Page 106 of Dare

She waited for more. I veered my gaze past the curtain of foliage, to where the starlit ocean thrashed against the shore. “I’m unskilled in expressing sentiments.”

“Then learn how,” Flare commanded.

The fire in her voice yanked my eyes back to her. “In the daylight, you’re industrious.”

She blinked. Her mouth tipped, as though on the verge of a chuckle. “I’m what?”

An embarrassed muscle rolled across my jaw. I sounded like a fucking technician. And an idiot. Furthermore, a paltry excuse for a wordsmith. That arrogant shithead who called himself Poet was a man of verse, whereas I was a man of facts. I did not possess the jester’s silver tongue.

Witnessing my humiliation, Flare swallowed her mirth. “Go on,” she implored. “Please.”

And fuck. Whenever she gave me that look, I collapsed like a deck of cards.

“In the daylight, you’re bold.” I feasted my eyes on that scorching red dress. “By the firelight, you’re brilliant. Always, you’re enduring.” Finally, my hand rubbed one of the hibiscus petals tucked behind her ear. “You have the skill to unhinge me. Your impact is significant.” Wincing, I let go of the blossom. “And I … cannot comprehend … that I merit your attention.”

The torrent fell around us. The ocean lashed against the bay.

Yet Flare’s tender voice drowned out the elements. “Was it a mistake?”

I recalled what we’d said in the medical chamber, after I sank to my knees for her. “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Look around you!” She threw her hands toward the ambience. “This place, this dinner, this night. You didn’t do this because it was a mistake. You’re not jealous about my lost virginity because it was a mistake. You’re not listing my lack of options and your lack of right because it was a mistake. What you’re doing is denying the truth!”

Muttering an oath, I fastened onto her hips and pushed her backward.

“Jeryn—” Flare’s hand dove under her skirt, whipped out her dagger from the cord harnessed around her thigh, and slammed it into the makeshift table. The tip impaled a fraction of space between my spread fingers, where I’d grabbed the surface, intending to rise. Scalding me with her gaze, she finished, “—you’re not going anywhere.”

“No,” I clipped. “Unfortunately, I’m not.”

Not on this island. No matter what plans we made, departure wasn’t currently an option.

The implication sliced from my tongue. Flare’s eyebrows crinkled with rage. If actions had not discouraged her, the candor of Winter had.

Irritation, remorse, and fifty-five other catastrophic emotions laid siege to my body. I wanted her to lance me through with her weapon. I wanted her to punish me, torture me for that response. But my court was nothing, if not tactical.

I leaned forward, my breath cutting against hers. “I admire you for all the reasons I’d specified. I respect what I was too bigoted to appreciate before. But this dinner was my way of atoning for past transgressions while also granting us a reprieve from chronic stress. However, make no mistake. I don’t want to court you. I don’t want to coddle you. And I don’t want to romance you.”

Then I rubbed salt into the wound. “I want to fuck you.”

Flare went rigid. Even so, her pupils dilated. She sat there, beautiful and unattainable.

Not for me. Not mine.

So be it. “Let us be honest about what this really is,” I continued. “You’re here. I’m here. We have our appetites. That’s why I rutted with you during the lightning rain. That’s why I knelt and tasted your cunt in the medical chamber. That’s why I’m planning to make you come again. And when I do, trust me: You will know. Because your climax shall be deeper than this ocean, harder than the tide, and longer than my fucking patience. But it will not have anything to do with passion.”

Revolted with myself, I diced her so-called truth to pieces. “That is what I feel for you.”

Fucking now. If I didn’t get out of this fucking chair now, I would lose the battle.

Taking advantage of her shock, I snatched Flare by the waist and deposited her on the opposite seat. Vaulting from my chair, I charged from the alcove. The downpour soaked my frame as I stalked to the ocean’s edge, my vision blurring and my head about to spontaneously combust.

Yet I knew. Retreat wouldn’t work. I could travel a thousand miles from here, and I would never be far enough. I would never stop feeling the brushfire of her presence.

Under the deluge, I stalled at the surf’s edge. The water sliced over my boots. Bracing my hands on my hips, I stood there.

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