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“Margo?”
She shifted, gave another throaty moan....
A knock sounded on her front door.
Damning the interruption and determined not to wake her, Dash moved silently from her bed and out of her bedroom. He quietly closed the door behind him. Whatever Margo was dreaming, she’d have to continue on without his absorbed attention until he got rid of her company.
* * *
A BIG, ROUGH HAND touched her face, her ear, down her throat and to her shoulder. “Wake up, honey.”
No, she didn’t want to leave the dream. But even as she fought it, the sensation of Dash’s mouth on her belly, her thighs, began to recede. She tried to hold on, and whispered, “Please.” She needed a conclusion.
She needed release.
As if from far away, Dash’s voice called to her. “C’mon, baby, open your eyes.”
His voice was so compelling, so husky and warm.... “Dash?”
“I hope all those soft hungry sounds were for me.”
Oh, God. His amusement cut through the last remnants of the dream. She cracked one eye open—and knew the pain meds had worn off. “You turned me down.” Sunlight sliced through her brain and her arm felt like throbbing lead. She bit her bottom lip to stifle any wimpy sounds.
“Shhh, it’s okay.” He helped her to sit up, put a pill to her lips and tilted a water glass until she swallowed.
Discomfort engulfed her.
Dash caressed her shoulder. “How about you proposition me when you’re not hurt?”
“Snooze you lose.” But speaking of hurt... “Was I run over?”
“Close.” He tipped up her chin. “And let’s be clear here. I wasn’t snoozing. I just want to know that it’s you coming on to me, and not the drugs.”
Margo dismissed everything he said when she saw his face. She knew immediately that something was wrong. She straightened, flinched as she readjusted her arm and asked, “What’s the matter? Did I snore?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mind.” He gave her a grim yet sympathetic stare. “Actually, your relatives have come to visit.”
Unfair. She barely had her eyes open. Before facing her folks she needed a little time—like twenty-four hours—to get it together. “You let them in?”
“Should I not have?”
Right. Like Dash could have kept them out. “Of course.” She chewed her lower lip. “Oliver?”
“When he heard the knock, he ducked into the kitchen under the table. I checked on him. He’s okay, just laying low.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t trust her father alone with her cat. Actually, she didn’t entirely trust her mother, either.
Curious, Dash watched her. “You’re welcome.”
She cast about for an idea on what to do next, but couldn’t seem to get beyond the fact of Dash sitting there, shirtless, barefoot, loose drawstring pants hanging low on his lean hips, looking so...delicious. Especially after that stirring dream.
Her splitting head and the thump, thump, thump of her arm, coupled with a visit from her mom and dad should have obliterated any and all carnal urges. Nonetheless, with Dash so close, smelling so incredibly good and watching her intently, she felt the burn of need.
What disturbed her most was that it wasn’t all sexual need.
She’d been asleep for hours, but he had stayed with her, gently caring for her.
Caring for her cat.
Who did that? She should have been outraged because really, she didn’t need anyone.
But some dormant female trait told her that it was nice to have the attention anyway. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken care of her.
She didn’t know if anyone ever had.
Before Dash, before this particular moment, she wouldn’t have let anyone.
Dash glanced at her closed bedroom door, then back to her. “Not that I don’t enjoy a little banter with a sexy woman still in bed, but don’t you think we should get a move on? Your father struck me as the type who wouldn’t mind intruding.”
“Perceptive.”
“I am, but he’s also as obvious as the hair on an ape.” As if he hadn’t just insulted her father, Dash reached an arm around her waist. “Let me help you up so you can at least get into your panties.”
The realization that she was bare-bottomed almost leveled her. Lieutenant Margaret Peterson—naked except for a man’s shirt. With her parents only a room away.
“Do you want to put on your yoga pants, too?”
She wanted a suit of armor. Or even her uniform. Right now neither was possible. Overwhelmed with the idea of her father waiting while Dash was in her bedroom with her, suggesting she put on underwear, she merely nodded.
Her world had turned upside down.
“Do you need a quick trip to the bathroom first?”
Now that he mentioned it... “Yes.” Thank God she had a master suite with her own bathroom so she wouldn’t have to go into the hall yet.
With her right hand she held on to Dash as he more or less lifted her from the bed then assisted her into the bathroom.
“The pain pill should kick in soon, and no, they have no idea I was giving it to you.” He propped a shoulder on the door frame and gave her an insolent look. “I have the bottle in my pocket, so unless your dad or brother frisks me, we’re good.”
“My brother, too?”
“Yeah, imagine that.”
Margo didn’t understand the dark note in Dash’s voice, and she was too frustrated to care. “They’re all three here?”
“Yes.” His gaze held her captive. “All three.”
It got her back up, the way he sounded more abrupt by the second. “I can manage if you want to—”
He looked away from her, but said, “I’m waiting.”
“Ooookay.” Knowing her father’s intolerance for tardiness, she didn’t want to waste time. She closed the bathroom door in Dash’s face, and came hobbling back out a mere half minute later.
As if searching for signs of distress, Dash looked her over.
On top of relieving herself, she’d also gargled and smoothed her hair one-handed. Neither had helped all that much. Though she felt more alert, she knew the truth. “I’m a mess.”
“With good reason.” Dash took her uninjured arm again and led her toward the bed, where she’d left her panties and yoga pants. He put her hand on his shoulder. “Hold on to me for balance.”
Why not? In one day Dash had already seen her in a more pathetic state than anyone else ever had in her entire thirty years. “Right.”
Going to one knee, he held her panties for her. Black panties with frosty pink lace as decoration. Soooo not the look for a feared lieutenant known for the ruthless demolition of corruption in the force, an ice queen who’d faced down enraged male officers with nary a flinch.
Dash looked up at her, his gaze dark and steady and somehow knowing. “It’s okay.”
Why was she still having sexual thoughts? Because a gorgeous hunk is on his knees in front of you, that’s why. If he had her backed to a wall, this would be the perfect position for him to—
“Believe me, I know,” he murmured low, sending a swirl of heat through her stomach.
“Do you?” She put her hand on his jaw, now dark with beard shadow.
“I’m trying not to think about it.” His attention went down her body. “Yet.”
Meaning later they could both think about it?
Obviously she needed to get laid, and fast. It no longer seemed to matter that Dash wasn’t the right man. In fact, he was starting to look like exactly the right man. He was here, and she had no doubt he could get the job done, that he would probably be quite thorough.
The powerful relief of sex would help to counter the weak way she felt right now.
But would he be willing?
Leaning on him, Margo lifted one foot at a time. “This might sound egotistical, but I’ve never had a man refuse to kiss me.”
“Think of it as a delay, not a refusal.” With the same dispassion he might have used on a child, Dash pulled up her panties, and then her yoga pants.
“So if I hadn’t just taken a pain pill—”
He sat back on his heels, his dark eyes filled with challenge. “I don’t take orders, either.”
“Orders?”
He straightened before her, so tall, so leanly muscled. And now he had a commanding air about him, something she’d never before noticed with Dash.
He cupped her face in his work-roughened hands. “You’re so used to calling the shots, you probably think you can get by with it in all situations, with all people. But I’m not one of your detectives.”
The steel in his tone gave her a shiver. Muscles going warm and weak, Margo leaned into his chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But of course she did. And of course...he was right.
The entire appeal of one-night stands was the opportunity to be someone else, someone unknown, a woman without a reputation for being so tough.
A woman...not so in control.
“All that aside,” Dash said, “you need a few days to recover. And tasting you here—” he brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb “—makes me want to taste you everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” She hoped he meant what she thought he—
Obliterating her thoughts, he said, “Here,” and brushed his knuckles over her right nipple.
How could she be so sensitive? In the back of her mind, she thought, Because this is Dash.
She breathed harder.
Watching her, he trailed his hand down her ribs and over her stomach, stopping between her thighs. “And here.” His fingertips played over her ever so lightly.
Her bones turned to butter....
Until he said, “But you’re not up for that yet.”
Wrong and wrong again. She wanted him and no paltry injuries would change that. Persuasive arguments tripped to her tongue. “Dash—”
“No is no, honey.”
How...naughty of him, to get her primed when he had no intention of following through.
And why did that just ramp up her excitement more?
Unfortunately, with her parents in the other room, she couldn’t very well make him live up to the promise of his touch. “Because I can’t keep the folks waiting, I’ll accept that. For now.”
“Good girl.” Dash smiled, then took his hands from her body and shoved them into the pockets of the loose cotton pants. His lean jaw flexed. “Now that we’ve settled that, I have a question.”
“Can it wait?”
“Afraid not.” And with no pause at all, he demanded, “If they already had a son, why the hell weren’t your parents happy with you being a daughter?”
* * *
HIS MOM CALLED him the carefree one. His dad praised him for knowing how to relax and when to laugh. True enough, when compared to Logan’s serious persona, Dash was the cheerful, lighthearted brother.
But right now, his temper simmered near a boil. Not only had Margo slipped out of the bedroom without answering his question—if she even had an answer for something so asinine—but now he also had to deal with her dysfunctional family.
Like detached strangers on a public bus, they politely tolerated each other. He was uncomfortable with them, so how would Margo feel?
At the edge of the couch her mother sat like an ice statue, back ramrod-straight, feet together, hands folded over the purse in her lap and her face as smooth and seamless as plastic surgery could make it. An expensive sweater and pleated slacks emphasized her still-trim figure. Her hair was lighter than Margo’s and without the fun curls. In fact, her hair looked like a damned helmet it was so starched into place. And instead of Margo’s beautiful blue eyes, her mother’s eyes were a lackluster gray.
Her father deliberately took up space, brawny arms stretched out over the back of the couch, expression critical of everyone and everything. His only concern upon arrival wasn’t whether or not Margo was okay. No, he wanted to know only why Dash was there.
Surely not to help, as if such a thing were unthinkable. The ass. Dash imagined the senior Peterson enjoyed cowing others; he had that smarmy type of personality prevalent in bullies. For now, because he was Margo’s father, Dash would give him respect.
As long as the man didn’t push him too far.
