She snorted. “You’re right, I’m not. I like it rough and dirty. Being fucked up the ass gets me off like nothing else. But that doesn’t mean you’re free to talk to me outside the club. Go away.”
His face fell. “You can’t dismiss me.”
“I think I just did.”
Chris scowled at her. “All you bitches are alike.”
“Yeah, none of us want you.”
Chris stepped back, and Madison clung to the window ledge behind her—standing her ground even though she wanted to run. When it came to the fight or flight reaction, she typically ran, but she wasn’t going to run this time. She wasn’t a meek little kitten. She was a tigress—a lion—and she would no longer repress her roar. A new-found strength had blossomed within her. She wasn’t sure when or even why, but she was no longer afraid to say what she wanted. And what she wanted at the current moment was for this jackass to get lost. Was she afraid that he might physically harm her? Hell yes, she was. Was she creeped the fuck out that they kept running into each other? Of course. But she was finished being a doormat. From now on she was going to stand up for herself and go after whatever she wanted. Now if she could only figure out exactly what she wanted.
“Fuck you,” Chris said.
“You already have. And believe me, I’ve had better.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
He offered her one last look of disgust—his lip curled and brows drawn together in a harsh scowl—before he turned and stalked away.
“And if I see you again, I’m calling the cops!” she yelled after him.
She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her threat. He kept right on walking.
When he was out of sight, Madison sucked in a deep breath, her entire body trembling from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She rubbed both hands over her face and then sank into a nearby chair.
She felt less like a lion and more like a disgruntled house cat as she regained her breath. Why did she keep running into that guy? It was as if he was following her. And how had he gotten into the club? She knew the place was invitation only. Had he gotten in to be with her, or was it a coincidence? Both options seemed far-fetched. And running into him again here at the airport? That was just too bizarre. She wondered if she had a reason to worry about his reappearance or if telling him off had gotten rid of him for good. It had felt great to tell him off. She was tired of compromising, of folding. She probably had Adam to blame for her dissatisfaction with taking the high road, turning the other cheek, and all other means of conceding defeat.
Adam.
He hadn’t changed her. He’d just helped her discover who she was.
She had to find a way to make it work with him. Her first instinct was to leave the airport immediately, do anything and everything to win him back. But she had a lot of thinking to do—that hadn’t changed. She needed to know exactly what she wanted before she could go after him.
Shit. She hoped her heart and soul and head came to a consensus soon, because this indecisiveness was driving her crazy. She could only imagine how her over-analysis of every situation, made Adam feel.
But she was willing, had always been willing, to be patient with his needs. Shouldn’t he at least try to understand hers?
Hours later Madison dropped her bag—it had made it onto the plane just fine and was actually the first unloaded—inside the back door of the creaky old farmhouse she shared with her sister. The flight had done little to help her sort through her jumble of feelings. She was just glad that Chris had not been on her plane. That guy was gone for good, thank God. She didn’t need the added stress. She mentally high-fived herself for standing up to him when he’d approached her in the terminal. She was sure she’d never see him again even if she would be reminded of him for a few more days—her ass was still tender from his lack of skill. After the events at the club, she was now pretty sure the reason she loved anal sex was because Adam was so good at it. She hadn’t realized how lucky she’d been in that regard.
The heavenly scents of cinnamon and vanilla and baking yeast drew her through the mudroom and into the kitchen. She paused in the doorway to inhale deeply as she watched Kennedy drizzle icing over the tops of the steaming cinnamon rolls she’d just pulled from the oven.
“I love you,” Madison said wearily. She couldn’t remember the last time Kennedy had made cinnamon rolls. Her sister had been so busy with medical school and her psychiatric residency that the poor woman scarcely had time to eat, much less bake.
Kennedy turned to smile at her. A smudge of flour was smeared across one suntanned cheek, and for a moment Madison was transported back in time to when their grandma was standing at that same stove with flour on her cheek, smiling as she watched her twin granddaughters giggle while they kneaded dough for the same recipe Kennedy had just used. God, how Madison missed that marvelous woman. But at least she still had the house and the memories. And most importantly at the moment, her delicious cinnamon roll recipe.
“You love me or you love my baking?” Kennedy teased.
“Both.” Madison settled onto a stool at the center island and hooked her heels into the rung beneath her.
“I figured you could use a little sweet-tooth therapy.”
“Smart lady,” Madison said.
Kennedy shoveled a gooey, sticky roll onto a dessert plate and slid it across the counter to Madison before serving herself and perching on the stool beside her.
“How was your flight?” Kennedy asked as Madison pulled off the outermost ring of her roll and stuffed it into her mouth. It wasn’t lost on her that Kennedy had given her the prized center roll, the softest and gooiest of them all. The two of them usually fought over who was privileged enough to eat it.
“Okay,” Madison said, licking icing from her fingers. “I was a little worried about my bag, but it made it onto the flight and was waiting for me when I arrived at DFW.”
“Talk,” Kennedy said. “Or do you need the prying questions?”
She didn’t, not with Kennedy. She could tell Kennedy anything. So she did. She started with the leather shop and how Adam had asked her to wait outside while he argued with Phaedra.
“He’s always hiding things from you,” Kennedy said.
“I don’t think he trusts that anyone could love all of him.”
Kennedy shook her head. “He’s so not ready for marriage.”
Madison hadn’t looked at it that way, not consciously. But maybe that’s why she’d hesitated. Not because she wasn’t ready to settle down and marry Adam, but because she knew that he wasn’t ready for that step.