Page 20 of Dirty Dillon

Dillon.

The drive to his house is a blur, my thoughts consumed by the pain of my father’s betrayal and the rage that courses through my veins. When I finally pull up outside of Dillon’s house, I take a deep breath to steady myself, then step out of the car and march toward his front door.

I raise my hand and knock loudly, my heart pounding as I wait for him to answer. The door swings open to reveal Dillon, clad only in blue jeans, the top button undone as if he hastily pulled them on.

The happy trail of dark hair that leads from his belly button to the waistline of his jeans draws my eye, and I gasp without meaning to. Dillon’s eyes rake up my body, and then his gaze locks with mine.

“Cress?”

If he just pulled on his pants...what if he’s not alone? What if I interrupted him with another woman? Oh, God. What am I even doing here?

“Cress?” he repeats.

“Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

I turn to go, but he reaches for me. “Princess, wait. What’s wrong?”

I pause, my heart racing as I turn back to face him. I can feel my hesitation crumbling, my need for him overwhelming my fear and uncertainty.

He pulls me into his arms, and I cling to him, breathing in his scent, His chest is warm against my cheek.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice low and gentle as he strokes my hair.

I just want to pretend it all away. And I will. Dillon does not need all my drama. He’s got enough going on. “Nothing.”

He pulls away and gives me one of his patented Stern Dillon looks.

That’s so much better than a pity look. I just want to forget. And Dillon will be excellent in that capacity. Like drinking the whole keg to myself, without all the beer burps and vomit.

I would rather just have a good time and deal with the mess tomorrow. “I’ve been very naughty, Mr. Duke.”

“Is that right?”

I nod. “I’m here for my punishment.”

He steps back. “Get in the fucking house.”

After I’m inside, he slams the front door and locks it behind him.

“Boy, I’m in for it now, aren’t I?” I flip my hair and make sure my boobs are thrust to maximum capacity.

Dillon crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re something else.”

This isn’t exactly what I was expecting. He’s less stern and more pissed off. “What do you mean? I figured you would be happy I turned myself in. Don’t you want to, how did you word it, emblazon my ass with your handprint?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. All of twenty minutes ago. What kind of trouble could you have possibly gotten into in the twenty minutes since I left you on your front porch.”

My chin juts out on its own. “That’s the thing about me. I can find trouble anywhere I go. Didn’t I already tell you about my predilection for fucking up?”

He rakes his hands through his hair, and I’m definitely distracted by the way his muscles flex and strain with the movement.

And that happy trail. I want to follow it to its source. It’s like a road map calling to me:This way, Cressida. Come this way.

Pun intended.

“Woman.” Dillon looks skyward for guidance, and then points to the couch. “Sit.”

“Dillon...”