Page 79 of The Rogue and His Flower

It’s fucking excruciating. My cock thickens, my balls ache, my fingers flex and curl, my body fucking trembles. I’ve never wanted anything more, and yet… I wait. I fucking wait, caught in this intense moment. She shifts slightly, her scent tantalising my nose, making me groan, but I refuse to steal another kiss. I won’t.

“Dalton,” she whispers, her breath catching, but just when I think she’s going to bridge the gap, the lights suddenly flicker on and the sounds of conversation break through the charged moment, disrupting the connection between us. Daisy quickly pulls away, avoiding my gaze as her cheeks stain with a delicate pink that only seems to make her even more irresistible.

God-fucking-damnit!I’m so fucking hard, it’s painful.

“We should probably get going,” she mumbles, gathering her bag as she stands.

I follow her out of the cinema, cursing myself for letting the moment slip away. The Dalton of old would’ve stolen that kiss regardless, but the person I’m becoming hesitated. This isn’t like me, and I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. As we step outside, the cool air hits us, and Daisy wraps her arms around herself.

“Thank you for taking me to see the movie,” she says, side-eyeing me.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, wanting to reach out to her, but I hold back, unsure of where we stand after that almost-kiss.

When we finally reach my car, she turns to face me, her eyes searching mine. “Dalton,” she begins, her voice steady, despite the apparent turmoil in her gaze. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Can we just forget about what happened back there, and at the racetrack too…?”

"Sure, it's already forgotten," I say with a shrug.

Liar.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

But later that night when I’m lying alone in bed, I break my promise to forget as I fist my cock, the memory of her scent and her captivating presence lingering in my mind as I come.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DAISY

“Thank you for inviting me, Daisy,” Lia says with a wide grin, her fingers tracing over the wedding dresses hanging from the racks in this beautiful bridal shop just outside of Princetown.

Under different circumstances, Lia's happiness would be contagious. But right now, I can't seem to shake off the anxiety building up inside of me. This isn't about choosing a wedding dress to look beautiful for myself and the man I love; it's about picking out a dress for an arranged marriage to a man I used to despise, and now have complicated feelings for. To make matters worse, the ceremony will take place in a church filled with, for the most part, strangers I have no connection with and who’ve spent the best part of my life judging me for things that were not my fault.

“Of course, there’s no one else I’d rather have with me,” I reply, appreciating the exquisite selection of lace and silk gowns despite my inner turmoil.

“What about this one?” Lia asks, reaching for a stunning dress with layers of creamy chiffon making up the skirt and a bodice encrusted with tiny crystals.

“It’s lovely…” My voice trails off as I heave out a sigh.

“But?” she questions, tipping her head to the side as she waits.

“But it’s not really me,” I reply, puffing out my cheeks as I blow out a breath.

“Then we’ll keep looking. The perfect dress is just waiting for you to find it.”

“That might be true if this wasn’t all a charade,” I whisper, my eyes flicking to the assistant waiting patiently at the back of the store whilst I choose some dresses to try on. Lia nods in understanding as she gently places the dress back on the rack and turns to face me fully. Reaching for me, she clasps my hands in hers.

“There’s still time to change your mind, Daisy.”

I shake my head, keeping my voice to a whisper. “There’s a contract with my signature on it binding me to this agreement, and I’m not changing my mind.”

She gives me a soft smile, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and concern. “How are things with you and Dalton? Drix told me about what happened at Bandits Bar.”

“Well we’re no longer biting each other’s heads off, and slinging insults at one another every chance we get. Things are… better,” I say, struggling to find the right word to explain the shift in our relationship.

“Better is good,” she agrees.

“I guess.”

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