Dash of Peril

by Lori Foster

  “Yes. And then I’ll have them.”

  Logan spoke to Rowdy, updating him on the plans. Reese was on the phone with Cannon, making arrangements to drop by.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” Dash said.

  “Always.” Somber, she said, “If I screw this up, another woman could be hurt.”

  And she’d never allow that.

  Now, more than ever, Dash couldn’t wait to get her alone.

  * * *

  OLIVER SAT IN HER LAP through half an hour of a boring sitcom. Dash, who could have worked the inquisition, insisted on tidying the kitchen—shirtless—while she relaxed. Or rather, tried to relax. Instead, though, her gaze repeatedly sought him out as he moved around in the other room, giving her occasional glimpses of his magnificent body through the doorway.

  Whenever he happened to look up and catch her watching him, he smiled. A few times he even asked her if she needed anything.

  Sex, she wanted to say, but he already knew that and she saw no reason to keep belaboring the point.

  Normally, on a night like this, she would have been stewing over the case and feeling the futility of trying to locate scumbags before they committed another crime. That frustration was there, but other frustrations trumped it and in some way, it helped her to keep a clearer head where work was concerned. It never made sense to obsess over a case. Doing so kept someone from seeing the obvious.

  Right now, on top of the regular due diligence, she could only wait and hope that the tale Rowdy and Cannon would spread would force the bastards to react in a way that left them less protected.

  Pans rattled as Dash put them away, and then water ran in the sink. That was enough to, again, distract her.

  No one, ever, had pampered her like this. Even as a child she couldn’t recall anyone telling her to sit and relax.

  Not that Dash was a martyr. She had no doubt that once she was 100 percent again, he’d enjoy her help in...everything. Cooking, cleaning, caring for Oliver.

  Sex.

  As he exited the kitchen, her eyes ate him up. She wanted to see him naked, to touch him all over—

  He paused in front of her, a small knowing smile making him sexier than ever. “I’m done with the kitchen so I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ll need about twenty minutes so I can shave, too.” He rubbed his bristly jaw and some rough emotion darkened his voice. “You’re so soft all over, I don’t want to risk giving you whisker burns.”

  Margo’s eyes widened. But with that cryptic comment, which made her stomach tumble over, he walked away.

  She twisted to watch him go—and saw he was grinning. How could he give her whisker burns if he refused to have sex with her? Or—oh, God—did he plan to make her insane again while denying himself with another of his superhuman shows of control?

  When he disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door, she dropped back in her seat. Oliver, disgruntled, resettled himself over her lap.

  For the next few minutes her imagination drummed up every sensual possibility known to man. She could hear the shower going, and in her mind she could see him naked, his hard, muscled body wet and glistening, how the water would trail through his gorgeous body hair, over his chest, his abs, down that tantalizing happy trail—

  The water shut off and her heart missed a beat. An invisible ribbon pulled tight deep inside her. She realized she’d stopped petting Oliver, that her hands were still and her gaze staring off at nothing in particular.

  Oliver stretched, yawned and made his way off the couch—with her help—to go to his bed. He turned three circles, pawing a blanket this way and that before dropping down and stretching out flat, his front paws off one end of the bed, his back paws off the other, his little furry face relaxed.

  Margo smiled at him. He was still the sweetest cat ever. No one in her family, not even West, liked to pet him.

  But Dash did. He was as attentive to the cat as she was.

  She let out a sigh.

  “Feeling melancholy?”

  Twisting around again, she found Dash standing there, his hair still damp, finger-combed back from his freshly shaved face. He wore only drawstring lounge pants that hung low on his lean hips.

  No shirt.

  Mercy.

  Mouth going dry, Margo stared as he looked toward Oliver. “Is he out for the night?”

  “Yes.” Oh, God, she sounded like a frog. A weak frog. Clearing her throat, she said more forcefully, “Yes. I’m surprised, too, because it’s starting to rain and usually that spooks him.”

  “Maybe,” Dash said, going to the front door to check that it was locked, “he’s comforted by me being here.”

  Because she sure enjoyed having him around, Margo agreed, “Maybe.” And wasn’t that a kicker? She’d been alone so long, she would have sworn a man of Dash’s size and presence would crowd her house, her lifestyle, her way of doing things.

  Instead, it was so nice to have him there. Even now, as he took her hand and drew her up from the couch, she could breathe in his intoxicating scent and that, too, was so, so nice.

  His thumbs rubbed her shoulders. “I haven’t asked you in a while, but how’s your head?”

  She’d actually forgotten about that injury. “It’s fine.” With his chest right there, she had to touch. His chest hair was crisp, not superthick but definitely supersexy. “No more headache.”

  “And you said your arm isn’t giving you any problems.”

  Oh, she hoped this was going where she wanted it to go. “I want the splint off, that’s all. But no, there’s no pain.”

  Standing there in her living room, he let his gaze wander from her face to her chest. Very intent, he lowered his hands and opened the belt on her housecoat. “Logan and Reese almost lost their eyeballs, seeing you like this.” He spread the terry cloth wide. “But I understood.”

  “In a ratty old housecoat? What dull lives they must lead.”

  “It’s soft in a way they’ve seldom seen with you. And comfortable.” He pushed it off her shoulders. “There’s no denying your curves in this thing.”

  As he looked at her “curves,” she inhaled. His gaze was so tactile she felt it.

  “If it had been any other guys, I don’t know. I think it would have pissed me off.” His eyes met hers. “But my brother, Reese...I know they were just taken off guard. Again. With you hurt and us together, they’ve had to see you differently. It’s entertaining. And now that they see you as a woman, there’s no going back. Not that I want you to start flaunting yourself at the station or anything.”

  As if that would ever happen. “It would be grossly inappropriate for me to wear revealing clothes at work.”

  “I’m not talking about anything revealing. But what you wear is like a suit of armor.” He cupped her left breast—and just held her.

  She loved his hands, how big they were, how strong they looked in comparison to hers. His fingers were long, his knuckles big, his forearms and the backs of his hands dusted with hair. So masculine. So sexy.

  “I’ve been to the station enough times to see other women in their uniforms.” Dash lifted her a little as if testing the weight of her breast. “There are little things women know to do to make even a burlap sack look attractive. Except that you never do those things.”

  “Never?” Slowly, so he wouldn’t object, she trailed her hand down his body, over those firm abs and that narrow line of crisp hair that disappeared into his sleep pants. His skin was so warm, so sleek. She curled her fingers over the drawstring waistband, then had to resist the urge to tug them down. “I dressed differently at Rowdy’s bar.”

  His smile went crooked, maybe over her sneaky caress, or maybe over what she’d said. “Yeah, and Rowdy recognized right away that you were up to something. We both know he’s different from Reese and Logan. You coul
d walk up to Rowdy buck naked and while he’d no doubt enjoy the show, he wouldn’t miss a beat.”

  True. There was little a woman could do to take Rowdy by surprise. He was the most sexual man she’d ever met. Or rather, she’d thought so...until she and Dash got involved. “And what about you?”

  “What about me?” He cuddled her breast and finally his thumb came up to coast over her nipple. Once, twice—until her nipple tightened. He watched as if fascinated. “You already know how I enjoy seeing you.”

  “Do you ‘miss a beat,’ as you said?”

  “Yeah, that and more. Seeing your sweet little body almost levels me. But honestly, honey, your attitude is every bit as sexy as your body.” He turned her, taking his time as he stripped the housecoat off her shoulders, down her right arm and then down her splint. Instead of letting her turn again, he tossed the housecoat to the couch and kept her facing away from him, one hand splayed over her belly, the other stroking her backside under the big T-shirt he’d given her. “I wanted to wait,” he told her. “I hate the thought of maybe hurting you. But damn, Margo, I can’t.”

  She shouldn’t sound so anxious, but it felt like she’d wanted him forever. “You mean—”

  “Touching you today,” he whispered near her ear, “tasting you, that was enough to obliterate my good intentions. But then seeing you in cop mode with Logan and Reese... Intelligence and cunning are so damn sexy.”

  Would Dash always surprise her with his odd observation of things? “What I suggested wasn’t all that cunning, really. It’s just—” Her voice dropped off when he cuddled both breasts.

  “Let’s go to your bedroom.”

  Hallelujah. “All right.” She wanted to forget everything except Dash and how he made her feel and the fact she would finally get to experience everything with him. But she couldn’t be that irresponsible. “Let me grab my phone from the kitchen.”

  “Sure.” He picked up her housecoat. “Do you think Rowdy or Cannon might have news tonight?”

  “I don’t know, but your brother and Reese would also use my cell if they had any news.” Phone now in hand, she passed him on her way to the bedroom. “Come along, Dash.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Margo heard the amusement in the way he said that, but so what? Erotic need hastened her steps to the bedroom. Once inside, she put the phone on the nightstand and began stripping off the T-shirt.

  Dash stepped into the room, closed the door and leaned back against it to watch her. His gaze burned over her, but he didn’t offer to help, didn’t move away from the door, didn’t say a word.

  Margo threw the T-shirt at him. It hit his stomach and fell to the floor. Not feeling the least bit modest, she faced him with her shoulders back, her chin lifted. She felt a little awkward in the splint, but not enough so to hesitate when what she wanted was so close at hand.

  He took his time looking her over, his gaze lingering at the notch of her thighs until she wanted to squirm.

  The prolonged, intense silence got to her. “Take off your pants,” she told him.

  “Not yet.” He looked into her eyes, letting her see the stunning lust in his. “You don’t seem to realize it, but I’m hanging on here by a thread. I don’t want to rush through this, so leaving them on for now is a safeguard.”

  “You promise they will come off?”

  “Yeah. Soon.” He stepped up to her, his hands—fingers spread—moving from her shoulders, over her breasts, down to her waist and thighs.

  She trembled.

  He opened his mouth on her throat, up to her jaw, below her ear. In a gravelly rasp, he said, “I want to eat you again.”

  Margo’s knees went weak. She wanted that, too, but more than that, she wanted him, all of him. “I need you inside me.”

  “Come here.” He drew back the covers on the bed, sat down with his back to the headboard, his legs stretched out, and patted his abs. “Sit.”

  Beneath the soft flannel sleep pants, his erection stood at attention making her heart pump in slow heavy beats. Yes, she would sit, gladly.

  He helped her climb up into the bed, arranging her left leg over his hips so that she straddled him. She tried to sit lower on him so that her hands could play, but with a chastising, “Behave,” Dash moved her up higher. He bent his legs up and let her rest back against his thighs.

  She tried to reach back, but he caught her hand and instead placed it on her thigh.

  “Relax, honey. You’ll get your turn, but we don’t want this over with before it even gets started. If you start playing touchy-feely, that’s exactly what’ll happen.”

  No, she didn’t want that. But relaxing was out of the question. “Kiss me.”

  “All right.” He took her shoulders and drew her forward, but instead of her lips, he drew her nipple into his hot, wet mouth, his velvet tongue lathing, his teeth teasing.

  There seemed to be a direct link between her nipple and her womb. Breathing harder, she sank the fingers of her right hand into his hair and held him close.

  He suckled for a very long time, leisurely, tirelessly. Even when she squirmed on him, pushing her bottom back to his erection, he continued to draw on her. When he did finally let up, it was only to move to her other nipple. He gave her a peck, licked, circled with his tongue. “This isn’t uncomfortable for your arm?”

  Breathlessly, she whispered, “No.” It was so stirring she didn’t know if she could take much more. With each soft suckle, her muscles drew tighter, the lust sharpened, pushing her ever closer to the fall.

  “Good.” He caught her hip and said, “Scoot forward again. Now lean down. That’s perfect.” And again he drew her in, his tongue curling around her, his teeth occasionally closing carefully for a gentle, tantalizing tug.

  So lost in those wonderful sensations, at first she didn’t notice when he smoothed a hand over her hip, along her bottom and down. “Tip forward, honey. Mmm, that’s it.” And he sank two fingers into her. Before again latching on to her nipple, he said, “You can sit again.”

  But sitting pushed his fingers deeper and she just naturally rocked against him. The spiraling pleasure escalated, growing sweeter, making her more desperate. It was a little unnerving, having Dash work her so easily. But it was also so wonderful that she didn’t want him to stop, even whispered, “Please don’t stop,” in a ragged plea.

  “No, I won’t.” He went back to her nipple, so gently now that the contrast of his fingers buried deep proved her downfall. She clenched around him, tightened her hand in his hair and cried out as a climax shook her.

  Slowly, Dash lessened the intensity of his touch until she almost melted against his chest.

  Instead he eased her back against his bent legs. They both breathed hard.

  He ran a hand over her. “Your nipples are so wet and stiff.” He strummed one with a fingertip. “So damned sexy.”

  Sensitive now, she flinched away.

  “Too much?”

  Unable to drum up words yet, she nodded. She couldn’t get her eyes to open, couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

  Dash parted her thighs more. “You’re beautiful.”

  And easy. At least for him.

  While Dash idly touched her in various ways, she concentrated on recovering. Once she’d regained her wits enough to speak, she looked at him and murmured drowsily, “Now, finally, it’s your turn.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WHEN DASH SAID, “Not just yet,” she wanted to insist. She really did. But already he worked his magic, his fingertips lightly stroking over her collarbone, her breasts—while avoiding her nipples—over her ribs and along her trembling thighs.

  “No more, Dash.” And then, almost whimpering, she added, “I can’t.”

  Too seriously, seduction personified, he whispered, “You can.” He brushed h
is open palms over her stiffened nipples, lightly abrading them.

  This crazy insistence he had of her tolerance made her frantic. “No, I...”

  “Shhh.” He cupped her breasts in his hands and stared into her eyes, his demeanor hot but measured. “Show me how strong you are, honey. Show me that awesome control.”

  Oh, God, a challenge—one he knew she’d feel compelled to accept. “It’s too much.”

  “Not possible with you.” His thumbs moved over her tightened nipples. “With us.”

  There he went again, saying things that sounded so serious, hinting at a future—

  “I want you to relax back against my thighs. Let your arms rest.” He snagged a pillow and tucked it next to her to support her splinted elbow. “Now,” he whispered, “let’s try this.” He drew her knees up and eased them out, so that her feet were flat beside his hips. With rapt attention, he looked at her exposed sex. “Damn.”

  Margo groaned.

  “You see,” he said, still in that soft, almost awed tone. “You’re almost there again, aren’t you, baby?”

  She tried to deny it with a shake of her head, but his attention remained between her legs.

  Again, his fingers played with her, so expertly, and she knew he was right. She could, and she would.

  With Dash.

  No other man could be like him. So cocky but also incredibly caring. Sweet but surprisingly dominant. Carefree yet responsibly settled in a way she’d never expected for a player like him.

  And focused. God Almighty, the man had extreme focus, especially when it came to pleasuring her.

  She was fast falling in love with the way he touched her, with how he made her feel, his touch.

  With him.

  But twenty minutes later, she crumbled. Tirelessly, he had teased every inch of her until her skin tingled all over and a fever invaded her muscles and she desperately needed to come. “Dash—”

  “I love the way you say my name when you’re so close to letting go.”

  His repeated use of the L word no longer alarmed her. She could feel his erection against her bottom, his muscles all rigid as he teased her.