Play You: A Second Chance/Single Dad Romance (Rebel Ink Book 4) Page 4

  She's got the same unique violet eyes that I used to stare into for hours, but there's something darker within them now. She's got the same slightly crooked nose from where she broke it falling off her bike as a kid, but her freckles are much fainter. Her lips are still the same—plump, kissable, probably sweet—only now they're stained a dark red.

  I shift a little in my seat, becoming uncomfortable as I think about how those dark lips might look wrapped around my cock.

  "And, sir. What can I get for you?"

  Feeling two sets of eyes staring at me, I drag my head from my dirty thoughts and back to the here and now.

  I look up—not at the server who's patiently waiting for me, but at the woman opposite me.

  "Ribeye, rare."

  She holds my stare, her earlier hesitation dissipating before my eyes. Surely, she doesn't feel safe right now. I might not be my father or Cruz, but I'm hardly a fluffy fucking teddy bear.

  "Oh," I say when Freya is about to disappear from the room. "And a bottle of..." I trail off, hoping that Piper will fill in the blank for me.

  "Shiraz," she says, reading my silent order.

  "You've got it."

  Silence descends, although it's heavy with the millions of questions we both have.

  "Not married either then, I see." I nod to her bare left hand.

  "N-no."

  An uncomfortable silence falls over us. Piper squirms in her seat as my eyes remain on her despite the fact that she can't hold my stare.

  "Are you scared of me?"

  Her eyes fly up and her lips part, but she must think better of her response because whatever her knee-jerk reaction was going to be is swallowed.

  She squares her shoulders, trying to look brave, but I see the chink in her armour. "Should I be?"

  "After what you did? Yeah, you should."

  She visibly shudders, but before either of us gets to say any more, Freya reappears with Piper's bottle of wine.

  "Just pour it," Piper snaps when she's offered to taste it. Freya pales slightly but does as she's told.

  "Sir?" she offers, turning to me.

  "No, thank you. Another Coke would be great."

  "You ordered a bottle knowing you weren't going to have any. Why?"

  "Why not? Why do we do the things we do?" I raise a brow and Piper fights to keep her eyes locked on mine.

  Reaching out, she takes her glass and swallows down two huge gulps of wine. I'm sure she doesn't even taste it.

  "Taking the edge off?"

  "I'm not sure anything could do that right now," she mutters, much to my amusement.

  A part of me is glad she's scared. Another part, the naïve eighteen-year-old boy who still lives inside me, wants to kick my own arse for doing this to her. But I need to keep my head. I'm no longer a young boy handing his heart to someone for the first time. I'm now a man, staring at the woman who betrayed him in the most deceitful way.

  Was my father right to go after her and her family the way he did after the truth was out? No, probably not. But having stepped down from his MC, I'm not exactly in a place to argue with how he handles his business.

  A small smile curls up at one side of my lips, but she looks anything but happy about this situation. If anything, the longer we sit here, the more terrified she gets.

  I study her as she shifts in her seat and sips her wine. What I wouldn't give to know her thoughts right now. To know what really happened and how she feels sitting before me once again.

  I could demand answers, but I fear she wouldn't open up. Not yet, anyway. In the end, I go with another pressing question.

  "Why'd you come back?"

  "You're assuming I left," she sasses, tipping her glass once more and emptying it.

  "Well..."

  "Yeah, I left. But London is my home. I couldn't see myself being happy anywhere else."

  "Even with the threat of being caught?"

  "It appears so, doesn't it?"

  "You're aware of what will happen when my father catches up to you?"

  She shrugs. "I refuse to spend my life running from my mistakes, Dawson. This place is my home. It's where I'm happy. I'll just have to cross that bridge when it comes to it." She swallows nervously, both of us more than aware that the bridge is closer than ever. All I've got to do is mention her name to my father and he's going to be out for blood.

  I'm still trying to formulate a response that doesn't give away my intentions of not going straight to the old man about this when we're interrupted once more by Freya delivering our dinner.

  I thought securing a private room here would mean we'd get time alone; I wasn't expecting to have our server join us every few minutes. Maybe I should have just taken her home where I really could have dragged the information I need out of her. And scare her shitless in the process.

  You need her, Dawson. Keep her on your side.

  "Would you like anything else?" Freya asks politely before backing away from the table.

  "No, thank you," Piper answers while I just nod in agreement.

  "Okay, well... enjoy."

  The second the door closes behind her, the tension becomes heavy once more.

  Piper's stare burns into me, but in my need to appear unaffected by her presence, I pick up my knife and fork and dig in.

  The steak, as always in this place, is perfect. It's almost good enough to distract me from my company. Almost.

  "Are you going to eat?" I ask when I'm halfway through and she's still sitting there, staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face.

  "I... um... yeah," she stutters before picking up her own cutlery and delicately cutting a piece and placing it into her mouth.

  I watch as it passes her lips and she chews. Her eyes roll back slightly as the flavour hits her, but it's not until her tongue sneaks out to lick away the juices from her lips that I realise I may have a problem.

  I shut down any chance at a dessert—not that I think Piper could stomach one, seeing as she left half her dinner—and instead request the bill.

  We might be more alone back here, but the interruptions are beginning to annoy the fuck out of me.

  "Ready?" I ask once I've paid, pushing my chair out behind me.

  She finishes her current glass of wine before pushing to stand with me. "Sure. I'll just call an Uber."

  The second she has her phone in her hand, I snatch it away from her and slide it into my pocket.

  "What the fuck?" she gasps, her eyes flitting between my hand and my pocket.

  "You don't need an Uber. Tell me your address. I'll take you home."

  "N-no. I really don't think—" I step right up to her, our bodies only a breath apart.

  "Tell me your address," I grate out. "I'll take you home." My voice is low and leaves little room for argument.

  "Dawson, I—"

  My hand lifts, and she drags in a surprised breath when my fingers wrap around the nape of her neck. A shudder races down her spine at the contact.

  Lowering my head, I allow my lips to brush her ear. "Do you really think you're in any kind of position to argue with me right now?"

  She swallows loudly as her trembling begins to get more violent.

  "Scared, baby girl?" I whisper, using the name I used to call her back in the day.

  "No," she spits.

  "Funny, because your body is telling me something else."

  Without waiting for a response, I spin her around and direct her through the tables and diners out in the main restaurant until we come to a stop beside my bike.

  "Here." I hand her my spare helmet.

  She looks over her shoulder back at the restaurant before gazing down the street.

  "If you're waiting for someone to rescue you, I think you're going to be bitterly disappointed."

  "I'm not..." I raise a brow, and it successfully cuts off her argument.

  "Helmet, then I need your address."

  Thankfully, she does as she's told, and after doing the strap up, she rattles off
her address.

  "Brilliant. I can't wait to check the place out," I say as she climbs on the bike behind me. She stills at my words, but she doesn't try to argue. "Hold tight. All that wine might have loosened your grip."

  I regret the words the second her hands brush my sides. Electric bolts explode around my body from the contact, but none stronger than the ones that shoot directly to my cock.

  "Motherfucker," I mutter as I turn the engine.

  Her arms wrap around my waist, her breasts pressing into my back and her thighs gripping my hips tightly.

  My fingers tighten around my handlebars until my knuckles turn white.

  Her touch shouldn't feel this powerful after all this time. After all the years I've spent hating her.

  6

  Piper

  I shouldn't have drunk the wine. I knew that before the first drop even hit my lips. But I did it anyway, because Dawson's presence is too much to handle sober. The way he looked at me… It was disarming. I have no idea if he wants to fuck me or kill me. And the longer I sat there, staring into his dark eyes, the more I was realising that I wasn't really that bothered with which way he went with it, if it meant getting to spend more time with him.

  He might think everything that was between us was a lie, that it was all fake so I could do my father's dirty work. But it wasn't. Everything I felt for him was real. Too fucking real, which is why I now feel like my entire world has tilted a few degrees.

  I also shouldn't have got on the back of his bike. Or wrapped my arms around him like I once used to. But I knew he was right. The effects of the wine are starting to hit me full force, and I'd be stupid to trust myself to cling onto the small handles by my sides. I might be okay with Dawson ending it all for me, but my imagination has that happening while his hands are on me. Falling off the back of his bike and getting squished by a London bus isn't my idea of a good way to go.

  He flies through the streets, heading toward my building.

  Part of me wanted to give him a fake address. It would have been so easy to give him Lisa's and to pretend I live there with her. But I don't want to drag her into this. The Royal Reapers wouldn't think twice about hurting an innocent in order to serve their vengeance.

  In what feels like only a few short minutes, he's pulling the bike toward the parking outside my building. The vibrations of the bike disappear the second he kills the engine, and every muscle in my body locks up.

  What happens now?

  He's already alluded to the fact that I'm going to allow him upstairs.

  Is that where he's intending on ending this? Leaving me dead in my flat for Lisa or Henry to find in a few days when I don't turn up to work?

  My stomach is doing somersaults as I climb down from his bike and pull the helmet from my head.

  I haven’t been on the back of a bike in years, but it feels as natural as if I only did it yesterday. I guess that's what happens when you spend your childhood on one.

  I stand awkwardly as I hand the helmet back to him once he's removed his own, indicating that he wasn't lying about seeing where I live.

  "Are you going to invite me in for coffee?" he asks, his tone a little lighter than the one he used as we left the restaurant… the one that had tingles erupting in my lower stomach.

  I remember him using that deep tone to whisper in my ear as he made love to me. He used to tell me that it didn't matter what my surname was, that once we'd finished school we'd run away and be together like we were meant to be. But that was then, back when he thought my intentions with him were entirely honourable. Now he knows the truth, and I know he isn’t about to start whispering any promises other than where he might hide my body.

  "I wasn't aware you needed an invite. I thought you just took what you wanted," I shoot back over my shoulder as I head for the entrance.

  He chuckles behind me, and it makes my thighs clench with desire. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think once or twice about how his beard would feel down there while he stared at me over the dining table in the restaurant.

  Fuck, I really shouldn't have drunk that wine.

  "Good to know that you're learning, baby girl."

  I shiver at his nickname for me but swallow down the feelings. The teenage girl it awakens within me needs to stay asleep. There is no young love or promises of a happily ever after anymore.

  We're adults full of hurt and betrayal, and loneliness, although I can’t speak for Dawson on the last one, but it's a bad mix, and one that I already know shouldn't be combined with us alone in my flat.

  I've already made enough mistakes today, what's one more?

  I don't bother looking back to see if he's following me or if he's going to catch the door I just walked through. I know he's right there. I can feel his presence, his stare.

  I decide against the lift, telling myself that the extra few minutes walk up the stairs might help clear my head and allow me to formulate a plan, but really all I'm doing is putting off the inevitable.

  Lift or no lift, we're about to be alone in my small flat. Anything could be about to happen.

  He's had ideas spinning around his head since the moment he saw me at school earlier. I just wish I knew what they were.

  "This is... cute," he says as he follows me into my small open plan living area.

  I stifle a laugh. Hearing his deep, rough voice say the word ‘cute’ is comical.

  "Yeah, I guess." I didn't rent the place for the inside space. I chose it because of the small balcony and the view over the park beyond. The lack of outside space is the only thing I didn't miss about London in my time away.

  Movement behind has me spinning on my heels to see what he's doing. I find him lifting, studying, and then putting down the photo frames that sit on my dresser. His shoulders visibly tense as he stares at the photograph of me and my parents. I don't need to get closer to see that his eyes are trained on my father. He might hate me, but I know it's got nothing on how he must feel about him. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for his need for power and control.

  "He's gone." I don't mean for the words to come out loud, and I gasp when I realise that they did, effectively turning his dark stare on me.

  "Is he, though? I thought you were, and yet here you are standing here before me and breathing the same damn air as me."

  "They both died that day," I confirm, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. It might have been years ago, but whenever I think about how my parents went out it threatens to consume me.

  I should have been there with them. I was meant to die that day at the hands of Dawson's father.

  Not wanting him to see the tears burning the backs of my eyes, I spin away from him and walk to my kitchen.

  "Coffee?" I ask over my shoulder.

  "Sure. Black, no sugar."

  "Sweet enough, huh?"

  He laughs, although I don't hear any actual humour in it. "I think we both know that's not true, don't we, baby girl?"

  "I don't know. I remember a little sweetness." I regret the words the second they pass my lips. Damn wine loosening me up.

  "Maybe back then. I was young. Naïve. Easily played."

  I swallow the lump of fear that climbs up my throat as his footsteps begin to get closer.

  Hitting start on my coffee machine, I shrug off my jacket and throw it onto the counter, suddenly feeling like I walked into a sauna, not just my flat.

  The noise of the coffee machine fills the small space, but it's not enough to cover his footsteps or the tingles that race around my body at his proximity.

  Time seems to slow almost to a stop as he gets closer, but finally, the heat of his front burns down the length of my back.

  His hand lifts and he sweeps my hair away from my neck, tucking it over my shoulder. His breath caresses my sensitive skin as he drops his lips to the shell of my ear.

  "They might have indeed died that day, but what I want to know is why didn't you?"

  I swallow, desperately trying to get my brain to funct
ion and not just focus on how good his body feels pressed against mine.

  "He... he knew it was coming."

  "How?" he breathes, but despite the softness of his voice, it's impossible to miss the demand in his question.

  "I-I don't know. But that morning... he made me pack a bag. He gave me an address to put into my GPS and told me to never look back."

  "Where'd you go?" I tense at the question, not wanting to drag the woman into this who held me while I cried for my parents and the boy I loved but had wronged. We might not be blood-related, but for all intents and purposes, she's my family. She's all I've got.

  "Does it matter?"

  "I guess not."

  Silence stretches out between us for a few seconds as Dawson's fingers splay across my stomach.

  Oh God. How does this still feel so good?

  “I stood there and watched that day. Dad told me what you'd done, and he forced me to stand there and watch as your house burned.”

  A whimper falls from my lips as his hand begins to move upward.

  "I watched as they carried three bodies from that building once the flames were under control."

  His hand continues to rise, and I can't fight the gasp that rips past my lips as his fingertips brush one of my nipples.

  At my reaction, his hips push harder against me until my hip bones collide with the edge of the counter so I'm pinned between the two with no means of escape.

  His ascent doesn't stop until his hot, rough fingers wrap around my throat.

  Another whimper rumbles at his possessive move. I should probably find it threatening, but I don't.

  "Who was the other body, Piper?" His voice is barely audible as he breathes the question into my ear.

  His fingers tighten around my throat when I don't answer immediately.

  "Oh God," I moan. His grip, his heat, his scent. It's too much. My brain is misfiring when I know that I should at least attempt to have some control in this situation. But that's the thing about Dawson, the exact thing my father underestimated when he sent me in on my mission. He calls to me like no other. He affects me like no other.

  "Piper," he warns, "are you going to tell me what I need to know, or do I need to find another way to get it out of you?"