He frowned, trying to follow her thoughts. “No. I’ve told him enough that he knows they fucked me up. But only you know what she did.”
She shook her head, then looked back at him with a sad smile. “Some, maybe. But not everything. Not yet.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how the hell they’d gotten back on this topic. “It’s not because I don’t trust you, or because I don’t want to tell you. I do. Hell, I need to.” He hoped she knew how much he meant those words. But it was so damn hard, because every time he thought about what happened in that dark room with that psychotic bitch, he got pulled back in. Lost the little pieces of himself that he’d reclaimed.
Remembered just how fucked up he was—and why.
“Dallas, we—”
“Christ, Jane,” he snapped. “Why are we talking about this? What the hell does the Woman have to do with—”
He cut himself off and stared at her. “The Woman? You can’t possibly think that the Woman is sending these letters?”
But she was nodding, so clearly she did think that. Which would be absolutely ridiculous except for the fact that it actually made some sense.
“It’s been seventeen years.” He realized that he was simply stating a fact, not raising the years as an argument against her theory. Because, goddammit, if he weren’t so close to it—if the Woman hadn’t messed with his head so damn much that he’d do anything to keep her the fuck out of it—maybe he would have seen the possibility, too.
“I know how long it’s been.” She spoke softly and steadily, as if she knew that every word hurt him. “But we were both in that cell, Dallas. We both know these people. They were cold. Calculating. Tenacious. Smart. Prepared. More than that, she was a psycho. A seventeen year wait is nothing to someone that warped.”
“I don’t know,” he said, but the words were only for show. He knew, all right. Even if she was wrong, it was a damn good guess.
“We need to at least consider it,” she said. “And—and we need to talk about her, too. About what happened.”
“No.” This time the protest was real. “Not now. I don’t want her in my head.”
“You need to talk about it.”
He thought of the memories that had been haunting his dreams since Liam gave him the news about Colin. “I said no.”
She threw her hands up, her fingers curled like she wanted to punch the air—or him. “Dammit—you always do this. Anytime it looks like I’m winning an argument you dig in. It drives me nuts.”
“I dig in? You’re the one pushing and pushing.”
“God, you’re infuriating.”
“Are you talking to me as my lover or as my sister?”
She whirled on him, her expression ferocious. “Are you trying to push me away? Because it won’t work. You think you’re the only one trying to deal with all this? That’s bullshit.”
She marched right up to him and poked him in the chest so hard he winced. “You’re the one who kept me here, remember? I was trying to get the hell away from this place so that maybe—maybe—I could get my head around the fact that we have to live in this gray plastic bubble where we can’t touch or even look at each other in the real world because you’re my brother and we’re fucking—”
“No.” Her words had been pounding on him like a hammer, but that one finally broke him.
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “No, that is not what’s between us.” He pulled her close and captured her mouth, then shifted his hands to her back and pulled her tight against him. He wanted to absorb her. Consume her. And when he broke away from her, he felt the loss like a physical blow. “That is not all there is,” he said breathlessly, “and you know it as well as I do.”
She was breathing as hard as he was, her chest rising and falling, her skin flushed, her eyes wild. “I do. Of course I do. It’s so much more.”
She fisted her hand in his collar and used that hold to lever herself to him. “And I want even more, Dallas. I told you. I’m greedy. Where you’re concerned I’m the greediest woman on earth.” She reached out and brushed his cheek with the side her hand. “I want every bit of you. Even the scary parts. Even the part she touched.”
“Jane.” He couldn’t find words. He wanted to argue. He wanted run.
He wanted to pull her close and kiss her again just to shut her up.
And because he wanted it so damn much, that’s exactly what he did.
Glass Houses
His mouth closes over mine, hot and demanding, and every thought in my head disappears like dandelion fluff in the wind. Somewhere in my mind, I know that I should press him—that we have things to talk about—but I don’t have the willpower.
Where Dallas is concerned, I have no strength at all.
“I need you,” he says, breaking the kiss and cupping my face with his hands. “I need you to understand. To know.”