Page 15 of Dustin
He stares at me for a beat.
“I don’t really need your help. You can go now,” he tells me.
I open my mouth to protest, but then his phone rings.
“Yeah?” he asks, picking it up. He listens to what the person says.
“All right, I got it,” Dustin says, his voice tight. “I won’t screw it up. Bye, Sam. Send me the invites.”
He hangs up before turning to me.
“Turns out I do need your help,” he says resignedly.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“With what?”
“Our friend, Alexis Vierra, is attending a ball tomorrow night. It’s meant to be pretty exclusive. Only the richest people in the city and from all over Portugal will be there. I asked Sam to get me an invite. He did, but the problem is, I can’t go alone. It’s a couple thing. You have to go with someone to gain access.”
“So, you don’t have a date,” I point out with a grin.
“Yes, Madison. I realize that.”
“Why me, though? You’re mad at me, remember. Maybe ask the receptionist at the hotel? Or you can call Clara back home in D.C.”
Dustin’s blue eyes narrow.
“Well firstly, I need someone who knows enough people to help me blend in. And second, you sound jealous,” he says suspiciously.
I splutter.
“I am not!” I protest.
I totally am, but he didn’t need to call me out like that.
“What do you want, Madison?” Dustin says warily as he runs his hand through his dark brown hair.
“Not much. I just want to hear a please.”
“Oh really? That’s all you want?” he questions dryly. Then he advances on me. I take a step back, surprised by the sudden flare up in his emotions. He runs hot and cold so fast.
“How about what I want, Madison? Have you ever thought to ask?” he questions.
I swallow.
“I’ve tried,” I say, sounding a little breathless due to his close proximity. I can’t think when he’s in my space. I take another step back, but he just takes another toward me. I continue moving backward until my back hits the wall. “You never want to listen, and I don’t think you care.”
He twirls a strand of my hair in his finger. Then he looks down at me.
“You have no idea what I care about,” he whispers.
His eyes flicker to my lips, and I realize the situation has taken a completely unexpected turn. I feel my nipples harden in the annoyingly thin material of my dress. Unfortunately, Dustin looks down at them, and his eyes darken.
“Dustin,” I say nervously.
“It’s been five years,” he says softly, raising his hands to touch my cheek. “Tell me why I still can’t seem to stop thinking about you. You’re like a shadow. You’re always there.”
I suck in a sharp breath. The air hums with awareness and the mingled sounds of our soft and uneven breaths. I try to focus on anything but this powerful masculine form in front of me.
