Chapter 12 - Losing Control

Prisana kept her elbow folded against the window as she peered out through the window. Dane fumbled with the radio, tuning into good old heavy metal rock music. Her body flinched as the loud screeching electric guitar blasted through the car.

This earned a dirty look. Not the kind of sexy 'I want you in my bed' look that he was used to. She reached out her hand to change the station to country music. He despised country music. The beats and melody were always ridiculously slow and spewed romantic nonsense that did not fit his current agitating mood.

Dane was supposed to rid of her and long gone. Long gone back into the desolate cabin. Not acting like a fake fiance. Not driving her to stay with him to Bailey's cottage. Not anticipating her small petite body writhing in pleasure underneath his. He changed the station back to heavy metal. She changed it back to country.

All he could do was groan.

"You have terrible tastes."

"I do have terrible tastes, in the man I claim to be engaged to. We were never going to work out if you hate country music."

"We were also never going to work out if you don't like rock music."

"That's fine. I never wanted us to work out anyway. Well then again, my real marriage was never going to work out."

This was the part where Dane was supposed to ask her about her life. Ask her why the marriage wouldn't work out. Console her. Go in for the kill and grace her with the ultimate pleasure of her life. But he wasn't that guy. He couldn't be that guy. She could look elsewhere if that's what she wanted.

The rest of the drive continued on in silence. Dane pulled the monster truck into the rocky dirt driveway, overlooking vast greenish blue waters. Again. Memories of more vulnerable years surface.

Bailey's little old cottage is where his family used to take their family vacation in the summers. They would stay from the start to the end of summer until their skin would fade to bronze and hair would discolor to brittle strands.

Dane stepped onto the porch and soaked in the broken tire swing hanging at the tree, sticks standing upright where sand capsules were buried, and found that same large circular stump near the landing.

"What?" Prisana poked her head from the side and covered the stump. "Feeling nostalgic after living like a caveman for how long?"

"Caveman is rather rude. I prefer Woodsman."

"Do all woodsman have scars, long hair, and scruffy beards? I think not."

Prisana was back to her usual chattering self. She continued to ask questions to answers the both of them knew would go unanswered. Dane opened the wooden door and didn't bother to leave it open. Her voice cut off as the door slammed shut on her face.

He didn't open doors for people. Didn't like letting people in his life or trying to act like a gentleman on the pretense of keeping appearances. His own appearance should be a far cry from the kept, neat, and orderly men she was used to.

Dane could hear the door shut harshly from behind. She was merely still a young girl, at most a few years younger. He wouldn't be surprised if she threw a tantrum. But Prisana didn't. No she never threw a tantrum from the moment he met her. Instead she brushed past his shoulder which instead threw her off balance. She cursed under her breath, then stalked up the stairs.

His male attention was distracted for a long moment. He indecently watch her plump buttocks bounce with each step, following every curve and imagining every possible position he could put her in on those stairs.

No foreplay. No sweet whispers. Just sealing her inquisitive lips with his own.

Dane would rip off her clothes right then and there, grasp her sweet nubs into his hands then without warning, enter into the sweet folds of her opening. Over and over again until their labored breathing matched to one.

God, he wanted her.

Even when soiled goods approached him in that tavern, he didn't crave for that woman as much as he did her but she was too good for him.

She was someone else's precious goods. Yes, he had to keep reminding himself of that.

Prisana stopped mid way through the stairs. She turned around to face him with mouth pouting, clenched fists. The door slamming shut on her face must have crossed the line. Pushed that button and forced her to finally erupt.

"Dane, I really do pity your future wife to be," she drawled out, her voice cool and calm.

Dane's body reacted even further just by the sound of her angry voice. He was going insane if a woman's voice was enough to drive him mad with desire.

"You?" Dane joked, earning an even dirtier look than before.

"Thank god, no. I don't know what happened before I met you but you're intent on pushing people away. Intent on hurting me so you can rid of me. I know that you're afraid that if you get close to someone--close to me then you'll break that brooding facade of yours and whatever else you're trying to hold back inside."

"And your point is?" he asked, tone no longer playful but irked.

Irked that some woman he met sullied and broken herself was telling him he would break. Telling him the truth he did not want to open his eyes to.

But there was one thing that she was wrong about. Dane didn't want to get close to her but far away from her as possible. That's what his mind said.

Yet his heart and body were gravitating toward her. Prisana's anger betrayed her body as a sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes pooled with lust and ignited him forward.

By now, Dane was already at the foot of the stairs and Prisana, on top of the very last step. He watched as her legs shook in fear or desire, he would soon hope to find out.

"Your future wife to be has a lot on her plate from emotionally damaged to intolerable and I'm glad that I'm not her."

Dane reached her side in seconds. "That's right. You will never be that woman. Couldn't even make it to the altar."

Prisana gasped, hurt flashing across her pretty brown eyes. Hurt that stabbed his guts for words he couldn't control.

For once, Dane was losing control, baring his fangs, and tossing out all irrational thought. She raised her hand and slapped his face. The slap stung enough to make him feel like a despicable beast. He could have evaded the slap.

He didn't evade it because he deserved it for what was going to come next.