Page 38 of The Rogue and His Flower

“I can’t fucking take care of you if you’re swanning around doing fuck knows what,” he says, completely ignoring what I’ve just said.

“I was visiting Daphne at the café, then I went shopping, then I came here to have a drink. It’s my day off, I was not swanning around,” I reply tightly, my hands pressing against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it only seems to fuel his ire further, and he just tightens his grip. “Dalton, people are looking,” I protest.

His eyes spark with defiance as his lips curl up in a smirk. “I’mveryaware that we’re in public, Daisy,” he warns.

“Don’t you–”

His lips slam against mine, swallowing my protest with a fierce kiss, and this time I can’t knee him in the balls because we’re out in public with an audience, and we have to act like a couple in love, albeit a couple in love who’re fighting.

So I let him kiss me. I let him plunder my mouth with his tongue, and fist my hair so tightly that my scalp tingles with pain-pleasure that somehow makes this whole kiss more electric. This kiss is an act of defiance against my need for personal space. It’s an act of possession that has me questioning his motives, and I hate myself for succumbing to the physical rush it elicits. I’m suddenly hyper aware of the way his body is pressed so tightly against mine, how his thick arms hold me, howhe tastes of peppermint, how his familiar scent fills my nostrils, and howIkiss him back.

The people around us fade into the background as I find myself melting into his embrace, my initial anger giving way to a confusing mixture of desire and frustration. Ihatethis man, and yet my body seems to think otherwise. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to say the least.

Yet, I don’t make any effort to push him away, and like that time back at ‘M’ when he’d proposed, I find myself leaning into the kiss, my fingers curling into the thin material of his shirt, holding on tight when Ishouldbe letting go. Telling myself this is all for show, that this kiss is nothing but a stipulation in a contract. That it means nothing.

But this kiss is like a hurricane, whipping up a storm around us, between us. I imagine our feet lifting off the ground, carried by the wind as we hold on to each other tightly. My fingers bite into my palms, the material of his shirt doing nothing to prevent the deep grooves forming in my skin. And that’s what it feels like to be kissed by Dalton, pricks of pain and anguish, the tiny crescents marking me in a way that hurts. Despite the pain, I find myself craving more of Dalton's touch. His kisses are like a drug, intoxicating and addictive.

It's not until I feel Dalton's cock thickening between us that I manage to gather my thoughts together enough to break the kiss. With a gasp, I push against his chest again, this time with more force, my cheeks flushing furiously at his arousal.

"Dalton,please, let me go," I manage to whisper.

He doesn't immediately comply, his grip on me loosening slightly but still keeping me close. His eyes blaze with intensity as he studies my face, looking as dishevelled and affected by the kiss as I feel.

“I would’ve broken his legs for you, Daisy,” he says roughly.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I reply, my cheeks flushing a deeper pink as I untangle myself from his arms and put much needed space between us.

“It wasn’t supposed to.”

CHAPTER TEN

DALTON

The rest of the week passes without incident, thank fuck. My father has restrained himself from making any snide remarks towards Daisy during our dinners together, even though it’s obvious her clothes still bother him.

In contrast, I’ve grown to secretly enjoy seeing what outfit she’ll pick out each night, all of them carefully chosen to defy my father. I particularly liked the rainbow striped mini skirt she wore last night paired with a red t-shirt, bare legs and fluffy yellow socks. There was something both frustratingly sexy about her outfit and insufferably cute. Not that I’d ever let her know how much she’s beginning to affect me, mostly because it’s been almost three weeks since I’ve had sex and I’m starting to get major fucking withdrawal symptoms. In fact, that kiss we shared at Bandits Bar after that prick tried to molest her has only added to my discomfort, and has made things even more strained between Daisy and me.

I probably shouldn’t have kissed her, but I was angry.

No, fuck that. I wasincensed.

She’d ignored me all day, refused to answer my texts, and I couldn’t fucking stop myself from storming out of my home in search of her. Yes, her defiance had angered me, but when Iwalked into Ben’s bar and saw that man’s hands on her, I’d seen red. It was as though a veil of violence had fallen in front of my eyes, and all I wanted to do was rip him apart for daring to touch her, to scare her like that. Because underneath her anger, I’dseenher fear, and it did something to me. I would’ve done a lot worse than hit the bastard if we didn’t have so many witnesses. Luckily for him he wasn’t alone.

Deep down, I know I acted no better than that jerk had towards her, and if I were a better man I wouldn’t have attempted to kiss her at that moment, but fuck me, this possessiveness had unfurled inside of me and I couldn’t fucking stop myself.

Truth be known, I don’t regret kissing Daisy. Not one bit. That kiss was electric. It was potent, and I’ve not stopped thinking about how she’d felt in my arms, how she’d moaned and kissed me back despite her anger.

The mere thought of her lips on mine has my balls tingling and my cock hardening. Daisy might drive me fucking crazy with her sharp tongue and infuriating stubbornness, and I know she fucking hates me, but my cock? My cock hasn’t gotten the fucking memo.

I’ve since tried making conversation with her, but she’s become even more unreachable, and has avoided being alone with me at all costs. Like today, she’s gone out of her way to avoid me at work, refusing my offer of a lift this morning even though we’re working the same damn hours.

Truthfully, it’s not something I’m used to. Most of the women I’ve been with in the past are willing to at least pass the time with surface level conversation before we fuck, and whilst I’m well aware that’s never going to happen between us, we’re going to be married soon and the least she can do is keep to her word, given she made such a big deal about it.

But Daisy remains closed off, and frankly, it’s beginning to grate on my patience. After all, it was she who wanted to find common ground, to communicate, but despite my attempts of doing exactly what she suggested, I’ve been met with bland responses and curbed emotions. Where has the snarky woman who enjoyed nothing more than putting me in my place with her witty comments and sharp retorts gone? Fuck, I’m beginning to miss our spirited interactions.

Shutting the lid of my laptop, I decide that enough is enough, and reach for my phone, making a couple of quick calls. Then, ignoring all the jobs piling up on my desk, I go in search of my fiancé, finding her sitting alone in the staff break room.

“Daisy, we need to talk.”

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