Filthy English (English #2)(9)

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

“I’m sorry, Remi.”

I cupped my cheeks, feeling the hotness. “I don’t even know why I’m babbling about this to you. We don’t even like each other. Please move out of my way.”


“Yes,” I snapped and pushed against the brick wall of his chest to get him out of my path. He didn’t budge.

“I’m not bloody leaving you.”

“You’re freaking bossy,” I bit out.

“You liked it once.” A shadow crossed his face.

I had. I’d loved giving control over to someone. I’m yours, Dax. Do what you want.

I pivoted to go the other way, the sudden movement causing red-hot pain to ricochet around my ankle. “Ouchhhh!” I hopped on one foot and clutched the side of the bar so I wouldn’t fall flat on my face.

“Christ, you can barely walk,” Dax huffed in exasperation, as strong forearms went under my legs and he swept me off my feet, hefting me up.

“What are you doing?” I cried, struggling to juggle my bag, shoes, and tequila as he lifted me.

“Carrying you.”

“Put me down,” I said breathlessly. His closeness was wreaking havoc with my earlier anger.

He shook his head. “I’m starting to think you planned all this just so you could hang out with me.”

“In your dreams.”

Moments of heavy silence passed as he stared down at me.

“What?” I glared at him.

He ignored my glare, a weird expression on his face. “I’ve had a few dreams about you,” he said.

“Nightmares?” I said smartly, but the butterflies in my stomach went crazy at the thought of him thinking about me. I shot them down one by one.

He continued. “There’s one where you’re wearing this mermaid costume, only you have human legs and copper-red hair. Of course, I’m riding on a kick-ass stallion as I chase you down the beach. You’re screaming bloody murder—‘help me, help me’—but you have a gleam in your eyes . . . you want me to catch you. I put you on my horse and carry you to my cave where you scream my name at least a hundred times. In ecstasy.”

My mouth had fallen open during his vivid, detailed description. “You dreamed about me as Ariel?”


“The Little Mermaid—the Disney movie?”

“I don’t watch Disney.”

I blinked. “You’re just messing with me, right?” Because that wouldn’t make sense. Why would he even think about me, much less dream about me? He’d forgotten about me as soon as the next girl had hopped in his bed.

He didn’t answer me, his legs moving through the crowd.

People scurried out of our way as he barreled through them, a hard look on his face. Using broad shoulders, he maneuvered his way to the stairs at the back left of the club. No one looked remotely surprised to see a man carrying a woman around the dark club. Another strike against this place.

I looked over his shoulder to see Spider following behind us, a smirk on his face. He seemed vaguely familiar, but at this point, I didn’t care who he was. The most important thing in my head was the fact that Dax Blay was carting me around like a sack of potatoes. And I kinda liked it.

Straining, I squirmed to not rest against his magnificent chest, but in the end I gave in to the comfort of his hold and rested my cheek against him. My one free hand encircled his bicep to hang on, and his eyes looked down at me, a questioning look on his face. His expression softened, making my pulse skip a beat.

God. What was it about him that made me so weak?

The answer was simple: Dax Blay was my Achilles heel, my one vulnerability.

“Don’t think that things are okay just because you’re helping me.”

His quicksilver eyes hardened. “I get it, Remi. You hate me. I’m a no-good irresponsible bastard.”

His words sliced me open, carving into my heart and digging deep, bringing back memories better left unspoken.

I crushed those feelings down. Hard.

“I—I don’t hate you. I could never in a million years hate you,” I whispered.

His eyes flicked to mine. Searching. He exhaled and tore his away. “Yeah? Well, you got a funny way of showing it.”

I bit down on my lips to keep the words in my heart from spilling out.

You can’t hate the first boy you ever loved.

LIFE HAD JUST bitch-slapped me right across the face with the coincidence of a lifetime.

Out of all the clubs in London, why did she have to waltz into mine?

More importantly, why hadn’t I realized it was her before we’d gotten to the kiss? Perhaps a small part of me had; the romantic side no one ever saw.

You can’t have her, I reminded myself.

She’s off limits.

I stomped up the stairs, club-goers pressing themselves against the railing to get out of our way. I was pissed off. No, scratch that. I was incensed, emotions clamoring all over the place, up and down and sideways, ramped up high enough to slam into anyone that got in my way.

She relaxed grudgingly as I carried her up the stairs, her reticence almost tangible, a shadow of hurt in her sapphire eyes. I didn’t think that pain was from seeing me. I grunted. That thought was completely laughable.

She lowered her eyes, hiding from me, but I could see that her emotions, like mine, were all over the place. I suspected it had nothing to do with our kiss and everything to do with her missing fiancé.

Thinking of her getting shafted at the altar by Hartford made me ballistic.

But why was I revved up like an Indy racecar? Me—the cool guy who never looked back at the girls he’d conquered.

Because Remi Montague, that’s why; the one girl who’d blown my mind—and scared the shit out of me—when I was just a sophomore at nineteen.

She let out a gasp.

I paused. “Your ankle? You okay?”

She nodded, that wounded gaze hitting me again, her full lips still swollen from my kisses.

I tore my eyes off her face, but it didn’t stop the memories from crashing down.

We began at the start of her freshman year when she showed up for a party at the Tau house on a Friday night and, like a magnet, my eyes had been drawn to her.

She hadn’t been my type at all with her prim sweater and innocent blue eyes.

Usually I went for the sorority girls who knew my game—females with plenty of daddy’s money and blasé attitudes about sex. But Remi; there was something about her that sucked me in—even though she was shy, had a brain like Einstein, and dressed like she was headed to a PTA meeting.