Page 159 of Dance of Defiance

“You have to be something other than straight to beouted, motherfucker.”

My jaw tenses. “You had no right to?—”

“Maybe not,” he snaps. “I’ll own that. But wereyouever going to break off that disaster of an engagement that neither of you wanted?”

I purse my lips. “I…I don’t know,” I mumble.

Val glares at me. “Yeah, you do. The answer isno. So, you’re fucking welcome for getting you out of that.”

I take a shaky breath as I step toward him. “Please,” I murmur. “I… Iamthankful for that. You’re right,” I shake my head. “I never would have ended things with Dasha.” I take another step toward him. “And I’m so glad and thankful that you did that for me…”

Val’s perfect lips thin as his eyes pierce into mine. “What do youwant, Roman?” he mutters. “Why are you here?”

“To apologize,” I say weakly, trying to force a smile. “I…I’m sorry.”

He arches a brow. “Is there more to this apology?” He looks me up and down. "Or…not? "

My brows knit. “Come on!” I blurt at him. “This shit is new to me, okay?!”

“Interacting rationally with humans?” he snaps. “Talking about your feelings? Or do you mean fucking a guy.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. I hate how fucking attractive he is when he’s mad like this. How the blue of his eyes glints like turquoise fire. How his chiseled, steely jaw tightens in such a masculine way.

“D, all of the above?” I say with another attempt at a smile.

Val shakes his head. “That’s a you problem. Figure it the fuck out.”

He turns, hefts his bag back onto his shoulder, and starts to walk away.

“Fuck you!” I hurl at his back, fury dripping from my lips as I glare at him. “Just…fuck you!”

Fuck you for sucking me into your goddamn orbit.

Fuck you for consuming me.

Fuck you for making me want you and miss you so fucking much when you’re gone.

Val whirls on me, his nostrils flaring. “Fuckme?No, Princess Closet Case, fuckyou,” he growls. “For the record, I can smell the vodka on your breath from here.”

I bristle, feeling both anger and shame slam into me. “Why the fuck does that matter?”

“It matters because you’re wasted!” he yells.

“So fucking what!?”

I startle as he surges forward. My breath catches as his heat and his tobacco, leather, and sage scent slams into me, pulling every fucking trigger I have. His blue eyes glint in the orange glow of the single streetlight, and something cracks and shatters in me when he jabs a finger in my face.

“Had to drink a whole fucking gallon of liquid courage just to talk to me? To fuckingapologize?”

I shake my head. “No,” I murmur. “To do this.”

I don’t know where I get the nerve. Not from the vodka, that's for sure. Maybe from somewhere deep inside me that only opens and unclenches when he’s with me. Or maybe it’s his nearness and his scent and his whole essence flowing into me right now.

Whatever it is, I don’t think.

I justdo.

I grab the front of his shirt, slide a hand up his jaw into his hair, and yank him to me, slamming our mouths together.