by Lori Foster
Margo gave a short laugh. “Stripping?”
All too serious, he said, “I’m warm.”
And here she was chilled. Yes, major differences between a man of his size and a petite woman. In Dash’s case, they were wonderful, tantalizing differences.
He pushed his sleeves up past his elbows, showcasing those awesome forearms. He had muscles...everywhere. Not bulky like a bodybuilder, but long and firm.
Hands on his hips, he faced her.
That he looked so serious gave her a little tingle of excitement. “We’re just going to act this out. I won’t hurt you, and I assume you won’t hurt me.”
“I’d rather lose a limb than hurt you.”
The way he looked at her, his gaze so fixed, staring into her soul, sent a thrilling alarm up her spine. “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Just grab me and I’ll—”
He reacted so quickly, she actually screeched in surprise. One second she was telling him what to do, and the next he had her spun around, her back to his chest, those long arms locked around her. Near her ear, he whispered, “Like this?”
Against her backside, she felt the solid rise of his erection. That, along with the way he’d snatched her up, had her heartbeat racing. Okay, so maybe he wanted a very real demonstration.
She rested back against him, saying softly, with a touch of fear, “Dash?”
He flattened one hand on her ribs, pressed down to the junction of her thighs. “What are you going to do, baby?”
She caught her breath, briefly struggled and didn’t get even an inch of space between their bodies.
Pressing her heels into the dirt, she pushed back against him.
Dash laughed. He had his big feet planted and other than aligning her body more flush against his, she accomplished nothing.
“Do that again,” he taunted. “I like it.”
Oh, he was getting into his role, and enjoying himself in the bargain. She tried jerking forward, twisting.
He so easily controlled her that she found herself responding. Though it might be a demonstration on getting away, her body knew this was Dash, and only enjoyed the close touching.
His forearm brushed her stiffened nipples—probably on purpose—making it even harder for her to think.
“Dash,” she whimpered, ready to end the game.
He lowered his head and she felt his smile when he nuzzled her cheek.
That was all the opening Margo needed. She dropped her weight, slipped through his loosened hold and turned, her knee coming up to within an inch of his crotch.
She stopped in time and stared up at him, triumphant.
Gazes locked, they watched each other.
“If I’d been serious,” she said, “I would have head-butted you first.”
His hand curved around her nape. “Before making me a choirboy?”
She knotted a hand in his shirt. “Yes.”
“You’re fast.”
“You’re hard.”
He drew her close, pressing that hardness to her belly. “I’m still going to worry.”
“Did you believe I was scared?”
“Uncertain maybe.” He slid his other hand to her ass, keeping her in close contact with his erection. “It bothered me.”
“And turned you on?” She rocked once against him.
“No matter what, when I’m touching you, it’s a turn-on.”
Maybe. But it was also more than that. “It might only be a game, but you like playing the dom.”
He brought his hand from her neck to her breast, his open palm rasping over her taut nipple. “And you like being submissive.”
Margo swallowed hard, pressed in closer, and gave him an emotional truth. “I do...with you.”
His gaze searched hers, his eyes narrowed and he murmured, “Only with me.”
Margo would have agreed, but it was hard to talk while he kissed her like that.
MARGO DOZED OVER HIM, her head on his chest, her legs draped outside of his, her body utterly limp.
He couldn’t move without possibly waking her, but he didn’t mind. He liked holding her like this.
He knew he’d worn her out, pushing her to a second orgasm before he took his own. God, how he loved to watch her come, listening to those incredibly sexy, rough little sounds she made, how she looked in the throes of intense pleasure.
Pleasure he gave her.
He lazily trailed his fingertips over her back, occasionally kissed her shoulder and ruminated on how to convince her to move in.
His first attempt hadn’t gone well...unless you counted that impromptu lesson on self-defense that ended them back in the bed for vigorous lovemaking.
Overall, the weekend had gone great, and he’d hoped to talk her into extending it...to forever. The thought of returning to reality and the threats made him more determined than ever to keep her close.
He was still constructing arguments in his mind, weighing all the options, when her phone rang.
Drowsily, she lifted up, looked at him in confusion for just a moment, then comprehension dawned. “Oh.” She moved away—losing the sheet in the process—and stretched to reach the nightstand, where she’d put her phone.
She quickly cleared her throat and, in a businesslike voice that amused him, said, “Hello?”
Dash visually traced her body. Would he ever get used to seeing her? Would there ever come a time when her nudity didn’t stir him?
He didn’t think so. In many ways he felt addicted. When she was near, he wanted her. If he even thought of her, he wanted her. When he couldn’t have her he at least wanted to touch her, kiss her.
Talk with her and be near her.
Fuck, he had it bad. She loved the sex—but did she love him?
“Yvette.” Margo sat up. “You’re okay?”
Dash became more attentive, now looking at her face instead of her ass. He saw how her brows came together, how she nibbled her bottom lip.
“Of course.” She leaned around, looking for a clock and finally finding one on his dresser. It was two o’clock. She said, “I can be there by—” She looked at Dash.
“Four is doable. That’ll give us time to pack up, drop off Oliver and get back to her house.”
She nodded. “Four o’clock.” Listening, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m...away from my home. It’ll take me that long to get back.” And then, gently she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? I could send over Detective Riske or Bareden... No, it’s okay. Don’t worry. It’ll just be me, I promise.”
Dash put a hand on her thigh, then left the bed and started dressing. It seemed their weekend had ended abruptly, so he’d do what he could to help Margo make her meeting.
But it wouldn’t just be her, because he was definitely going along.
After she ended her call she left the bed to rush into the bathroom, saying, “She wants to talk to me. I mean, me as a woman. Understandably, men make her a little nervous now. She almost panicked when I mentioned sending Logan or Reese.”
Dash heard the water turn on and a little splashing. He walked to the open door and enjoyed watching Margo at his sink. “Do you know what she wants to talk about? Did she remember something?”
As she dried her face, she said, “She thinks so, but she wasn’t really clear about it. Often witnesses worry that something will be too insignificant but it turns out to be a game changer.” She hung the towel on the bar and dumped out her makeup bag.
Dash was already dressed, and he didn’t need to pack a bag, so he asked, “How can I help you?”
“Could you get Oliver’s stuff together?” She rapidly applied mascara.
It was a unique pleasure, watching her prepare herself. He wanted to spend every day like this, sharing with her, working with her. �
�No problem. I’ll be ready when you are.”
Five minutes later she came down the steps with her face freshly washed and a modicum of makeup in place. Dressed in trim jeans and a casual shirt, she dropped her overnight bag and quickly finger-combed her damp hair.
“Slow down,” Dash told her. “We’ve got enough time.”
She made a beeline for the coffeepot, saw he hadn’t yet dumped it and doctored a cup with cream and sugar. She downed it in two long gulps.
Was she nervous? This was a new speed for her and he couldn’t help but wonder. “Oliver is ready. I’ll carry him out last to the car.” The cat stared through the side of the carrier and meowed.
Still rushing, Margo washed out her cup and then the coffeepot, while Dash carried out her bag and the cat’s belongings. She was on her knees beside the carrier talking to Oliver when he came back in.
Less than five minutes later they were on the road. This time, Oliver wasn’t as accommodating. He meowed and fussed and demanded attention. Between calls to Logan and Reese, Margo had to spend a lot of time reassuring the cat to keep him calm.
Which meant Dash didn’t have a chance to talk to her about moving in with him. The cat and Yvette’s request to talk occupied her 100 percent.
“Will you call Rowdy or Cannon?”
“Not yet.” She straightened in her seat and blew out a breath. “Not until I actually know something. Could be Yvette is right and what she’s remembered isn’t important. But yes, if it is, I’ll clue them in.”
They were only about fifteen minutes away from her house when Dash saw her rubbing her arm. Over the weekend, he had gotten her to ice her elbow regularly, to take aspirin when needed. Now, with the job at the forefront of her mind, she hadn’t thought to take care of it.
One hand on the steering wheel, he reached past her and opened the glove box to retrieve the pill bottle. He’d put it there as a convenience for her, to ensure she had it when necessary. “Here you go.”
She hesitated, then gave in and dug out two pills, drinking some water to wash them down. “Thank you.”
Now that they were off the busy highway, he rested his hand on her thigh. “I like taking care of you.”
Pausing, she gave him a hot look. “You do it so well—and I’m not talking about medicine.”
If nothing else, he could use the enticement of sex as a reason for her to let him stick close. She’d been teasing when she said it, but it meant too much to him. “Just because we’re away from the lake doesn’t mean that has to change.”
Her smiled faded. “Dash.” She covered his hand with her own. “Now that I’m out of the splint, there’s no legitimate reason for me to keep you under my roof. If you’re there, it’s going to open the door to all kinds of speculation.”
His chest went tight. “You’re a grown woman. You can do as you damn well please.”
“Please understand.” Sadness left her voice quiet. “I love spending time with you. I don’t want that to end. But I won’t be gossiped about at work. Going back after everything that’s happened will be controversial enough.”
“You’re ignoring your commander’s decision?”
“You already know I am.” She stroked up and down his arm, before curving her hand over his biceps. “This case is important, and it’s going to soak up a lot of my time. Plus the insurance company should be done processing my claim. I’ll need to turn in the rental car, then buy something else. I need to get my house back in shape. And there’s that whole mess with my dad and his possible involvement in the break-in.”
She sounded overwhelmed. Dash wanted to point out that he could help her, but damned if he’d beg. “So we’re going to catch the occasional date night—when your work schedule allows?”
Letting him go, she instead pinched the bridge of her nose. “You knew my job came first.”
Well, there was some plain speaking. If he pushed her for more specifics, would he find out he came in second—or even further down the line?
Did she plan to go back to one-night stands from seedy bars? A fist clenched his heart, making his chest ache, but he kept quiet.
“Dash...”
He waited, hoping she’d say she wanted him, that she cared. That he had a place in her life.
She reached out to him—and Oliver barfed.
The sound was wretched, and Dash winced. “Man. Poor guy.”
Opening her seat belt, Margo turned in the seat. “Oh, no!”
Yeah, that didn’t sound good. “Did it stay in the carrier?”
“Unfortunately, no. It’s sort of...everywhere.” Reaching back, she tried to soothe the cat. “It’s okay, Oliver. I’ll get you cleaned up real soon, baby.”
Dash eyed her ass, reminded himself that he was annoyed and told his dick to calm down. He would not be ruled by sex.
Not with Margo.
Not when he wanted so much more. Like everything. “We’ll be at your house in one minute.”
She climbed into the backseat, her rump bumping him twice before she got settled. “Poor, poor baby. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”
Hearing her baby-talk to the cat lightened Dash’s mood. Sure, work was important to her. She might even think it came first, especially now with Yvette so shaken.
But she had other priorities, plenty of them. He’d just have to make sure he was one of them.
When they reached her house, he parked and said, “Let me carry him in for you. You can clean him up while I clean the car and carry in the rest of our stuff.”
Margo tried to deny him. “I can handle it.” She slid out of the backseat and hauled out Oliver’s carrier. “There’s no reason for you to—”
“You’re not getting rid of me.”
Surprise brought her around. “I wasn’t trying to!”
“Bullshit. You’re rebuilding those walls at Mach speed. But I guess you’re forgetting that my truck is parked wherever Reese put it.”
“Oh, yeah.”
He smirked. “So like it or not, I’m going with you to see Yvette.” When she started to complain, he relieved her of the carrier. “I won’t intrude. I can even wait in the kitchen. But I’m going.”
Scowling at him, she folded her arms over her chest.
Until Oliver gave a pitiful meow.
Dash chucked her under the chin and, knowing he had her, turned to head in with the cat. “We’d better hustle if you don’t want to keep Yvette waiting.”
She growled...but she also gave in.
Now as long as she didn’t try to leave him waiting in the car while she talked to Yvette, he’d count the day as a win.
* * *
CANNON CHECKED THE CLOCK on the concrete block wall. He didn’t have to be at the bar until four today. He had plenty of time yet to pound the heavy bag. Wearing bag gloves, he threw a punch. And another. Mixing it up some, he kicked hard, then more punches.
Sweat trickled down his neck, over his bare chest, soaking the waistband of his shorts. He concentrated, clearing his mind of everything else while delivering several hard strikes that worked his shoulders, his arms, hell, every muscle on his body. He’d been at it about half an hour, steadily pounding away his tension.
Sexual tension.
But there was the quandary. He had choices, only none of them appealed to him. The woman he wanted... No.
He struck again, harder, faster, and followed with a kick.
“Looks like we got here just in time.”
Pausing, Cannon turned at the unfamiliar voice, then felt his stomach drop. Holy shit. He put a hand up to slow the swinging bag, his thoughts scrambling before he caught himself and said, “Simon Evans and Havoc.” Stepping forward, he dipped his head in greeting. “It’s an honor.”
Havoc clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re Cann
on Colter.”
Evans added, “Your place, right?”
As if he’d never seen the rec center before, Cannon looked around. Gear was stacked everywhere. At the far end, youths sparred under the supervising eye of an older fighter. Toward the back, another fighter worked out while his friend spotted him. People milled in and around and none of them seemed to realize that MMA legends were on-site.
Getting it together, Cannon nodded. “Yeah. I set it up. I had sponsors who—”
“I should confess,” Simon says. “Already know all about it.”
“You do?”
“Saw your last fight.” Hands on his hips, Dean Conor, better known as Havoc in the fighting world, looked around at the various activities going on.
“You watched me?”
“Wasn’t the first time.”
Cannon kept ping-ponging back and forth between comments from the two men. What did their presence here mean? Wiping a forearm over his face to swipe off some of the sweat, he looked at each of them. “Are you recruiting?”
Simon grinned at Havoc. “He catches on quick.”
That only made Cannon’s heart drum harder. He tried for a cavalier shrug. “You said you’d seen more than one fight. You’re here now.” And I know I’m good.
“We want to train you.” Havoc stopped perusing the gym and instead studied Cannon. “You have a lot of skill, but I think it can be improved on.”
“Always,” Cannon agreed.
“Good attitude.” Grinning, Simon rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be fun.”
“What is?”
He held out his hands. “I’ve already spoken with Drew and he’s interested in signing you.”
“Drew?” Cannon’s brain cramped. “Drew Black?” The owner of the SBC fight club.
“There’s only one, right?” Havoc said, and then as a joke added, “Thank God.”
“So what do you say?” Simon waited, wanting an answer.
Cannon opened his mouth—and one of the kids came charging in the front doors.