Read Online That Boy From Trash Town by Billie Green - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Billie Green
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understand? You— It's about time you accepted the fact that I have a life of my own, and that I don't have time to play games with a spoiled Harcourt brat." His breathing was ragged now, his lips tight and white. "Get out of here. Just get the hell out of here!"
With his first words, Whitney had felt the blood drain from her face, from her heart. She had heard Dean speak in anger before, but never in her wildest imaginings had she ever thought that anger would be turned on her.
Backing away from him, she began to shake her head in denial. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come, and when she reached the door, she turned away from him.
"Whitney... wait!"
The low, pleading command served to spur her into action. She stumbled on the stairs and had to grab the banister to regain her balance, but she didn't stop. She heard Dean calling her name again and knew he was following her, but that only made her run even faster.
As Dean ran down the stairs after Whitney, he swore under his breath, cursing himself for overreacting. He had to catch her. He had to make her understand.
Just as he reached the kitchen the telephone there began to ring, and although he ignored it, it pulled him back to reality long enough for him to stop and think about what he was doing.
He moved to sit at the small wooden table, dropping his head to his hands. He couldn't afford to see Whitney again right now, he told himself. She needed time to calm down, and he needed time to get his act together. Emotions were running too high on both sides and another encounter might be even more disastrous.
He could have handled the whole thing better. He would have handled it better if he'd had any warning, but she had taken him by surprise.
The understatement of the year, he thought as he drew in a rough breath.
Dean had always known Whitney had a crush on him, but he had been certain that was all there was to it. A simple little schoolgirl crush. What he'd seen on her face a few minutes ago, however, left that theory in the dust. That was more than a crush. Much more. He had seen blazing, blatant desire in her blue eyes. Sweet heaven, he had felt the heat of it, even from across the room.
Whitney wanted him. And when he'd acknowledged that fact, it had taken more strength than he knew he possessed to ignore the wild images her desire conjured up. Images that shocked and tantalized him. Images that took his breath away.
He had been forced to channel the fire she had built in him into fury. It had been necessary for her well-being. It had been necessary for his own sanity.
Dean knew very well that if his own feelings hadn't been so strong, he would have handled her differently. He would have dampened the fires in a way that would have left her pride intact. Damn it, he couldn't stand the thought of Whitney in pain. But at the time he had seen no alternative.
Now, after the fact, he realized that he could have turned the whole episode into a joke. Whitney had a keen sense of humor and would have responded to that kind of thing. He could have gentled her over the moment, and when the mood had been broken, he could have eased her into the idea of letting go of him and getting on with her life.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, he told himself that, it was too late to change what had happened. It was too late to take back the things he'd said.
He knew Whitney wouldn't hold a grudge against him for what had occurred, for his rash words. That wasn't her style. She would simply find a way to bridge the gap that had suddenly sprung up between them.
And maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all, he told himself after a while. Hadn't he been trying to ease some distance between them for years now? In the past nothing he'd tried worked. Maybe something more drastic—and the scene in his bedroom definitely qualified as drastic—was needed to start her thinking in the right direction. A direction that, for her own good, had to lead away from Dean.
Leaning his
With his first words, Whitney had felt the blood drain from her face, from her heart. She had heard Dean speak in anger before, but never in her wildest imaginings had she ever thought that anger would be turned on her.
Backing away from him, she began to shake her head in denial. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come, and when she reached the door, she turned away from him.
"Whitney... wait!"
The low, pleading command served to spur her into action. She stumbled on the stairs and had to grab the banister to regain her balance, but she didn't stop. She heard Dean calling her name again and knew he was following her, but that only made her run even faster.
As Dean ran down the stairs after Whitney, he swore under his breath, cursing himself for overreacting. He had to catch her. He had to make her understand.
Just as he reached the kitchen the telephone there began to ring, and although he ignored it, it pulled him back to reality long enough for him to stop and think about what he was doing.
He moved to sit at the small wooden table, dropping his head to his hands. He couldn't afford to see Whitney again right now, he told himself. She needed time to calm down, and he needed time to get his act together. Emotions were running too high on both sides and another encounter might be even more disastrous.
He could have handled the whole thing better. He would have handled it better if he'd had any warning, but she had taken him by surprise.
The understatement of the year, he thought as he drew in a rough breath.
Dean had always known Whitney had a crush on him, but he had been certain that was all there was to it. A simple little schoolgirl crush. What he'd seen on her face a few minutes ago, however, left that theory in the dust. That was more than a crush. Much more. He had seen blazing, blatant desire in her blue eyes. Sweet heaven, he had felt the heat of it, even from across the room.
Whitney wanted him. And when he'd acknowledged that fact, it had taken more strength than he knew he possessed to ignore the wild images her desire conjured up. Images that shocked and tantalized him. Images that took his breath away.
He had been forced to channel the fire she had built in him into fury. It had been necessary for her well-being. It had been necessary for his own sanity.
Dean knew very well that if his own feelings hadn't been so strong, he would have handled her differently. He would have dampened the fires in a way that would have left her pride intact. Damn it, he couldn't stand the thought of Whitney in pain. But at the time he had seen no alternative.
Now, after the fact, he realized that he could have turned the whole episode into a joke. Whitney had a keen sense of humor and would have responded to that kind of thing. He could have gentled her over the moment, and when the mood had been broken, he could have eased her into the idea of letting go of him and getting on with her life.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, he told himself that, it was too late to change what had happened. It was too late to take back the things he'd said.
He knew Whitney wouldn't hold a grudge against him for what had occurred, for his rash words. That wasn't her style. She would simply find a way to bridge the gap that had suddenly sprung up between them.
And maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all, he told himself after a while. Hadn't he been trying to ease some distance between them for years now? In the past nothing he'd tried worked. Maybe something more drastic—and the scene in his bedroom definitely qualified as drastic—was needed to start her thinking in the right direction. A direction that, for her own good, had to lead away from Dean.
Leaning his
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