Page 8 of Dirty Little Vow

She stands and I catch her waist, holding onto her and resting my forehead on her chest. She feels right in my arms and in my life, but I am my father’s son. And while I know I am not him, his fuck-ups want to become my fuck-ups. And right now, holding Bella, I’m worried for her and I don’t remember ever being this worried about anyone else in my life.

Her fingers tangle in my hair and my gaze lifts to hers. “What’s happening right now?”

“He might be dead, but he fucks with my head. What if I’m just like him?”

“You’re not like him, Tyler. I’ve known you for years and we spent hours upon hours talking when we were just employee and employer. And friends. We were always friends. I know you. So, I repeat, you arenotlike him.”

“I’m sure my mother thought he was perfect when she met him, too.”

“Stop doing this, Tyler. That’s a command.”

I pull back slightly and narrow my eyes. “Acommand?”

“Yes. A command. I don’t understand why you’re doing this right now. You beat him. You’re not just doing what he wanted, you’re doing whatyou want. We have each other. The company will thrive under you. We have this beautiful puppy at our feet, and we have each other.”

“Which is why I’m worried,” I explain.

Her brow furrows. “What does that even mean?”

“He always has a contingency plan. If one thing doesn’t break me, another will.”

“He thought getting married would torture you.You won, Tyler.”

“You’re seeing what’s on the surface, not what’s below. If he plans something that hurts you, I can’t even kill the bastard. If you get harmed—”

She presses her mouth to mine, and just that easily, I forget why I’m awake, if not just to feel her close and fuck her until she’s so damn sated she can’t help but sleep. Proof that my sense of right and wrong with Bella is present but muted to the point that it might as well be nonexistent. My arm wraps around her waist, tugging her closer. She reads what I’m asking for and climbs on top of me, her legs straddling my hips where I sit in an oversized, cushioned chair.

She catches the hem of her shirt—my shirt—and drags it over her head and tosses it aside. I don’t even have time to appreciate how gorgeous and perfect her body is before she’s wrapping her arms around my neck and leaning into me.

My fingers tangle in her hair and I drag my mouth to her mouth. “You know what I need right now.”

“Tell me,” she murmurs. “And then I’ll let you know if you have permission.”

Chapter Six

Bella

Sex is always Tyler’s outlet. It’s how he deals with the demons that haunt him, the demons I blame his parents for creating in him. It’s how he controls life. It’s always been how he controls life. And to Tyler, control is everything. It’s his escape. And he needs an escape right now, a way out of his own head, but even after I’ve offered him the kind of sexy challenge that would normally distract him, at least for a little while, his will to worry is impenetrable.

For several beats, Tyler just sits there with me naked and on top of him, unmoving. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t kiss me. He just stares at me without seeing me or us. There’s a tic in his jaw, tension radiating off of him, and burrowing inside me. He’s out of his mind over his father, certain he will somehow reach up from his grave and kill me as he did Allison. I was certain I was inviting that wild, dark side of Tyler to fuck all his torment away, if only for tonight.

I ease back from where I lean into him. “Tyler?”

He doesn’t react, and suddenly, I know what is going on. Suddenly, I know he’s convinced himself he needs to create distance between us to protect me, and it pisses me off, but more so, it cuts me open. It hurts, really, really badly. I lean into him, my hands planted on his shoulders. “Stop what you’re doing right now.Just stop.”

“Bella—”

His tone, his guilty expression, says it all. I was right. “I can’t, Tyler,” I murmur with my heart in my throat. “I really can’t do this.” I try to climb off of him, but he holds onto me.

I shove against him. “Let me go, Tyler. That’s what you want anyway.”

His arms snake around my waist. My hands are forced back onto his shoulders, and while I try to shove his hard body away from mine, I fail. “Stop. Let me go.”

“You stop, Bella. Just stop.”

“Seriously, Tyler,” I can feel tears piercing my eyes, which only serves to anger me more. I don’t cry—it’s not what the daughter who lost a mother and fears for her NASCAR driver father does. People like me learn to be tough, learn how to block things out, but I swear this man has the power to make me cry rivers and bleed oceans. “I can’t do this. You never wanted a girlfriend, let alone a bride. Your father knew that. He won. I lost.”

“Bella, baby. That is not what is going on. I don’t want out.”

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