My tears fall before I can stop them. I would punch him if he deserved it. But he doesn’t.
“Joe,” I croak, reminded of the way he tried to appeal to me the night he came to visit me at my tour. Ever.
“Don’t Joe me. What the fuck are you doing? Tell me.” He gets into my face, tilting his chin up defiantly. “You barely know this person. You have no idea who he is. You’ve been with him for . . . what, three, four months?”
I don’t necessarily disagree with him. The progression of my relationship with Dom has been . . . well, unusual, some would say. Also, is Mercury in retrograde? Since when is surly, angry, unbearable Joe the voice of reason in my life?
“Look, I was put on the spot here.” I run a hand over my face. “Don’t be unfair.”
“Oh, I’m the one who is being unfair?” He arches an eyebrow diabolically. “That’s interesting. We make promises to each other. I change my plans for you. I rearrange my goddamn life around you. You disappear one day without as much as a ‘See you later.’ Fine. You told me why; not gonna hold it against you. You had a crisis, not that I knew that. Then you come back in the form of my brother’s fiancée. Please, tell me more about your fucking woes, Ever.”
“Don’t be an asshole. It’s not like I used your heart as a squishy toy. And back downstairs, we had an audience,” I hiss. “What was I supposed to say back there?”
“No,” he drawls blandly, looking at me like I’m a complete idiot. “Know that word? Starts with an N, ends with an O. People use it from time to time. No.”
“I use it. I used it on Dom before we started dating, because I still wasn’t over you!” I ball my hands into fists, slamming them against his chest. “You self-righteous asshole!”
But Joe soldiers on, not even acknowledging my words, and not budging an inch at the physical contact.
“。 . . though I’ll be honest, you seem to have a weakness when it comes to a Graves dick. You do know Dad is taken, right?”
I slap his right cheek. The sound of my palm against his flesh rings in my ears. When he looks back at me, deadly calm, a terrible smirk smears over his face. It is the first time I’ve seen Joe ugly. He reminds me of Rhett Butler in that scene when he leaves Scarlett O’Hara with a stolen, half-dead horse and a carriage full of people to fend for herself. This is the trouble with Joe. I never know if he loves me or hates me. If he is indifferent to me, or if he is just playing a game because he doesn’t want to get his feelings destroyed.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” He licks his lips, grinning devilishly. “Slap me.”
I swallow hard. “Why?”
“Because now I know how deep I’ve gotten under your skin. Just like the tattoo you were so scared of getting. Inked permanently. Not to be removed or lasered off.”
He grabs me by the throat with scary selfishness and kisses me. Hard.
My body is a series of volcanoes, blowing off one after the other. My spine, an endless row of dominos that fall piece by piece until my legs buck. Everything is hot and desperate and raw. His fingers curl around my neck, drawing me closer. My lips slam against his with a pained grunt. His tongue pries them open, not asking—demanding—to get inside. The fool that I am, I yield. His body is flushed with mine. I feel him everywhere. Down to my toes. He scrapes the inside of my mouth with his teeth, skimming the line between pleasure and pain. Marking me, making my lips deliberately swollen.
We kiss with such passion I feel like we’re both about to combust. But he tastes wrong. Not like that night in Spain. Like anger and vengeance and hate. Like everything I feel toward myself for not being proactive about starting to fix the mess also known as my so-called life.
I push him away. “No!”
Even though I did the pushing, I’m also the one who stumbles backward from the impact. I clap my hand over my mouth. “Holy shit, what have we done?”
Joe drops his head back, face tilted at the ceiling. He looks fed up, and I can’t blame him.
“Kissed. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”
“Stop being a smart-ass. But I—”
“Let me guess, regret it? I’m noticing a theme here.”
“How can you be so blasé?”
He drags a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your precious boyfriend. Sorry, fiancé. Just another secret to toss into Pandora’s box. Well, well. This marriage is going to have quite the turbulent start. I’ll save you all my prayers.”