Dash of Peril
Page 53

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 ni**les—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.”