Page 22 of My Secret Santa Dallas

Setting the cup on top of an end table, I shifted to draw my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around them. “Many, many times, in various variations, but I doubt he understood any of them.”

“Have you tried punching him?” Dallas turned his head to me; his gray eyes glimmered under the low light.

“I did that when I was eight,” I said. “Knocked a tooth right out of his mouth.”

“Scrappy little missy, weren’t you?”

“I still am,” I said. “Don’t let the high heels and clipboard fool you. I can punch like a boxer.”

He shook his head. “I’d pay to see that.”

“I hope you don’t,” I said while unfolding my legs and setting them on the floor. “I’m going back to bed.”

As I got to my feet, Dallas said, “You can touch it if you want.”

I was confused for a moment. “Hm?”

“The tattoo,” he said, getting to his feet and lifting his arm over his head. “I know you want to.”

I shouldn’t. I knew I shouldn’t because this was playing with fire. But shit, I did it anyway and rested my hand on his side, right above his ribs. His skin was warm, verging on hot, and I traced the raised ink. His eyes were on me, sizzling like a laser, and I didn’t dare look up.

“This had to hurt like a bitch,” I said.

His chuckle was warm, “You’ve got no idea.”

His eyes didn’t leave my face. I pretended I didn’t notice, but I felt like heat rays were on my skin. I’m almost quivering under the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” I finally asked.

His eyes flicked to my lips again, as they had before the kiss, only now they lingered there like he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

Please, whispered my body.

Hell no, whispered my brain.

“Nothing,” his tone was ragged as he stepped back. “Nothing. Good night, Blair.”

I still felt the heat of his skin on my palm and clenched my fist. “Same, Dallas.”

As I headed to my room, I gave up on any attempt to sleep; if I hadn't had a wink before, I knew I would not have one now. Slipping into the room, I shed the robe, padded to my bedside table, and brushed a hand down the short silk shorts I had on; my skin felt hot.

What was I doing?

I knew Dallas wanted me, but he didn’t want to admit it. This— whatever we’d just had downstairs— was an aberration from the norm. I knew he still didn’t want me here just as much as I wanted to be elsewhere.

I’d never had hate-sex before, but God knew I wanted to taste it with him.

Tugging a pouch out, I took out the bottle of sleeping pills I rarely used— once upon a time, I’d been too heavily reliant on them— and shook out two pills, then went to my bathroom and took them with a glassful of water from the sink.

Going back to the bed, I slid between the sheets, pillowed my head on one soft pillow, and tugged a spare one to my chest. I had to prepare for tomorrow, back to work, overseeing this plant for Warrick and making sure Hunter gets the bang for his bucks— the two point five million ofthem.

The next morning, I was up by seven, showered, dressed in jeans and a polo with my hair in my usual bun, and while I was doing my minimal makeup, my phone rang.

A glance at the screen had my gut going sour; dropping the brush, I snatched the cell up and swiped right. “What the hell do you want, Wentworth?”

“Ah, there is my truant sister,” Wentworth Cullen said smugly. “How are you doing up there in the wild?”

What? How did he know that?

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