Fucking Farrah hadn't gone easy on the details.
 
FUCK
.
 

I thought of that night, the state I'd been in, and my own temper rose to the occasion.
 
I knew I had to be mercilessly honest to take the blame away from his brother.
 
That, more even than Dante's feelings, was what I needed to salvage here.
 
"I was in bad shape, Dante.
 
Because of
you
.
 
Yes, I kissed him.
 
Yes, I rubbed up against him.
 
I have no doubt I'd have done more, just to fucking
spite
you, but your brother had your back.
 
While you're going over the details, go over this:
 
He turned me down.
 
Not because he didn't want me, but because he wouldn't do that to you.
 
He came to see me because he wanted to help us, and that was as far as he let it get."
 

He wasn't looking at me, his eyes on his fists.
 
They were full of cruel, dark things, not the least of which was anguish.
   

"We have enough things to hate each other for," I added harshly.
 
Honestly.
 
"We don't need to embellish or invent any.
 
I did
not
sleep with your brother.
 
And you can thank
him
for it.
 
Not me.
 
Him."
 

"
Jesus
, you never did know how to pull any punches," he said in a voice that
ached
.
 

I felt my upper lip tremble, eyes blinking rapidly, stinging with the urge to tear up as I fought to look anywhere but at him.
 

Because wasn't that the brutal fucking truth.

"It's worse with you," I said when I'd regained my composure, trying hard to make my voice light.
 
"You're the only guy who ever dumped me."
 

"Don't do that," he said, and there was agony in it, enough to fell us both.
 
"Don't put us all into a group like we're the same.
 
There's me and there's them."

He made a very good point.
 
Moreover, this was a subject to avoid at all costs.
 
Why the hell had I brought it up?
 
I was a mess just then is why.
 
Not thinking clearly, not speaking clearly, though I needed to start doing so in order to get my point across.

I tried to get back on topic.
 
"There's nothing your mother would love more than to keep you estranged from the one family member you have who's worth knowing," I said as reasonably as I could.
 
"The one person alive that shares your blood and wants to
help you.
 
Let me guess:
 
She knows you two have been getting along lately.
 
She knows there's been a truce.
 
Stop me if I'm wrong here."
 

He didn't stop me.

"Don't let her win," I implored.
 
"Have the sense not to let this tactic work for her.
 
Don't turn this on Bastian."
 

"I don't trust him," he told me bluntly.
 

My mouth curved sardonically.
 
"I don't trust
anyone
.
 
What's that got to do with anything?"

He winced and I didn't blame him.
 
I felt the sting of it myself.

"What are you going to do?" I asked him eventually, when I couldn't stand a second more of the silence.
 

"It was not his place to tell you anything.
 
He had no right to do that.
 
To put you
in danger.
"
   

"He didn't know that's what he was doing.
 
He's your brother—"

"Half-brother," he corrected stubbornly.

I glared.
 
"He's your blood, and he's trying to help us.
 
Let him, Dante.
 
Please."
 
It was as close as I'd come to begging, because it was a thing worth begging for.
 
We needed any allies we could get, and there was no doubt in my mind that Bastian was a strong one.
 
He was motivated, resourceful.
 
Spiteful.
 
All things I admired.
 
All things I related to.
 
All things we'd need in spades if there was any chance we'd come out on top of this mess.
   

Also, any enemy of Adelaide's was a freaking best friend of mine.
   

I couldn't tell if he was still angry, or rather,
how
angry he was.
 
He was being very quiet, very still, not looking at me.
 

"I suppose I see your point.
 
As always, Adelaide is trying to manipulate me."
 
His voice was calm enough, but I didn't trust it.

"As always," I agreed.
 

"And it is a sore subject."
 
His eyes flashed at me and I saw the full force of what was still there, simmering under the surface.
 
He wasn't going to lose it, but he was still furious, and it wasn't just going to go away on its own.
 

Lucky for us, I had just the thing.

I shifted restlessly, biting my lip as I stared right back.
 
His rage was nothing new, nor my reaction to it.
   

He glared at me, and it didn't help.
 

Was I turned on?

Absolutely and abundantly so.

It was twisted.
 
And captivating.
 
Irresistible.
 

He saw it too, and it seemed to piss him off even more.
 
A flame that fed itself perpetually.
 
No wonder we could never get enough of each other.

"Are you done eating?" I asked him.
 
Neither of us had touched our food since the volatile conversation had begun.
 

He pushed his plate away.
 
"I lost my appetite."
 

My breath came faster as I pointedly pushed my own plate away, my eyes on his mean mouth.
 
"I didn't," I said, voice teasing, provocative.

He started cursing and I almost smiled.
 
It told me plainly that, though he wasn't happy about it, he was going to listen to what I'd said, absorb it, comply with it.
 

Round for me.
 

He pushed his chair back from the table but didn't stand.
 
"Come here."
 
His voice had changed, gone soft and warm and vaguely obscene.
 

I went to him slowly, leaving my clothing behind as I moved.
 
This would not be the kind of sex that required foreplay, because that part was already over.
 
The fight had been the foreplay.
 
This next bit would be hell-bent, desperate, rough, quick, intoxicating, and straight to the point.
 

My favorite.
 

I reached him, and he was ready for me.
 
I turned around, sinking down onto him, guiding him inside of me with one greedy hand.
   

He bounced me like that on his lap, both of us facing the same way.
 
His mouth at my neck, weaving pure sorcery, licking, sucking, biting, one hand in my hair fisting, stroking, pulling, aiming my face up at the ceiling, the other at my hip, gripping, pawing, operating in tandem with his thrusting hips to work me on his length in heavy, oscillating strokes.
 

A liquid throb was beating through me.
 
Faster and faster, heavier and heavier.
 

I turned my head, felt his breath on my face, then his lips.
   

I was close, so close, when three words panted out of his mouth and straight to my heart.
 

With a needy cry, I came hard.
 

He followed with a rough groan.
 

It was some time later.
 
I was gathering up the clothes I'd discarded all over the dining room.
 
I'm not sure why it was on my mind, why I was thinking so much when I was sated and content, but it was circling there, always circling, waiting to come out.
 

"Even after everything I did," I said it idly, almost casually, but that was deceptive if you knew how to read me.
 
Dante knew.
 
"You still never told me.
 
Didn't some part of you want to stop protecting me, even from myself, after a while?

He didn't even bother trying for casual.
 
His voice was low, intense, emotional enough that it ached and I with it.
 
"No.
 
No part of me has ever wanted to stop protecting you.
 
Even from yourself.
 
I only wish I'd done a better job.
 
I wish I could have protected you from
everything
."
 

That hurt as much as it healed, and I found myself bracing against the table, trying to keep my balance as I reeled.
 
I was too conflicted about this.
 
So much so, I felt at war with myself.
 
There was anger there, oh yes, the things he'd kept from me were unacceptable and detrimental, but also there was regret, so much of it.
 
It nearly took me to my knees.
 

But overriding all of that, the strongest urge was a pervasive softening, a tenderness for my lover who had fought, at all costs, for my freedom.
 

Tenderness won for the moment, but only with brute force.
 
It was simple:
 
It was the strongest, so it won.

But I had no doubts that the others would be back to fight another day.
 

Dante noticed my slip, and he lifted me onto the table, perching me there, cupping my face, and tilting it back to study me carefully.