The Dare (Briar U Book 4)
Chapter 33

“What the hell, man?” Danny shoots forward to confront the intruder, while I stand there blinking in confusion.

What the hell indeed. What is Conor doing here?

“You’re done here,” a tuxedo-clad Conor answers, his tone cool and efficient.

“I’m sorry, what?” Danny frowns. Takes another step. Although he stands a few inches taller, his build is slight compared to Conor’s more muscular frame.

“You heard me.” Tension pours off of him, and there’s a barely contained fury in his eyes as they burn through mine. “Thanks very much, but you can go now.”

“Hey.” Eric steps beside his teammate. “I don’t know who you are, but you can’t be—”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Conor snaps, but his intense stare remains fixed on me.

“Taylor?” Danny prompts. “He your boyfriend?”

I glance at Danny, then back at Conor, and I’m momentarily startled. Conor standing there under the flashing lights in a tailored black tuxedo, his hair combed back from his face…it’s like meeting him again for the first time.

I’m struck by the pure sexual magnetism of this man. For the last week I’d been so busy being mad at him that I’d forgotten how hot he is. Enough to turn the heads of nearly every female in the room. Even a few alumni are peeking over their shoulders, while their middle-aged husbands take a turn at feeling inadequate after leering at twenty-year-olds all night.

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask, ignoring Danny’s question.

Sasha grabs my hand and squeezes it. I don’t know if it’s for moral support or she’s thinking of making a run for it with me, but I squeeze back even though I can’t rip my eyes from Conor’s.

“You invited me,” he says thickly.

“And then you dumped me.” The anger returns without warning, and I cling tighter to my best friend’s hand. “Consider that your invitation revoked. It also means you don’t get a say in who I dance with.”

“The hell I don’t,” he growls. He takes my other hand and pulls me forward. Like a fool I allow my grasp to slip from Sasha’s.

“What are you doing?” I demand with bitterness searing on my tongue.

He tugs me against him and holds me close, and it’s like my body remembers even if my head is trying to forget. “Dancing with you.”

“I don’t want to dance.”

And yet I melt into him. Not because he wants me to, but because despite the anger and hurt, my nerves respond to his touch. It’s simply natural with him.

I look over my shoulder, seeking out Danny’s gaze, and I know he reads the apology in my eyes because he nods ruefully. Sweet, shy Danny. Life would be so much easier if he was the one my heart pounded for, but he’s not. Because life isn’t fucking fair.

“We need to talk,” Conor says.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Good, that’ll make this easier,” he replies, guiding us to the beat. He moves and I move with him. Not hearing the music so much as feeling his intention. It’s a charged, fervent, passionate exchange, as if our bodies are fighting to put themselves back together. “I’m sorry, Taylor. For all of it. Ignoring you and blowing off tonight. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“You left,” I tell him, with all the repressed rage that has built inside me over the last week. “You walked out on me.”

He nods sadly. “I was ashamed. I didn’t know how to talk to you about what was happening.”

“You broke up with me.”

The accusation hangs in the air. Even while our bodies touch and our eyes meet, there’s still distance between us. An electric fence of regrets and betrayals.

“You backed me into a corner. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say, seething at the pain he’s put me through this week. It doesn’t go away just because he shows up here looking good in a tux.

“You look gorgeous tonight.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it.” He presses a kiss to my neck, and my mind flashes back to the last time we were together.

Lying on my bed. His mouth. His bare skin against mine.

“Stop it.” I push him away, because I can’t think when he’s touching me. I can’t breathe. “You tossed me aside and it was so easy for you. It’s not just that you blew me off and broke up with me. It’s what you chose to do instead of just talking to me. You’d rather lose me than tell the truth.” My eyes start stinging. “You made me feel like shit, Conor.”

“I know, babe. Fuck,” he bites out, messing up his hair as he scrubs his hands through it.

I suddenly realize others have stopped to watch the drama unfolding, and I fight the urge to sprint under a table.

“I didn’t give him the money, Taylor.”

“What?”

“I was halfway to Boston and I couldn’t get your face out of my head. So I turned around. Couldn’t go through with it knowing what I was doing to us.” His voice cracks. “Because the worst thing about all of this, the worst thing I could have possibly done, was lose your respect. Nothing else matters if you hate me.”

“If that were actually true—”

“Damn it, T, I’m trying to say I’m in love with you.”

And before I can blink, he kisses me, all his regret and conviction distilled into the warm, engulfing sensation of our lips meeting. In his arms, I feel steady again, finally upright after being thrown askew. Because when we aren’t together, the world feels misaligned. Conor gives me balance, sets the ground flat again.

When our lips part, he cups my face with one hand, dragging his thumb across my cheek. “I mean it—I’m stupidly in love with you. I should have said it sooner. I’d blame repeated head trauma, but I was just an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“I’m still mad at you,” I tell him honestly, though with a little less ferocity.

“I know.” He smiles. A bit sad. Still sweet. “I’m prepared to do some pretty intense groveling.”

I catch movement from the corner of my eye and turn to see Charlotte making a beeline for us with scowling church lady eyes.

“Well, you’ve caused a scene and everyone is looking at us,” I say. “So you can start earning my forgiveness if you get us the hell out of here.”

Conor surveys the dance floor, his silver eyes sweeping over our audience of Kappas and their dates and the scandalized blue-blooded alumni glowering in disapproval. Then he bestows his familiar impish grin onto the crowd.

“Show’s over, folks,” he announces. “Goodnight.”

He entwines his fingers with mine and together we make our escape.

I’ve always hated parties anyway.

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