Page 19 of Dirty Dillon

I expect Dillon to take me to his house, but instead we’re headed toward mine. So much for ill-advised decisions.

When we arrive at my house, Dillon walks me to the door. I turn to thank him for inviting me, but the words lodge in my throat as I meet his intense gaze.

He bends down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss that steals my breath. I cling to him, overcome. He makes me feel things so deeply. I think I’ve been skimming the surface of my entire life before I met him.

“Don’t be late tomorrow. Unless you want my handprint blazoned on your ass.”

“Hmmm...” I pretend to think about it. “I guess we’ll find out in the morning.”

“You’re a brat.”

“Only for you,” I tease, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace. Our eyes lock, and I see a hint of amusement dancing in his dark depths.

“Damn right only for me.”

The possessive tone makes me wish he’d have taken me to his house, but I understand he’s trying to honor my slow down from this morning.

I’ve never been with a guy who wasn’t always racing for the finish line.

“Goodnight, Cressida,” he whispers, pressing one last tender kiss to my forehead before stepping back.

“Goodnight, Dillon.” I watch him walk to his truck, feeling a sense of loss as he drives away.

The door to my house closes with a soft snick, and before I can even process the events of the evening, I hear my father’s voice coming from his study. A chill runs down my spine as I realize he’s not alone—Blake is with him.

Gross gross gross.

“Blake, I understand your concerns, but...” My father’s voice echoes down the hallway. A feeling of unease washes over me, replacing the contentment from moments ago.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I tiptoe toward my father’s study. I press myself against the wall, straining to catch every word of their conversation in case there is something that explains why he is trying to fail Tempest.

“Patience, Blake,” my father says, his voice firm yet reassuring. “Give her time.”

I strain to hear more. What are they talking about?

“Fine,” Blake replies through gritted teeth. “Just remember what’s at stake here, Hamilton.” Blake’s frustration tightens his voice. “I’ve done my part. I’ve kept my mouth shut about your...indiscretions. When will she be mine?”

“Cressida is a strong-willed young woman,” my father says. “But she knows her place.”

Cressida? They’re talking about me?

Blake snarls, “You promised her to me. Told me she wouldn’t be a problem. That she would willingly come to my bed.”

What the hell? His bed? My father promised me to havesexwith his lawyer?

My father uses his politician voice. “And she will. And won’t she be worth the wait, Blake? She’s ripe for the taking, and once you have her, she’ll be yours to do with as you please.”

My mouth begins overproducing saliva like I am about to throw up. How could he do this to me? Talk about me this way? Promise me to someone like Blake? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

Dads don’t do this. It’s wrong on every level.

“Fine.” Blake exhales sharply. “But if this drags on for much longer...well, let’s just say I won’t be so understanding.”

I can’t stand here any longer, listening to these men discuss me like an object to be owned and controlled. Traded. Used.

I storm out of the house, my heart pounding in my ears and my fury blinding me to anything else.

I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, my hands shaking as I grip the wheel. My mind races, searching for somewhere to go, someone to turn to. But there really isn’t a question, is there?

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