Page 17 of The Rogue and His Flower

“That’s not what I was asking, and you know it,” he replies, steel in his voice.

“Dalton, I think–”

“You can imagine my surprise when I found out who your masseuse was. Did you enjoy his hands on you, Daisy?” Dalton asks as he glares at me heatedly.

“He’s very skilled at his job,” I reply, refusing to rise to the bait.

Dalton smirks. “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean,not anymore? Please don’t tell me you–”

“Fired him? Of course I fucking did. He put his hands on you, Daisy.Myfucking fiancé,” he hisses.

Guilt washes over me, and I shake my head in disbelief. “You didn’t!”

“I did.” He cocks a brow, daring me to object.

“Because he was doing the job youpaidhim to do?” I counter, feeling my own anger rise. “What is wrong with you?”

“No, because he had the audacity to touch what’s mine!” he grinds out, his clenched fist bashing against the table top.

“I amnotyours,” I hiss, glaring at him.

“That ring says otherwise,” he says, pointing to my finger.

“This ring is just for show,” I object.

His jaw grits, anger flaring in his eyes as he leans towards me. “Let’s get one thing straight, Daisy. You are mine whether you want to be or not.”

“The only person I belong to is myself,” I argue. “You can go around acting like you own me, but we both know that’s bullshit. So get it into your thick head, I amnotyours, never will be.”

“If you ever let another man lay his hands on you, I’ll–”

“You’ll do what,firethem?”

“No, Daisy. I’ll break their fucking legs.”

I blanch, my face draining of colour. “You’re insane.”

“No. I’mpossessive. Another ugly attribute to add to your very long list. Get used to it.”

Exhaling deeply, I lock eyes with him. I hadn't planned on telling him the truth, but now that he's fired Tomasz, I have no choice. If I could go back and change what happened in the massage suite, I would, but that's impossible, and I can't let Tomasz suffer for my mistake.

“Why are you pretending that this is all on Tomasz, Dalton?” I ask, my fingers gripping the material of my dress beneath the table, needing something to hold onto.

“Because. He. Touched. You,” he bites out, pressing his finger into the table roughly with every word.

“He was very professional at all times. He just gave me a massage,” I say, pinning him with my gaze. “It wasyouwho touched me. It wasyouwho took liberties.”

“W-what?” Dalton stammers, the blood draining from his face as he stares at me. It’s the first time I’ve ever truly seen Dalton caught off guard.

“You can’t deny it, can you?” I insist. He remains quiet, his jaw clenching, so I continue on. “At first, I thought itwasTomasz who returned to the room, but after a while it felt different.”

“Different how?” Dalton grinds out, and for the briefest of moments I worry that I’m mistaken, that it wasn’t Dalton who stepped into that room after Tomasz left. But when he leans forward in his seat, his gaze piercing mine, I know I’m right.

“A combination of things. You have calluses on the palms of your hands,” I whisper, heat flooding my cheeks as I reach across the table and turn his hands over.

“From gripping the handlebars of my motorbike so tightly,” he explains, his voice low, controlled, as my fingertip dusts over his warm skin.

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