He looked up from the table and adjusted his grip on my hand, wrapping it up completely. “We aren’t good men, Bryce.”
“Maybe. But you’re a good man to me.”
“You sure about that? I got you thrown in jail. Haven’t always treated you right. Yelled at you tonight.”
I locked my eyes with his. “I’m sure.”
Dash loved the people in his life. He was loyal and kind. He enjoyed pushing my buttons, but he’d never once pushed too hard. When he had crossed a line, they’d all been forgivable acts. And an apology hadn’t been long to follow.
Even the whole jail thing.
Because had our roles been reversed, I probably would have done the same to him. I wouldn’t admit it anytime soon, but I’d pardoned him for it all.
After paying the check, Dash and I made our way out into the dark night.
“Where to?” I asked as we walked to my car.
“Mind if I crash at your place?”
I fished the keys from my purse. “I’m punching you in the ribs if you snore.”
He chuckled. “I don’t snore.”
* * *
My alarm blared me awake at four in the morning. I scurried to shut it off and not wake Dash.
The man was sprawled on his stomach, his face turned away from me. But his hand was on the small of my back. His thumb moved, rubbing a tiny circle. “It’s early.”
“I have to go to the paper and make sure everything gets out for delivery,” I said, sliding out of bed.
Dad was probably already at the newspaper, bright-eyed and smiling. I was anxious to join him. Sunday and Wednesday mornings were the two days I didn’t want to linger in bed.
Though today, with Dash here, I was tempted.
I took an efficient shower and swiped on the minimum makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Staying up past midnight on a Saturday wasn’t something I’d normally do. But last night had been an exception. To a lot of things.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, tennis shoes and a T-shirt, I walked toward the bedroom door, ready for coffee, but hesitated when I glimpsed Dash. Should I say goodbye? Or just leave?
He was probably asleep. Not snoring now that I was on my way out.
“Bryce.”
“Yeah?” I whispered.
“Come here.”
I tiptoed around the bed, bending low. “What?”
“Kiss,” he ordered with his eyes closed. Those dark lashes were lying perfectly on his cheek.
I smiled, putting my hand on his forehead to push his mussed hair away before dropping my lips to his temple. “Bye.”
It was impossible to keep the smile off my face as I drove to the newspaper. Even with only a few hours of sleep, I was rested and fresh.
Dash and I had fallen into my bed last night, emotionally exhausted and full. He hadn’t made a move for sex. Neither of us had. He’d slept in his boxers. I’d pulled on a tank top and shorts. Then, with his hand slipped underneath the hem of my shirt, we’d fallen asleep.
His palm had stayed warm on my skin all night.
He’d probably be gone when I returned home. Dash had been hit by an emotional steamroller last night and needed time to work it all out. I only hoped he knew he could turn to me if he needed a sympathetic ear.
Last night, things had moved way past my story. This wasn’t about me anymore. Or Amina Daylee. Or Genevieve. Or even Draven. This was about Dash.
My feelings for him could no longer be ignored. When Dad asked me for a story on the Tin Gypsies, I’d tell him a lie. There wasn’t one worth printing.
A story wasn’t worth breaking Dash’s heart. He’d had enough of that in his life. He wouldn’t get more from me.
Coming through the rear entrance to the pressroom, I found Dad standing by the Goss. “Hi, Dad.”
“How’s my girl?” he asked as I kissed his cheek.
“Good. How’s it looking?”
He handed over the sample paper in his hands. “We’re about done. I’ve got one last run here. BK is working on the bundles.”
Scanning the front page, I smiled at the last of Willy’s articles about the railroad travelers. People had loved his segment, me included.
“It couldn’t have turned out better,” I told Dad. “I’ll go help out BK.”
After an hour of bundling papers and organizing them into stacks, we greeted the delivery drivers in the loading dock. Five parents with their five kids pulled into the parking lot about the same time. They’d be driving papers through town and the surrounding areas this morning.
Most of our subscribers would have their news before seven.
“What are you up to for the rest of the day?” Dad asked as he shut off a row of lights in the pressroom. BK had left already, making a few of his own deliveries before going home.
“Not much. I need to do laundry,” I grumbled. “What about you?”
“A nap. Then your mom wants to go out to Stockyard’s for dinner. You’re welcome to come along.”
“Thanks. We’ll see.” Which we both knew meant no.
I was cheeseburgered out. The thought of another made my stomach roll. The coffee I’d guzzled while bundling papers wasn’t sitting well either, probably from all the heavy food right before bed.
When I got home, I was going to make myself a piece of dry toast and hoped that it would soak up some of the residual grease.
“I have a couple new story ideas I want to run by you. Will you be in tomorrow?”
“Of course. By eight at the latest. We can talk about them then.” He hugged me and I waved as I walked for the door. “Bryce.”
“Yeah?” I turned.
“You’ve been quiet about the Tin Gypsies. Did you really give that up?”
“Turns out, there isn’t much to tell.” It was a relief. Dad wouldn’t pressure me to write the story, but by telling him I was letting it go, it gave me permission to do just that.
“All right. And the murder investigation? Has Marcus released anything new?”
“Not lately. I doubt there will be much until the trial. I’d like to do a memorial piece about Amina Daylee, but I think it’s too soon after the murder.” Too much was up in the air. “I’d like to give it some time.”
“Okay. Then I guess we’ll print happy news for a while. Not a bad thing.”
I smiled. “No, it’s not.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Dad.” I waved again, then emerged outside, savoring the heat from the morning sun on my face. It was a strange time for a nap, but as I drove home, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me hard and I knew the second I made it home, I was going back to bed.
Toast would have to wait until I was fully awake.
With my car parked in the garage, I walked into the house, half asleep.
“Ahh!” I screamed. I clutched my heart, hoping it would stop trying to break free. “What are you doing?”
Dash dropped the towel he’d folded on top of the stack of others. “Laundry.”
“I thought you’d be gone.”
“Took a shower but couldn’t find a towel in the bathroom. So I went searching and got one from a laundry basket. Decided to fold that one. Then I found another. And another.”
“What can I say. I loathe folding laundry.”
He grinned. “Figured that out two baskets ago, baby.”
I walked deeper into the room, plopping down on the arm of the couch as Dash folded another towel. “What are you really doing here? Because it’s not folding my laundry.”
“Hiding.”
“Hiding,” I repeated.
“Yeah.” He picked up the basket, now full of folded clothes, and set it aside. “Can I hide here?”
The vulnerability in his voice twisted my heart. “Of course.”
“Thanks.” Dash came to stand in front of me, his feet bare on the rug, and lifted his hands to frame my face. “Kiss.”
“You’re demanding today.”
He dropped his lips to m
ine. “You like it.”
As his tongue swept across my lips, the swell of heat in my core proved his point. I opened my mouth, letting him sweep inside. His taste consumed my mouth and my hands reached for his hips, pulling him closer.
He stepped between my legs, using his own to push them wide. Then he leaned down and forced me back on my perch, keeping his grip firm on my face.
Our mouths twisted and turned, battling one another for more. The temperature in the room spiked and I ached to feel my bare skin against his. The weeks since I’d had him inside me had been far too long, and the need to feel him was overwhelming. Panting and searching for more to stoke the fire burning, I gripped at his T-shirt and pulled him on top of me.
He ripped his lips away, grabbing me by the hips and spinning us both, so he was sitting on the couch and I straddled his lap. Dash’s erection, thick and hard beneath his zipper rubbed against my core.
“Off.” I yanked at his shirt, dragging it up his body as he worked the button and zipper free on my jeans.
“Are you wet for me?” He slipped his hand into my panties, finding my slippery folds with his middle finger. A grin spread across his face as I gasped at that finger curving inside.
“Yes,” I moaned, closing my eyes and letting my head lull sideways. “I missed you.”
I’d missed more than just his body, but I kept that thought to myself.
Dash’s lips sucked at my neck, kissing and licking as his free hand tugged at the collar of my tee. “Missed you too.”
He was most definitely talking about sex. But in the corners of my heart, I pretended it was something more.
His hand between my legs tormented, teased, until I was nearly breathless. But I didn’t want to come around his fingers. Digging for the strength in my wobbling knees to stand, I climbed off his lap, shoving my jeans and panties to the floor.
I whipped off my shirt and by the time I looked back at Dash, he’d pulled his own jeans down his hips and his shirt was off. Those ripped abs were bunched and his hand was fisted around his pulsing shaft, a condom in place.
I straddled his waist, taking his face in my hands. “Damn, you’re sexy.”
“I know.” He grinned as I kissed the corner of his mouth.
That arrogance should have been a turnoff, but the man had a mirror. And he knew what he did to me.
Dash positioned himself beneath my entrance, and as I slowly sank down, I sheathed him. The stretch, that incredible fill, sent a shudder down my spine and I nearly orgasmed right then.
“Fuck,” Dash groaned, the cords of his neck straining as I lifted up before sinking down again. “You’ve ruined me.”
The laundry he’d folded tumbled from the couch as we got lost in the frenzy. I rode him hard until my muscles weakened and my pace slowed. Dash took over, smashing our chests together as he repositioned us, me on my back with my legs spread wide. Him between me, powerful and in control.
The sheer masculinity of his arms and legs amazed me as he braced himself, thrusting his hips over and over until I came undone. My orgasm washed over me in hard, long waves until I was limp.
Dash came not long after, pouring himself free as the ridges of his chest and abs flexed. I had definitely gone too long without that view. It was mine. All mine. For just a little bit longer.
“It just gets better,” he panted into my hair as he collapsed on top of me. Then he dropped a swift kiss on my neck and stood, sliding out. “Be right back.”
While he went to deal with the condom, I worked to catch my breath. There was a charged feeling under my skin. An electricity. I’d been so tired when I’d come home, but now I wanted more.
Dash came back into the living room, holding out a hand to help me from the couch. The moment I was on my feet, I reached between us for his cock. Maybe he’d be up for round two.
“Not yet.” He grinned, taking my hand away. “I’m out of condoms.”
“Oh.” My spirits fell. “I don’t have any.”
“I’ll run out and get some later. Like to have my own anyway.”
He liked to have his own? I blinked, unsure I’d heard him correctly. “What exactly does that mean? Because it kind of sounded like you need condoms to use with someone other than me.”
And that was absolutely not going to work.
“What? No, babe.” He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead. “You’re it. But I watched one of my brothers in the club get a girl pregnant because she’d fucked with the condom. I’ve always made it a habit to provide them myself.”
“I’m not some lying, manipulative—”
“Stop.” He kissed me again. “Know that’s not you. But I still buy the condoms.”
“Fine.” I huffed, stepping out of his hold and walking down the hallway to my bedroom. It hurt that he didn’t trust me enough to provide protection, that I was no different than any other woman he’d slept with.
“Don’t be mad.” Dash caught me in the hall, wrapping me in his arms. “Not saying any of this to hurt you. I just don’t want kids. Don’t see myself as a father. Never have.”
Why was I drawn to such an emotionally unavailable man? This wasn’t the first time I’d been with a man who was terrified of commitment. Why did I seem to find men who thought the idea of a family was a death sentence?
“It’s fine,” I muttered, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. It wasn’t his fault. He was only being honest. The problem wasn’t Dash. It was me. “I’m just tired.”
Emotionally and physically.
He let me go. “Let’s crash for a while.”
And forget this conversation ever happened. What did it matter if he didn’t want kids? We weren’t on that path, so it was best to forget this whole thing. Maybe this was more than just sex. But that didn’t mean we were a couple. I might be his temporary hiding place—that didn’t mean we had a future.
Dash followed me to the bedroom, and I climbed under the sheets, facing away from him. But instead of giving me my space, he took me in his arms, positioned me on his chest and stroked my hair until, bruised hearts and all, we both fell asleep.
* * *
We woke hours later as the sun streamed into the room, though neither of us made a move to get up. I stayed draped over his chest as his fingers drew patterns on the small of my back.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell Nick,” Dash said into my hair.
“About . . .” Genevieve. I left her name unspoken, suspecting it would only irritate him. Dash wasn’t ready to learn about his half sister, wonderful as she was.
“Yeah. About . . . her.” He sighed. “Nick and Dad had this falling out after Mom died. Took years for them to work it out. The shit that happened, with Emmeline almost getting kidnapped, brought them back together. This will destroy them all over again. Dad’ll lose his son and his grandkids this time too. Nick won’t forgive him.”
I lifted up to see his eyes. They were golden in the dim light. Captivating. Sad. “Maybe before you call Nick, you should get the whole story.”
“No.” He frowned. “I can’t talk to Dad.”
“You will have to at some point.” Unless Draven went to prison for killing Amina. Then Dash might be able to avoid his father. But in the end, he’d regret it. “Don’t do it for him. Do it to get answers. And then you can decide what to do about Nick.”
He blew out a long breath. I expected him to take some time to think over my suggestion, but one moment I was sinking on his exhale, and the next I was being toppled to the side as he flew off the bed. “Let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Now. And you’re coming with me.”
“Me? Why? I think it would be better if this was just you and your dad.” I’d already intruded on last night’s kitchen scene.
“You need to be there to stop me if I try to kill him.”
I shot him a glare. “Not funny, Dash.”
“Then . . . will you be there for me?” He held out a hand. “Please?”
> Chapter Nineteen
Dash
“Is this the house where you grew up?” Bryce pulled into Dad’s driveway.
It wasn’t really the question she was asking. She wanted to know if this was where Mom had died.
I glanced at the sidewalk. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” She put the car in park. “I thought maybe you would have moved. After . . .”
“No. Dad thought it would show weakness.”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“That’s what he told us anyway. But really, I think he stayed because he couldn’t fathom the idea of living somewhere else. He bought this house for Mom a few years after they were married.”
This was the house where they had loved. Where they’d brought Nick and me home from the hospital. Where they’d made our family.
The house was painted a soft green. The trim was maroon and matched the front door. Dad had had it repainted a few years ago because it was starting to chip. He’d told the painters to pick the exact same colors because those were the colors Mom had picked four decades prior.
“She’s in the walls,” I told Bryce. “The floors and rooms and hallways. That’s why he couldn’t leave. It’s not her house. The house is her.”
“He loves her.”
I nodded. “Above anything else, she was precious to him. At least, I thought so. Now . . . I’m not sure.”
Maybe I didn’t know Dad at all. The father I’d admired wouldn’t have cheated on his wife.
Why? It didn’t make sense. When Dad loved Mom so much, why would he take another woman? How could he do that to her?
We sat for a few moments because I couldn’t bring myself to reach for the handle on the door. I was so angry on behalf of my mother, who I missed every damn day.
How could he?
“Dash.” Bryce placed her hand on my knee. “I can hear the questions popping into your mind. Ask him. Get your answers.”
She looked at the house and I followed her gaze. Dad was standing in the front window, watching as I debated whether or not to get out of the car. Even from a distance and through the glass, I could see a gash on his cheek. I’d hit him harder than I’d thought. Made sense because my knuckles were killing me today.
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