Page 69 of The Rogue and His Flower

“No, I don’t… We’re not fucking, Daisy. Not like this. I’m many things, but I am not a man who will abuse the situation. You’re vulnerable right now, and if we fuck then I know you’ll regret it in the morning. You don’t want this. You don’t want to have sex with me, you’ve made that perfectly clear already.”

“But what if I tell you that Idowant this? What if I tell you that I’m aching to be touched, to find release? What if I tell you that I want you to take the pain away? What then?”

“Jesus, Daisy, you’re making this impossible.”

“This is what you want, isn’t it? You need relief, and I need to forget. You’ve used women before, so use me now. You know you want to. If it makes you feel any better, I’d be using you too.”

“No,” I shake my head adamantly. “That doesn’t make me feel any better. Not by a long shot.”

“I’m not asking you to love me, Dalton. We’re two consenting adults. You fuck women all the time,” she says in frustration.

“Not anymore. Not like this. No,” I repeat, more firmly this time. Her expression falls and guilt climbs up my chest. “Staying here tonight would be a mistake, you know that deep down.”

She stares at me for a long time, then eventually her shoulders drop and she heaves out a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Forget I said anything.”

I fucking hate the way she seems to curl in on herself, how in my attempt to protect her, I’ve only appeared to make her feel worse. Part of me, the selfish part, is more than willing to do what she asks, to fuck her so that we both get respite from our demons. Yet, I know that’s just a temporary fix, and despite how hard my damn cock is, how the air between us is swollen with desire, I refuse to take advantage.

“I was thinking of going to the track tomorrow. Would you like to join me?” I offer. It’s my way of trying to fix things, to offer friendship.

“You want me to come to the track?”

“Yes. If you want to, that is.”

“Sure, why not?” she agrees softly.

“Okay, then,” I reply, reaching for the handle of the door, needing to get the fuck out of her room before I change my damn mind. “Goodnight, Daisy.”

“Goodnight, Dalton.”

I gently shut the door behind me, wishing I could be the person she needs, hating that I’ve left her alone and vulnerable. So, instead of heading towards my own bedroom, I rest my back against the wall, and slide down the wooden panel until my arse hits the floor. If I can’t give her the physical comfort she needs, the least I can do is offer her my support from a distance even if she’s unaware of it.

“What the fuck now?” I whisper to myself as I sit in the hallway, listening to the muffled sounds of Daisy moving around in her room.

Closing my eyes, I try to make sense of the conflicting emotions within me, and fail miserably. Ultimately all I know is that I have to prioritise her well-being above all else. Despite the strange ache in my chest, and the gnawing tug of desire that refuses to dissipate, I make a silent promise to myself to be there for Daisy, no matter what.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DAISY

“How did you sleep?” Dalton asks as we step out into the winter sunshine.

There’s a chill breeze in the air, but the sun is shining and the snow has long since melted leaving behind patches of damp earth and scattered twigs and leaves.

“Okay,” I reply, winding my deep purple scarf around my neck as our footsteps crunch over the gravel drive.

Despite my response, I tossed and turned all night, plagued by memories I’ve spent years trying to forget, going over our conversation. Last night I’d offered myself up to him, and he’d refused me, and somehow that rejection hurt me more than I thought it would. In the end, I’d given up on sleep and had drawn a bath, lying in the hot water until the warmth had disappeared and my teeth were clacking from the cold.

“You’re not a very good liar,” Dalton says, his blue eyes searching mine as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Very gentlemanly of you,” I reply, ignoring his comment and giving him a small smile as I slide into the seat. He gently closes the door, rounding the car.

Today he’s wearing blue jeans, a thick grey woollen sweater, and a black leather jacket, his auburn hair catching the light ashe settles behind the wheel. When he starts the engine, I catch a whiff of his cologne, a now familiar scent that only serves to remind me of that moment in the spa when his hands had been warm, and my body had been receptive to his touch.

Forcing that memory aside, I buckle in as the car hums to life. Dalton pulls out of the driveway, his fingers curling around the steering wheel as he concentrates on the road ahead. For a while we sit in silence, the only sound is the soft purr of the engine, and my pulse beating loudly in my ears. An undercurrent of tension crackles between us as I steal glances at Dalton, his profile outlined by sunlight streaming through the window. His jaw is set and there’s a furrow between his brows, telling me he’s preoccupied, no doubt with everything I revealed last night.

“Dalton, can we just forget about our conversation, and what happened last night? Can we just enjoy today?” I ask, making a decision to not dwell on the past, and the things I cannot change.

He glances at me briefly, his expression softening for a moment. “Whatever you need, Daisy.”

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