Page 35 of Daring the Bad Boy

Humiliation engulfed her, but as he continued to drag her to who knew where, something unexpected took its place.

For the first time since she had been kicked out of Cal’s apartment, instead of shame, or sadness, or hurt or confusion, she felt the first stirrings of anger.

“Let me go.” She wriggled her wrist, but his grip only tightened as he carried on walking, out of the main entrance, down two flights of stone stairs into the academy’s palatial courtyard flanked on all four sides by ornate nineteenth century façades.

He marched her past the huddle of wait staff on a cigarette break, before finding a small alcove, the damp shadows lit by a single security light.

He swung her round and pressed her back against the cold stone, shielding them both from prying eyes. Then rested his forehead against hers, his hands settling on her waist.

Pressing his nose into her hair, he inhaled. Her whole body shook, her heartbeat trapped in her throat, as he lifted his head and skimmed a thumb across her cheekbone to nudge a stray curl behind her ear. She shivered, his palms caressing her through the wool of her dress. And the wave of longing almost bowled her over.

“Remind me to stop dragging you out of places without your coat,” he said.

The teasing words snapped her out of her trance. And the anger returned in a rush. She couldn’t do this, not again. It wasn’t fair.

She’d made a catastrophic mistake six weeks ago. Thinking there might have been the potential for more between them, when obviously there wasn’t. And yes she had a tendency to over-react, to need to find meaning when there wasn’t any. But for the first time, she could see that she hadn’t made those assumptions entirely alone.

He’d helped, by constantly insisting she was beautiful, by looking at her as if he cared, by giving her the best sex of her life, and by taking those blasted photographs that saw so much.

He’d known she was falling for him, however foolish and premature and misguided her feelings may have been, his photographs proved it – and he hadn’t done a single thing to stop her. And now he was going to turn her life upside down again. For what? A furtive grope in a doorway?

She wedged her forearms against his chest. “Don’t. I have to go.”

“You don’t like the shots?” The sudden flash of vulnerability was so surprising she stopped struggling.

“The shots are beautiful,” she said, unwilling to hurt him, even though he’d hurt her. “That’s not the point.” Although it was the point in some ways. “But I’m not sure I want them on display. For everyone to see.”

What a fool I was.

“I can call off the exhibition.” He let her go, ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I should have let you see them first. But I thought you’d dig them…” He sounded so sincere, and apologetic, all the anger drained away to leave her feeling churlish and small.

“I do. It’s okay, you don’t have to call it off,” she said wearily.

What was wrong with her? A world-famous photographer had taken pictures of her, pictures he’d put into what could well be an award-winning exhibition, and she was behaving as if this was a bad thing. This was his job, this was what he did, she’d known that when she’d agreed to sit for him, and when she’d told him he could use the shots. Backing out now would only make her more of a coward. “It doesn’t matter.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, feeling more ashamed of herself than ever. “But I really need to leave if that’s okay.”

“It does matter,” he said. “I behaved like a dick six weeks ago. And now I’ve done it again, when what I meant to do was impress you, and thank you.”

“What have you got to thank me for?” she asked, confused now as well as heartsick.

“You told me to speak to Decker.”

It took her a moment to remember whom he was referring to. “Your biological father? The man who approached you at your father’s funeral?” Had she told him to speak to him? She couldn’t even remember.

“Yeah, I contacted him after you walked out on me. I went back to my home town. And we talked. About a lot of stuff, but mostly about what happened between him and my mom.”

Had she walked out on him? She thought he’d walked out on her. “That’s good,” she said, not sure what else to say.

“It’s better than good,” he continued. “I found out that she’d never cheated on my father, that she’d gotten pregnant with me before they met.” He sighed, moving closer, his hands settling on her hips again. The shuddering breath lifted the hair on the back of Rosie’s neck. “She’d always been faithful to my old man. And my dad always knew he wasn’t my biological father. Decker wanted me to know all that. Her and Decker were having an argument when the car crashed, not an affair. He wanted to tell me I was his son, and she wouldn’t let him, because she thought it might screw me up.” He coughed out a half-laugh. “Pretty ironic, huh.”

“I’m glad you spoke to him,” she said, trying not to be pleased that something she’d said had helped ease his unhappiness. This wasn’t any of her business, he’d made that very clear six weeks ago. “I appreciate you letting me know how everything turned out. But you didn’t have to. I didn’t do anything. Not really.”

She had to leave, she couldn’t stand to be here with him and know that all he felt was gratitude. But as she tried to scoot out of his embrace, his hand tightened on her hip and he held her in place.

“Please look at me, Rosie.”

She lifted her head. “Don’t do this, Cal.”

“Don’t do what?” he said. “Apologize for treating you like shit? Just because you made me realize what a coward I’d been about everything. My mom. Decker. You.”

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