Dash of Peril
Page 33

Grabbing Dash’s hand, she started for the front door. “You’ve made a lot of promises,” she told him. “Now it’s time for you to pay up.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DASH PLANTED HIS FEET and refused to budge. “Slow down, Margo. I need to grab our stuff from the car.”
Looking frustrated enough to attack, she jerked around to blast him—and Dash took her mouth in a devouring kiss that quickly had her subdued. Little by little he lightened up, teasing with his tongue, tasting her, pushing her closer to the edge.
Turning her on turned him on, too. But he knew what would happen and when—and she didn’t. That gave him a much-needed advantage.
He eased away from her lush mouth and panting breaths, then had to untangle her fingers from his shirt. Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles and felt the tension quivering through her. It wouldn’t take too much more, and she’d be wound so tight, he’d have her screaming with an orgasm with very little effort.
Keeping his tone controlled, he stated, “I want you to go on in. Take a few minutes with Oliver. I’ll be right there.”
Her beautiful dark eyes searched his face. “And then?”
“And then you’re going to take off your clothes and wait for me while I get dinner started.”
Her lips parted on a protest, but she said nothing.
Dash could see the simmering excitement in her wary gaze. Making it clear he assumed her agreement, he asked, “Will you need any help?”
Uncertainly, she shook her head. “No,” she said in a very small voice.
“Wear the sling if you need it, but nothing else.” He cupped the side of her face, let his thumb brush her jaw. “Once I have everything cooking, I’ll see to you.”
Her br**sts shimmered with a shakily indrawn breath. Again she started to speak, but didn’t. Three more deep breaths later, she turned and headed for the house.
Dash watched her go, his muscles drawn tight, his chest restricted. He was so hard he could be lethal, and he knew it wasn’t the game.
It was the woman. His woman—once she realized how perfectly suited they were.
When she stepped into the house, Dash turned and went to the car. Yes, he wanted to cook dinner for her; as he’d told her, she needed to eat. But this was about more than food and they both knew it.
Deliberately he’d bought boneless chicken so he could cook it more quickly, though at the time he hadn’t seen this particular scenario playing out. He definitely hadn’t planned to be sidetracked by her brother or father.
Her father. Jaw tight, Dash shook his head. Something was going on there, something personal and difficult and, at least for Margo, emotionally troubling.
Today she’d made him so proud, standing up to her father, unblinking when most people would quail under the big man’s disapproval. He thought about calling Logan to see if his brother knew of any family issues between them, but that felt disloyal and he couldn’t make himself do it.
Later, after he had her soft and replete, he’d ask Margo himself and hopefully she’d confide in him.
When Dash walked into the house, loaded down with his bag and the groceries, Margo was on the couch still giving attention to Oliver. He smiled toward her, and she reciprocated with defiance. That made him grin.
“Do you like oven-fried chicken?”
Her expression faltered. “Yes.”
“Good. It’ll take me about twenty minutes to get it in the oven and get the potatoes boiling. Then I’ll have about thirty minutes before I have to do anything more to it.” Thirty minutes that he’d spend on her.
He went on past her, down the hall first to drop off his bag in her bedroom. He’d brought a few changes of clothes—and plenty of condoms. Best to leave those in the overnight bag for now, though. He didn’t want to tempt himself.
With that done, he left the bedroom and went up the hall and into the kitchen. Margo hadn’t yet moved, but he didn’t worry about it.
She was struggling with things, slowly coming to grips with the depth of their relationship. He cared enough to give her all the time and attention she needed until she completely accepted him.
First he set the oven, and then Dash found flour in the cabinet, an egg and butter in the fridge. In the bottom oven drawer he located a thick cast-iron skillet.
He felt more than heard Margo’s approach and glanced at her over his shoulder. Her dark eyes were huge, her face flushed.
Her ni**les were tight points against her blouse.
He loved seeing her like this. He just plain loved her. “Everything okay?”
Her gaze moved over his back, down his spine to his ass and then his thighs. “If I get naked, are you going to get naked, too?”
He wouldn’t lie to her. As he cracked the egg into a bowl, he shook his head. “Not just yet.” Next he put the flour on a plate.
“Why do I need to be naked?”
Was that a note of worry?
Maybe apprehension over what he’d do?
Margo was one of the bravest people he’d ever met, but she didn’t like the unknown.
He, however, liked it a lot because it gave him the advantage in dealing with her. He wanted everything; she wanted sex. It would take patience to show her how perfectly suited they were.
Without looking at her, he said, “So I can make you come.”
Silence.
Without changing his demeanor, Dash turned to face her. “And so I can enjoy looking at you, and you can get comfortable with me.”
Her chin lifted. “I’m comfortable.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The seconds ticked by. Closing her eyes, she leaned back on the wall and groaned. “I don’t know how you do this to me!”
So that neither of them would misunderstand, he said, “Make you hot?”
“Yes.”
Dash studied her for a moment, then put butter in the cast-iron skillet and slid it into the oven to melt. Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he approached her. “We have a lot of chemistry between us.”
“Then why aren’t you just as turned on as I am?”
“You think I’m not?” He took her right wrist and carried her hand to the front of his jeans—against his straining erection. His breath caught at the first touch of her small fingers. “I’m dying to get inside you, honey. But I’m also determined to make this as good for you as it can be. And that means indulging the things you like, paying attention and really ramping up the pleasure for you.”
“If you ramp it up any more, I’m going to lose it.”
Her hand touching him made it difficult to stay on track. “Good.”
Her fingers squeezed him through the denim. “I would like it if you’d just—”
“Shh. No.” For the sake of his own control, he lifted her hand away. “You might think you’ll enjoy taking over, but you’ll like submitting more.” It was the use of that particular word that really got to her. Submit. It was such an alien concept for such a dominating woman.
Dash waited.
She chewed her lower lip, looked away from him and whispered, “Is this what you do with other women?”
“I don’t want other women.” He needed her to understand that. Since meeting her, no one else had held his interest.
“In the past then. Is this some favorite game of yours?”
Touching her became a living, breathing necessity. He wedged his hand around the sling and cupped her right breast, then used his thumb to abrade her stiffened nipple.
On a soft moan, she closed her eyes again and shivered all over. Her reaction gratified him.
“I’ll admit this—taking charge is a favorite of mine. But if you want to try anything else, you just need to let me know.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Has any woman ever told you no?”
“Over a preferred fantasy?” He shrugged. “Of course.”
“What?” Curiosity replaced some of the heat. “What did you want to do that she didn’t?”
That particular look in her eyes almost made him laugh. He could tell she was imagining a dozen wrong scenarios. “I think I’ll save that confession for another day.” He bent and kissed her nose. “Right now, I’d rather concentrate on you, with me, and how right this all feels. Okay?”
“Tomorrow, when I get cleared—”
“If you get cleared.” He hated the thought of her pushing herself too hard.
“Tomorrow I just might switch things up.”
She said it like a threat and his smile broke free. “Then I’ll look forward to your efforts. But for now, tonight, trust me to know what you need.” He punctuated that by plucking at her nipple, tugging, twisting the smallest bit.
And even that, such a simple thing, nearly pushed her over the edge.
Dash withdrew. He let his hands hang at his sides and just watched her, enjoying how the sensual fog cleared from her gaze, how she struggled to bring herself back from the brink.
Using her hand to push away from the wall, her gaze evasive, she nodded and turned away. “Forget your torturous bath. I’ll go wash up all by my lonesome.”
“You don’t need any help?”
“Your idea of help will kill me.”
“Spoilsport.” Dash patted her backside. “Tomorrow then.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “When you’re ready, I’ll be in the bedroom.”
That particular tone from her nearly sent his heart punching through his chest. God, he had it bad, and he was staking everything on sex games. He had to be good, better than good, because he had a feeling she’d use any excuse to end their relationship.
Oliver strolled into the kitchen, wound around Dash’s ankles and brought him out of his ruminations. A second later he heard the water turn on in the bathroom.
Quickly Dash finished preparing the chicken, put it into the cast-iron skillet and closed the oven door. In record time he peeled a few potatoes, cut them up and put them on to boil.
To keep the cat busy he filled Oliver’s food dish and drinking fountain, then washed and dried his hands. He’d given Margo twenty minutes—more than long enough.
Anticipation riding him hard, he tossed aside the dish towel and headed down the hallway to find her. As he passed the bathroom he peeked inside, but wasn’t surprised not to find her there. She’d left behind a damp towel on the floor, and a wet toothbrush on the sink. He grinned and decided it wouldn’t hurt to do his own freshening up.
In the bathroom he glanced in the mirror. He should probably shave again to keep from scratching her, but the idea of her waiting, naked, in her room kicked that idea to the curb.
In under two minutes he stepped into the bedroom doorway and saw her seated at the side of the bed, bare except for her panties. Her small feet were together, her right hand resting on the mattress at the side of her hip, her splinted left over her lap. She kept her back ramrod-straight, her chest rising with deep breaths.