“I offered her an interview.” Dahlia fiddled with the corner of her napkin. “And I did it because by the sounds of it, if she’s in the same…profession…nobody else has given her a real chance yet. If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong.” She shrugged her shoulder, dropping her eyes down to where she was now rubbing the napkin between her finger and thumb.
I didn’t know how to respond to that, but what if she called Abby and not Dahlia?
Had Dahlia told her about our…relationship, if we could call it that right now?
Did I want to call it that? Fucking yes—I did. I wanted a relationship with the gentle woman in front of me. I wanted her to stay with me, right here.
I cast my gaze over her beautiful face. Her brows were furrowed, and her lips were turned down the tiniest bit. I could feel the weight of her uncertainty as it sat heavily on her shoulders. She was regretting her conversation with my sister today. I didn’t have to be a fucking mind-reader to know she was lost in her own thoughts about the decisions she’d made.
I wasn’t angry.
I wasn’t even close to it. I was shocked when Fergus had called me, mostly because I hadn’t made the connection between him and Perrie. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that Dahlia might want to try to fix things.
But it made sense when I thought about all the things I knew about her. She was a problem solver. In her eyes, this was something that she wanted, maybe even needed, to make right.
Her heart was in the right place, even if she felt like her head wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t. Only time would tell whether the limb she went out on was the right one.
That didn’t mean I wanted her to feel bad for the choice she’d made. She did it out of the goodness of her soul, something I was certain was pure. I don’t believe she had a bad bone in her body or that she was capable of having such a thing.
I wiped my mouth with my napkin and stood. She didn’t look up as I rounded the end of the table and held my hand out to her. Instead, she sighed.
“Dahlia.”
She looked up at me through those long, thick lashes that lined her eyes.
I presented her my hand again. Wide eyes, brimming with sadness, met mine, but she put her hand in mine anyway. I gripped hold of her, pulling her up toward me gently.
I wrapped her in my arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not mad,” I murmured. “How can I be? You did what you thought was best. Don’t feel bad, sweetheart.”
“But what if she doesn’t call me? Now, you know, and what if—”
“What if she does?” I cupped her face and touched the tip of my nose to hers. “You did a good thing, Dahlia. Stop doubting that.”
“I just—”
I pressed my lips to hers. She was only going to continue to doubt herself if I didn’t. That wasn’t something I wanted. It also wasn’t something I seemed to be able to get across to her with my words. She was asking too many questions of herself.
My original plan was quickly back on the table.
“Come with me,” I said in a low voice.
“Why?”
“Just come with me.”
She didn’t budge. “Where?”
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder.”
Stubborn as she was, she still didn’t move.
I did as I’d threatened. Grabbed her by the waist and hauled her over my shoulder. She screamed, her nails scratching at my back as she did everything she could to grip onto me. All I could do was laugh at her—I’d warned her.
I clamped one arm around her waist and the other around her legs just beneath her ass to keep her still and close to me.
“Put me down!”
“Nope.” I carried her out of the room and into the hallway, then to the stairs.
“Damien.”
“Dahlia.”
“Put me down.”
“No.”
She wriggled. I stopped, almost at the top of the staircase until she’d stopped.
“Could you not try to throw us both down the stairs?”
“No need to be so sarcastic,” she muttered, stilling once again for me to walk. “Now put me down! I mean it!”
“Gladly,” I said, reaching the bedroom. Just feet away from my bed, I stopped, gently easing her down my body until she was on her feet. “There. You’re down.”
She glared at me, but her blue eyes were too full of laughter for me to believe she was truly at me. “That was unnecessary.”
“You wouldn’t come with me.”
“So, you made me?”
“I get the things I want. Like you. I wanted you upstairs, so I got you here.”
“You told me you’d get my bar, too,” she replied wryly. “You didn’t.”
“I’d rather you over the bar.”
She brushed her fingers over my chest. “I think I prefer this way, too.”