Page 40 of The Rogue and His Flower

“But the contract!” she hisses out.

“Fuck the contract,” I reply, pressing my shoulder against the door that leads outside, more than ready to show her just how far I’m willing to go. We might’ve gotten lucky that there was no staff in the hallway, but I’d bet a year's wage that there’s at least one person outside this very door, given that’s where all the smokers gather to have a sneaky cigarette break.

“You’re an imbecile!” she growls.

“I just want to clear the air between us. Is that really too much to ask?” I reply, nudging the door with my shoulder.

“Okay, okay!” she replies, pressing her hands against the small of my back, and pushing upright. “I’ll go with you. We’ll talk. Just, please, put me down!”

“Is this just a ruse? Are you going to run off the moment I put you back on your feet?” I ask her, unable to hide the teasing tone to my voice. “Because, believe me, I rather like the chase.”

“Dalton. Just. Put. Me. Down!” she replies, enunciating each word.

“I need your word, Daisy,” I urge her, not in the least bit hurried to put her down. In fact, I’d go as far to say that I rather like having her pert arse in such close proximity to my face, and her hands on me, even if it is with violence.

“I promise, we can talk.”

“Excellent,” I reply, reaching for her waist, allowing her to slide down my body. My hands fall to her hips, steadying her as she drops to her feet. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“And you’re an ignoramus,” she counters, glaring up at me, her face flushed pink, her body trapped between me and the door.

“Another one to add to the list,” I muse, our breaths mingling as I inch my face closer to hers.

For the briefest of moments her eyes flare with heat, and this intense kind of connection snaps to life between us. Whatever the fuck is going on, I’m pretty sure I like it.

“You’ll pay for that!” she suddenly shouts, shoving me on the chest before fixing her dishevelled blouse and skirt, breaking the tension.

“I’d expect nothing less. Shall we?” I ask, pulling myself together as I reach behind her and push open the door.

A member of staff greets us, his eyes widening in shock as he exhales a puff of cigarette smoke, and wafts his hand in the air to dissipate it. “Mr Gunn, I was just?—”

“It’s fine,” I snap as he steps aside.

Daisy strides past him, wrapping her arms around herself tightly to ward off the cold air as I fall into step beside her. “We’ll be taking my car,” I say, gesturing towards the spot where my black, Aston Martin Valour is parked.

“Fine,” she mumbles. “You can drop me back off later to pick my car up.”

“No need. I’ve arranged for one of the staff to collect it.”

“I don’t have my bag or coat,” she counters, her teeth chattering as she waits for me to unlock the door to my car.

“I took care of that too. They’re in the trunk,” I explain, opening the passenger door and motioning for her to get inside.

“You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you?” she asks, settling into the seat.

“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” I reply, shutting the door and rounding the car.

“So where are we going exactly?” she asks, as I pull out of the car park and drive down the winding lane towards the main road.

“It’s a surprise,” I reply.

“I don’t like surprises,” she retorts, pressing her palms against the leather beneath her arse, presumably to warm her hands on the heated seat. Either that or to prevent herself from punching me just like she had threatened.

“I know that’s a lie,” I counter. “Drix said that you love surprises.”

“So you’re back to being friends again?” she asks me, not bothering to deny it.

“Not quite, but we’ve known each other for years and have had plenty of conversations during that time. Believe it or not, some of them were about you. He mentioned once that you love surprises, so here we are.”

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