Laws of Attraction

by Diana Duncan

  “Get off me!” Rearing back, she snapped her head forward, again almost succeeding in head-butting—and busting—his nose. He had to admit, she was good. Someone inexperienced or caught off-guard couldn’t handle her. Without his training he’d be hard-pressed to handle her.

  Her knee pistoned up, and he twisted, avoiding debilitating damage by a millimeter. He held her immobile. “This isn’t necessary. I’m twice your size and twice as strong, what do you think you’re going to accomplish?”

  He meant his words to soothe, but she only fought harder.

  Fending off her attack while trying to keep from hurting her was about as easy as wrestling a gunnysack full of wildcats.

  “Mia, stop.” Letting go, he crouched and spun out of range. He pointed at her. “Just stay put, and douse that hellfire temper. We don’t have to do this the hard way.”

  Giving her space, Dallas strode to the closet in the entryway. Time for a reboot. He’d order dinner, a bottle of mellow Willamette Valley Cabernet, something chocolate for dessert, and let her unwind. Keeping her in his peripheral vision, he shrugged out of his rumpled suit jacket and hung it up. He worked down the knot of his tie, tugged it over his head and slung it over the wooden valet rack. He unbuckled his belt and yanked it free, intending to hang it beside the tie before taking his duffel into the bathroom to change into his Levi’s.

  Mia’s strangled gasp made him turn. As he looked at her, every drop of color leeched from her face.

  “Mia?”

  “No,” she breathed. Terror stiffened her features as she stared at him, eyes huge, lips parchment white.

  Concerned she was going to pass out on him, he rushed to her.

  Mia cringed away. “Don’t!” Wrapping her arms around herself, she slid down the wall, folding her body into a tight ball and ducking her head protectively beneath trembling arms. “Not the belt. Don’t use the belt.”

  Dallas’ chest constricted. God Almighty.

  He dropped the belt like it burned his fingers. “I’m not going to hit you.” He made his voice low and soft. “Mia, do you understand? I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She was shaking so hard her teeth were knocking together as he knelt in front of her. “Look at me, honey.”

  She kept her head down, muffled a sob.

  “Easy now. It’s okay.” His movements measured and careful, he put gentle hands on her quivering shoulders. She flinched, and agony knifed his heart. He rubbed her arms. “I would never hit you, ever. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Another small sob, bitten off.

  “Mia, can you look at me? Please.”

  Wide, wary amber eyes hazed with sorrow raised to his. Kicking him in the guts. Making him want to find the fucker who’d beaten her and force-feed the son-of-a-bitch the belt, piece by choking piece.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I scared you, I had no idea …”

  He brushed a damp tendril from her cheek, gratified when she didn’t flinch. “You’re safe with me. I’d cut my hand off before I’d raise it to you in violence.”

  She sucked in a quivery breath.

  He stroked her hair. “You’re safe, Mia. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

  “Too late,” she whispered. Her bottom lip quivered … and he was lost.

  He gathered her into his arms. Cradling her head in his palm, he lowered his mouth to hers, offering gentle solace.

  He tasted the salt of her tears and the honey of her unique, heady essence. He breathed her in, sun-warmed rose petals and delicious, tantalizing woman.

  He wanted to devour her. Instead, he sipped, nibbled … savored the rare delicacy. Warm and silky, Mia’s lips parted beneath his coaxing. He eased his tongue inside the moist satin of her mouth, tenderly exploring. Giving comfort, sharing pleasure.

  Her soft sigh of delight made his pulse pound in his ears. She was still trembling, but from desire now. Her tongue flicked against his, stroking hesitantly at first, then growing bolder.

  Her arms crept around his neck and she pressed closer. She threaded her fingers into his hair, clinging to him like she never wanted to let go.

  He’d intended only to comfort her. Meant to pull away. Scalding need flooded him from head to toe, hardening him to the point of pain.

  Wanting her obliterated all reason.

  He groaned, coasting his hands down her spine to palm her soft, rounded butt. Leaning back, he lifted her into his lap so she was straddling him.

  “Mmm.” She shivered as his lips cruised the velvety column of her throat, licking, kissing, drinking in the sweet fragrance of her skin. She rubbed against his chest, arching into him like a sleek cat. “More.”

  He discovered the row of tiny buttons at the back of her dress, and one-by-one, began to work them open. Unfastening buttons with his right hand, he slid his left between them to cup her breast through the gown, the small, firm globe fitting perfectly into his palm. He teased his thumb over the lace-covered nipple, loving the way the tight bud instantly pebbled at his touch, loving Mia’s throaty purr of approval.

  It had been over a year since he’d held a woman. And he’d never in his life experienced this supernova of desire. This sense of connection. Of rightness.

  Mia stroked the fine hairs at his nape, her delight obvious in learning his body as he was learning hers. Her palms skimmed the breadth of his shoulders, then glided down his chest, where she fumbled the buttons undone and parted his shirt. Her fingertips reverently traced the outline of his pecs before pearly pink nails grazed teasing circles around his nipples.

  A line of fire shot from his nipples straight to his cock, wrenching another groan from deep inside. She wasn’t the only one trembling now.

  Dallas was breathing faster than if he’d run a mile sprint as he slid the gown and the slip beneath it off her shoulders to her waist. The sight of the dancing flamingos on her bra made him chuckle … and inexplicably more turned-on than ever before.

  She tensed, and he glanced up to see her biting her lip. “You’re laughing at my bra … right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Um …” Endearing roses blossomed in her cheeks. “Because I know I’m not exactly blessed in the chest.”

  “Mia, darlin’.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love your body. It’s just right. And in case you haven’t noticed …” He rocked his hips into her. “You’ve got me hotter than a blast furnace.”

  “Oh!” Her flush brightened. “Yes, I noticed.”

  “That’s a relief.” Dallas winked at her. “‘Cause if you hadn’t, I might start to feel insecure.”

  She grinned. “Are you fishing for compliments now, cowboy?”

  “No, ma’am.” He rolled, tumbling her onto her back on the carpet, tugging her dress down her hips, down her legs and then off. “I’m hunting wascally wabbits.”

  Mia giggled … the music of her carefree laughter more dizzying than the potent whiskey of her eyes.

  That vivid, intoxicating gaze watched his every move as he knelt straddling her thighs and peeled off his shirt. Her visual caress brushed his chest, studied the new scar on his ribs, stroked down his abs to his abdomen … then snagged on the bulge of his straining fly.

  His cock jumped beneath his slacks as if she’d touched him. Mia swallowed audibly, fine brows knit in a blend of fascination and confusion. “I really turn you on that much? Me?”

  The sudden vulnerability stamping her delicate features wove odd, unfamiliar threads around his heart.

  Tenderness.

  Longing.

  Hope.

  Ambushed by a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky, an emotion Dallas hadn’t felt for half a decade seared him.

  Fear.

  All the oxygen punched out of his lungs. Gut churning, body shaking, he broke out in a cold sweat.

  What the hell was he doing?

  * * *

  Mia stared in bewilderment as the man straddling her started to shake violently, and his eyes chilled from warm Gulf s
eas to Antarctic ice. “Dallas? Did I do something—”

  He levered himself up, leapt to his feet. “What we both need …” he said hoarsely. “Is a shower and a thick steak. Better yet, why don’t you have a soak in that Jacuzzi the desk clerk raved about? See you afterward.”

  Striding off like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough, he practically ran into the smaller bathroom off the foyer.

  The door slammed shut. The lock snicked.

  Mia sat up, woozy, disoriented, and abruptly chilled to the marrow. Nobody in her entire life had touched her with such gentleness. Such tender regard.

  Except Dallas McQuade.

  Maybe that’s why she’d lost her fricking mind and let him—

  Mia sighed. No, she hadn’t let the man do anything. She’d aided and abetted.

  Gathering her rumpled gown to her chest, Mia wobbled into the bathroom and slammed the door. She leaned against the wooden panel. She prided herself on staying in control of every situation, at all times. For her own peace of mind, she needed to believe she could handle anything—or anyone.

  She hadn’t had a bad flashback in ages. But when they’d arrived in the hotel room, Dallas’ evident frustration, his big body trapping her against the wall, his ominous words, had ignited a flare of panic. Their physical confrontation had only proven his speed and strength were far superior.

  Then she’d seen him unbuckle his belt. And panic had detonated into mindless terror.

  But when he’d held her so tenderly, comforted her so sweetly … when she’d stared into Dallas’ beautiful, compassionate eyes and realized he would never hurt her … her traitorous body had simmered to a boil.

  From terror to turned-on in three minutes.

  She’d experimented with a couple of short-term flings, mostly to see what the hype was about. She still didn’t know. And Paul Grayson … well … that kiss had just been gross. She’d always felt something vital was missing from her relationships—if you could even call them that.

  Until Dallas … who made her forget everything. Except wanting him.

  Mia clenched her teeth against the hollow ache of unsatisfied desire. Why had he stopped so abruptly? Had she said or done something wrong?

  Sudden nausea cramped her stomach. Oh, God. She sounded exactly like her mother.

  She’d seen what happened to women who fell victims to their hormones. Her mother lived for a rare smile or compliment from the Colonel. Alice Linden was her husband’s personal lackey. Mia refused to stumble into that steel-jawed trap. Becoming so dependent on a man’s approval that he used her own weakness to manipulate her was Mia’s worst nightmare.

  Love was smothering, controlling, hurtful. Loving someone meant losing your identity and being annihilated by the person who held the power. Then when a woman didn’t live up to a man’s expectations, he withdrew his love. She shuddered. And demonstrated his disapproval.

  No matter what it cost her personally, Mia had to quell the runaway attraction to McQuade and preserve her independence.

  Because in the long term, the price she’d pay would be her soul.

  She turned and flipped the lock before marching across the bathroom to fill the whirlpool tub. Mia stripped, then tugged the bridal comb from her hair, the rosebuds as wilted and crushed as her confidence. She climbed into the frothy water. Leaning back, she lingered in the green tea and lemongrass scented bubbles. Though the hotel’s lavish spa toiletries smelled appealing, she preferred her usual rose water.

  Relax.

  Sure, like that was gonna happen.

  When her fingers and toes started pruning, she sat up to wash her hair. She also used the soap to hand-wash her panties, since they were the only pair she’d brought with her. She hadn’t exactly had time to prepare for a trip. The ever-efficient Dallas had brought a bag. He’d probably packed his own soap, the appealing woodsy scent that clung to his hot, smooth skin like a lover’s caress. Her thighs tightened.

  Knock it off, you gullible idiot!

  She slid down the slick porcelain, completely submerged. Maybe if she lurked on the bottom of the tub and held her breath until she counted to around … oh, ten thousand … she’d wake up her catatonic common sense.

  “Mia?” Dallas’s knock shot her gasping to the surface. “Supper’s here.”

  Her deprived stomach voted for immediate compliance—loudly. She wiped the water streaming into her eyes. “Be right there.”

  Swathed in a fluffy towel, Mia blow-dried her panties and then her hair. Her only choices of clothing were the sweaty, dusty, torn lavender shirt and jeans she’d worn to scale a wall, climb a tree, and fall through a gazebo … or her wedding gown.

  Or the hotel’s bathrobe, hanging behind the door.

  Sitting across the dinner table from McQuade in nothing but lingerie and a robe—worst idea since marrying the guy. So she put on the gown.

  Dammit, she couldn’t fasten the buttons.

  Mia would rather stroll bare-assed down the Vegas strip at high noon than go out there and meekly ask Dallas to fasten her dress. She sighed. But between requesting his help and wearing the robe, the dress was the lesser of two evils.

  If she weren’t ravenous, she might just camp out in the bathroom all night rather than face the man with whom she’d made a complete idiot of herself. But the lure of nourishment was too irresistible.

  Besides, she was no coward.

  Nerves shrieking, palms clammy, she followed the enticing aroma of dinner toward the sitting area. No reason to be nervous. She wasn’t going to abandon her principles and jump him like a sex-starved nympho.

  Probably.

  Mia raised her chin. Dallas McQuade was a means to accomplish her goals, nothing more. Inhaling a fortifying breath, she strode around the corner.

  Dallas stood beside the dining table set for two wearing snug Levi’s, a navy button-down shirt and his cowboy boots. His strong, lean legs were planted wide, both thumbs hooked in his waistband. His thick black locks were damp and tousled … and even from here, he smelled more mouthwatering than the steak.

  The opportunity to turn her back on him actually came as a relief. “Could you please fasten my dress?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She didn’t hear Dallas move, but sensed him close behind her. Heat and vibrant energy radiated from him, stroking along her skin as powerfully as if he’d touched her. When his long fingers brushed her bare back, she jumped.

  “Easy, sweetheart.” Warm, callused fingertips tickled enticingly up her backbone, button by slow button, and her treasonous nipples pebbled. “I said I won’t hurt you, and I always keep my promises.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she lied. She believed he wouldn’t harm her physically. The assault on her libido … not so much.

  “Glad to hear it.” He stepped away. “All done.”

  Both relieved and sorry to end the sensual torment, but not eager to face him again either, Mia turned around.

  Dallas’ level gaze held hers. “I owe you an apology. I never should’ve taken things that far.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in a convulsive swallow. “Hell, I never should have kissed you.”

  “You didn’t take anything I wasn’t willing to give.” She managed a cool shrug. “We’re both adults, both responsible for what happened. Most importantly, it won’t happen again.”

  “Damned straight it won’t. I don’t mix business with pleasure. Ever.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Because when that happens in this job, people die.”

  “Exactly what job would you be referring to?”

  He gestured at the laden tabletop. “We should eat before all this good food gets cold.”

  Yeah, he was pushing a blatant misdirect. But Mia’s mouth was watering … and not only because Dallas smelled yummy. She couldn’t not look at the table. Rich red wine. Thick, grilled steaks, medium rare. Lobster bathed in melted butter. Sautéed garlic-chive mushrooms. Steamed asparagus. Baked potatoes mounded with sour cream, cheese, and bacon bits. And chocolate fudge
cheesecake.

  Her stomach snarled a ferocious growl. When he grinned, she flushed. “Hey, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “I rest my case, counselor.” Dallas pulled out her chair.

  She sat, more touched by the snowy white tablecloth, twinkling pink candles, pink napkins, and sentimental centerpiece of her bouquet, which he’d put in a filled water glass, than she wanted to admit. “There’s nobody here but us, you don’t have to fake the romance.”

  “Esteban stuck a bug in the concierge’s ear to roll out the special treatment, which explains the candles and such.” McQuade’s turn to shrug as he commandeered the seat next to hers. “And I figured why let your pretty flowers die?”

  The thought of her big, tough cowboy caring about her roses brought a lump to her throat. She took a sip of wine. “So, Esteban has a vested interest in you. What is it you do for him—besides bodyguarding?”

  “You know, darlin’, you put me in mind of a baby Gila monster. Once you clamp your jaws onto something, you never turn it loose.” He sighed. “My job now is to guard your body.”

  Warmth suffused her again. And hadn’t he been doing a super-fine job?

  As a security specialist Dallas would’ve run an extensive background check on her, too. He probably knew as much, or more about her as Val. The wine churned in her empty stomach. But he wouldn’t have found the most damning evidence. Harper had buried it deep—to unearth whenever he chose to destroy her.

  Mia frowned. “Bodyguard me … is that what you’re trying to do? I didn’t marry you for your protection.”

  “The moment you became my ‘wife,’ you got it.” He snapped open his napkin, dropped it into his lap. “Whether either of us likes it or not.”

  “I don’t need, or want, you to protect me.”

  “Mia, you’re poking around where you don’t belong. You don’t have a clue about the rattlers’ nest you’re trying to kick over. You’ve no idea what they’re capable of.”

  “Wrong.” She concentrated on arranging her own napkin over her dress. “Unfortunately, I do. Do you?”