Chapter Twelve

As Daniel rode the elevator to Story’s floor, he repeated the promise he’d made to himself countless times since Saturday morning. They were going to have a normal date. He could keep his indecent thoughts—and hands—to himself for the next five hours. And when they returned from Queens later tonight, he would wait until she invited him inside, not making any assumptions. He’d spent a lot of time thinking since last he’d seen her and he’d come to one conclusion. If he wanted Story to take him seriously, he needed to prove to her that sex didn’t rule his every waking thought and action. Right now, she viewed him as someone who played the field, someone only interested in her body. He hadn’t helped discourage that assumption and it was time to rectify it.

Furthermore, he owed it to Jack to act like a gentleman with his daughter. He’d failed in doing so up until this point, but it ended now. Going behind his mentor’s back was bad enough.

Five hours. He would charm her, show her his thoughtful side. Brent insisted that women went crazy for men who were sensitive, though, Jesus, when the hell had he started considering Brent’s advice? He was usually the one doling out words of wisdom concerning the opposite sex. Maybe he and Story could discuss a book or something. He hadn’t read a book in a while, but he could wing it. After all, he worked best under pressure.

On Friday night, he’d completely bullied her. Dragged her from the bar, given her hell for her little onstage performance, and roughed her up in bed. Tonight, he would be Mr. Tranquility. Nothing would rattle him. By the end of the date, she’d see him in a new light. Daniel, the thoughtful, fun-loving Mets fan. He pulled off complicated negotiations on a weekly basis. He could absolutely pull this off.

He stepped off the elevator with a little extra bounce in his step. Then he saw the plastic-wrapped bouquet of red roses sitting outside her door. Roses he hadn’t sent. And just like that, his sea of tranquility turned into the perfect storm.

“Oh, hell no.” Snatching the arrangement off the floor so fast that one of the blooms fell to the ground, he searched for a note among the greenery.

For Story. —Fisher

Daniel pounded on the door, note crumpled in his fist. A few seconds later, she answered smiling. But it quickly disappeared when she glimpsed his expression. Dressed in the jean skirt he remembered all too well from their first encounter, and a white tank top, she looked mouthwateringly fresh and beautiful. For some reason, that only made his irritation grow.

Eyes landing on the flowers, she pursed her lips in confusion. “Okay, a puzzle. I like puzzles. You bought me flowers, but you’re clearly angry with me. Were they that expensive?”

“I didn’t buy them.” Daniel took little comfort in her look of surprise. He couldn’t think past the foreign emotions burning through his gut. “They’re from him.”

“Him…who?” Recognition dawned in her eyes. “Fisher? Why would he send me flowers?” She shook her head. “Roses, at that. He always bought me sunflowers.”

Irrational anger ate at him. Daniel could see his reaction for what it was, but the momentary clarity did nothing to counteract his single-minded jealousy. He never let himself get irrational. It accomplished nothing. Why, then, did the thought of another man sending her flowers make him want to punch a hole in the wall?

Because she doesn’t belong with you. She belongs with the kind of man you’ll never be. The kind of man who sends flowers. And why the hell hadn’t he thought to bring her flowers? He’d gotten lucky with this date falling unexpectedly into his lap, and now her ex-fiancé was showing him up from across the damn country.

Well, he was the only one there and he would pleasure her the only way he knew how. He backed Story into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. As they stared at each other, the air thickened, closing in and cocooning them until it felt as though only they existed. Sexual awareness, always present between them, beat powerfully in his ears. He watched as Story registered the change in the atmosphere, relished the way her lips parted just slightly on a tiny inhale, her eyes dropping below the waistband of his jeans.

Desire mixing with uncertainty on her face, as though she sensed an air of danger in him and liked it. “If you came to argue, maybe you should just leave.”

“You don’t want me to leave.” Inwardly, he flinched at his dark tone. He shouldn’t be talking to her like that, knew he needed to rein it in, yet the need to assert his claim on her battered him from the inside. He felt the calm, rational part of his brain desert him and a cruel, possessive alter ego take over. Toning it down wasn’t an option.

“Why don’t you tell me what your problem is?”

Daniel moved toward her, but she held her ground, eyes shining up at him defiantly. The urge to kiss her, to let his need overtake his anger, almost won. But not quite. “Yesterday on the phone, you wanted to say something dirty to me. I told you to remember it and tell me later. Now’s the time. I want to hear it.”

“No.”

He ran a teasing finger along her neckline. “Would you like me to persuade the words out of you?” Her breasts rose and fell in a shaky breath, beautifully, temptingly, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. He leaned forward to whisper against her mouth. “I think you want that very badly. Missed my hands, my mouth, my cock, didn’t you, baby?”

A needy whimper passed her lips, but her eyes squeezed shut, as if gathering strength. Then she looked up at him with a familiar expression. She was daring him again, just like two nights before. Do your worst. He felt stripped bare under her blue-green gaze. It threatened to topple years of pent-up feelings like dominoes, so he rebelled against it. To give in to her dare would be emotional suicide.

Walk away. You’re tarnishing her just by being near her.

No. He couldn’t walk away any more than he could stop breathing. In a burst of speed, Daniel grasped her around the waist and dropped her onto the dining room table, her bare thighs slapping on the surface. He spoke around the steel band gripping his throat. “Now, gorgeous girl. What dirty little secret were you going to tell me? Let me know when I’m getting warm.” His thumbs drew lazy circles on the insides of her knees. “Were you going to tell me that you woke up after our night together, all tight and wet for me, wishing I was still there to take care of you?”

“No,” she moaned, her thighs parting ever so slightly wider in way he knew was unconscious for her, contradicting her words. She couldn’t help wanting him any more than he could help the dark, possessive cloud that had settled over him, guiding his actions.

“No?” He echoed against her neck, where he swirled patterns on her skin with his tongue. “Were you going to ask me to bite you harder next time? Perhaps on your hip or that sexy part of your thigh just beneath your ass.”

“M-maybe,” Story gasped, surprising him. He’d meant his words to shock her, but judging from the way she shifted restlessly on the table, they only served to arouse her further.

He swallowed the urge to spread her legs and pound away his frustration, jealousy, and lust. Just a little longer. “Were you going to tell me you’ve never been fucked so thoroughly in your life?”

“Yes, Daniel.”

A darkly primal growl originated in his belly and rumbled through his chest. Just a little further. He needed something more from her, but he could barely discern what that something was over the hunger blanketing his thoughts. Daniel slid his hand between her legs and crooked his middle finger just slightly. “Then I believe that grants me exclusive rights to this.”

Story gasped and pushed hard against his chest. For long moments, they stared at each other, attempting to catch their breath. Seeing the confusion on her face finally brought him out of his hostile state, to be immediately replaced by panic and self-loathing.

“Jesus, Daniel.” With jerky motions, she stood and straightened her skirt. “What is wrong with you?”

He dropped heavily into the dining room chair. “I don’t know. God, I’m so sorry.” He knew he should get up and leave the apartment, never contact her again. He’d be doing her a favor. She should be demanding he leave. Maybe she already had. He couldn’t remember.

Story ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I don’t understand why you felt the need to go there.”

What could he say? He’d been pushed over the edge by some goddamn flowers? He’d carefully constructed a persona that he slipped into around women, but around her, he couldn’t keep it up. Maybe this was the real him. If that was the case, she should be running in the opposite direction. “There is no explanation for the way you make me feel. A few days ago we were standing in front of a vending machine and now we’re here. Nothing so far has been…explainable.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “We were just supposed to talk about books, goddammit.”

Daniel looked up at her from his seated position, watching as she absorbed his words, determined his fate. Whatever she decided, he would take it like a man. He would fucking hate walking away from her, but he’d known from the beginning that she deserved better. And he’d just proven it to her beyond a shadow of a doubt. How everything had gone to absolute shit within ten minutes, he could hardly fathom.

“No one has exclusive rights to me. Except me.” She pierced him with a look. “You just made me feel…really cheap.”

He jerked as if she’d slapped him again. “Oh sunshine, if anyone’s cheap, it’s me.”

She swayed a little on her feet, his apology only seeming to upset her further. When Daniel couldn’t stand her silence anymore, he finally spoke up. “So what happens now?”

After a long, torturous moment when she stood debating, Story finally walked to the couch and picked up her purse. “I guess we go watch some goddamn baseball.”

…

On the half-hour ride to Queens they stayed mostly silent, Daniel glancing at her every few minutes as if she might throw open the passenger door on the highway and hurl herself into traffic to escape him. While she certainly wouldn’t go that far, she knew her decision to attend the baseball game with him after the scene in Jack’s apartment could be deemed highly questionable. Story liked the way Daniel took charge sexually and pushed the boundaries, but he’d gone overboard. She’d nearly demanded he leave regardless of his sincere apology, giving her some much-needed time to clear her mind, but he’d looked up at her with such naked misery on his face, she couldn’t do it.

Jack’s words had come back to her in that precise moment. He’s just another jackass with a badge. She’d realized then that Jack wasn’t the only one who believed such a thing about Daniel. Daniel wholeheartedly believed it, too. Kicking him out would have just proven it to him. And she saw more.

In a strange way, she found his jealousy kind of… comforting? Perhaps that wasn’t the correct word. One thing she knew for certain. Fisher wouldn’t have looked up from his phone long enough to notice flowers from another man, let alone comment on them.

She’d always wondered what Fisher was thinking. She didn’t have to wonder with Daniel. He appeared unable to hide his emotions from her. Maybe this was simply her way of justifying her decision to leave with him, because her excitement over spending time with him hadn’t been dampened by his display of possessiveness. It may have even heightened it. The realization startled her a little. Up until his ill-timed comment, she’d been undeniably turned on by his behavior.

He turned his car into the lot, flashing his badge to the security attendant. They were waved through to a reserved parking area loaded with squad cars and police cruisers. Daniel pulled into a spot and cut the engine, then slid out of the car to open her door. She took his offered hand and stepped out, her eyes sweeping over his somber expression. As before when he’d woken from the nightmare, she felt shaken by the need to soothe him.

He averted his gaze. “We’re uh, late. We should probably—”

Story placed her palm against his cheek, feeling his rough stubble on her palm. He looked confused by the gesture, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from sliding closed. She marveled over the effect a simple touch from her had on him.

“Kiss me, Daniel.”

An agonized sound left his throat, but his lips were on hers immediately, parting them for his tongue. The crowd’s roar emanated from the stadium just as his hands sank into her hair, tilting her head to give him a better angle. He backed her against the car and kissed her until they ran out of air. Breathing heavily, he pulled away.

“That’s the kind of greeting I want next time you pick me up for a date,” she murmured against his mouth. “It doesn’t matter who sent me flowers. I’m here with you now.”

With a shaky exhale, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I can’t pretend it doesn’t matter, Story. The way I acted was inexcusable, but I can’t pretend.”

She swallowed. “Good. I don’t want you to pretend with me.”

“I’m not sure I’m capable of it.” With a sigh, he pulled away to lock the car. Taking her hand, he led her out of the parking lot and through a side entrance into the stadium, showing his tickets to an elderly man with a bar-code scanner.

Seeing the field for the first time, Story actually gasped. It looked completely different than on television. Huge and colorful, like it could suck you in. Their seats were so close to the action, she could practically see the sweat glistening on the players’ foreheads. Energy radiated from the already-seated crowd as they cheered for the next player up to bat.

She whipped around to face Daniel and found him already watching her. “You didn’t tell me they were playing the Padres! Now I have to cheer against you.”

Finally, her obvious enjoyment seemed to relax him and he smiled. “I get it, they’re your hometown team, but I’d appreciate if you kept the shit-talking to a minimum. Someone I know might see me.”

“Oh, you’d be ashamed of me. I see.” She considered the field, then turned back to him with a grin. “This calls for a wager.”

He smirked. “Name your terms, blondie.”

“So cocky! Okay, if the Padres win…”

“Won’t happen.”

The man next to him grunted in agreement.

“If the Padres win, you have to wear a Yankees hat for an entire day. Outside, in the world. You can’t hide in your apartment. I want witnesses.”

His mouth dropped open, but he quickly shut it. “Fine. Like I said, it won’t happen anyway.” She smiled as if to say you never know. “How did you know about my hatred for the pinstripes?”

“Isn’t it customary for a Mets fan?”

“Yes,” the guy next to them answered without removing his attention from the game. Story giggled while Daniel shook his head.

“So what about me? What do you want if the Padres win?”

His eyes narrowed on their eavesdropper in disgust, as if knowing he couldn’t say what he really wanted out loud. “How about a picture? You in a Mets jersey.”

“Done.” Smiling, she turned back to the game.

Leaning close, Daniel whispered against her ear. “You know what kind of picture I’m talking about. If you don’t send me the one I want the first time, I’ll be forced to take it myself.”

Even though a night breeze flowed through the stadium, cooling the July air, Story grew hot just hearing his softly spoken words. Unconsciously, she crossed her legs, unaware of the telling motion until Daniel licked his lips in response.

“Are you trying to distract me from my first baseball game?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

She arched an eyebrow.

With a smile, Daniel laced his fingers with hers and sat back to watch the game, mercifully shutting off his twenty-four-hour sex death-ray stare. Still, even the feel of his fingers against hers felt sensual. It didn’t help matters that in battered jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked good enough to eat. Sensing her discomfort, he winked at her from under the brim of his Mets hat, signaling a passing vendor for two beers.

Story briskly changed the subject. “So, what books were you prepared to discuss with me?”

He choked on a sip of beer. “Jesus, that’s the first time you’ve ever actually looked or sounded like a teacher.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Daniel stressed, “not a single teacher looked like you when I went to school. Might have shown up more often if they had.”

“Oh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” He watched her closely as she took a sip of beer. “So it must be hard. Wrangling a bunch of kindergartners all day.”

“It can be,” she agreed, smiling at the thought of her rowdy pack of kids. “Probably not as difficult as hostage negotiation.”

“No one ever takes a hostage during class? Give me a snack pack or Malibu Barbie gets it?”

Story shook her head. “You’re showing your age. They all have iPods now. I haven’t seen a Barbie since I was in kindergarten.”

“Seriously? Who is confusing the boys about female anatomy, then?”

“You’ve always been a peeker, I see.”

“Guilty as charged.” Smiling, he took a long gulp of his beer. “Other than confiscating iPods, what’s the hardest part of being a teacher?”

“Well, they basically have no filter. Whatever pops into their head comes right out of their mouths.”

“Sounds like Brent,” he commented drily. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve heard?”

Tilting her head, she thought about it. “Will Gergitch. Cutest little thing with glasses. Never said a word during class unless I dragged it out of him. Until one afternoon, the principal stops by class to say hello to the students. Will politely shakes her hand and blurts, ‘My mom says you’re not qualified to be the principal of a shoe box filled with shit.’”

Story watched with pleasure as Daniel nearly spit out his beer. “You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not.”

He raised his plastic cup. “To Will Gergitch. American hero.”