A no-nonsense female cop reluctantly teams up with the one man who makes her lose control in a deliciously sensual new novel from New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

To bring down a sleazy abduction ring, Lieutenant Margaret “Margo” Peterson has set herself up as bait. But recruiting Dashiel Riske as her unofficial partner is a whole other kind of danger. Dash is six feet four inches of laid-back masculine charm, a man who loves life—and women—to the limit. Until Margo is threatened, and he reveals a dark side that may just match her own….

Beneath Margo’s tough facade is a slow-burning sexiness that drives Dash crazy. The only way to finish this case is to work together side by side…skin to skin. And as their mission takes a lethal turn, he’ll have to prove he’s all the man she needs—in all the ways that matter….

Praise for New York Times bestselling author

Lori Foster

“Foster’s writing satisfies all appetites with plenty of searing sexual tension and page-turning action in this steamy, edgy, and surprisingly tender novel.”

—Publishers Weekly on Getting Rowdy

“Foster hits every note (or power chord) of the true alpha male hero.”

—Publishers Weekly on Bare It All

“A sexy, believable roller coaster of action and romance.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Run the Risk

“Bestseller Foster…has an amazing ability to capture a man’s emotions and lust with sizzling sex scenes and meld it with a strong woman’s point of view.”

—Publishers Weekly on A Perfect Storm

“Foster rounds out her searing trilogy with a story that tilts toward the sizzling and sexy side of the genre.”

—RT Book Reviews on Savor the Danger

“The fast-paced thriller keeps these well-developed characters moving.… Foster’s series will continue to garner fans with this exciting installment.”

—Publishers Weekly on Trace of Fever

“Steamy, edgy, and taut.”

—Library Journal on When You Dare

“Intense, edgy and hot. Lori Foster delivers everything you’re looking for in a romance.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz on Hard to Handle

Dash of Peril

Lori Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

For those of you with good memories, you’re going to read this book and then recall that I was rehabbing a broken elbow while writing it. So I need you to know I was already well into the book before I broke my elbow. Honest. My editor can vouch for me on that!

Pretty please don’t think, even for a second, that anything Margo goes through is in any way related to my own experiences. :::Grin:::

I very much hope you enjoy Dashiel “Dash” Riske and Lieutenant Margaret “Margo” Peterson. I love hearing from readers, so feel free to drop me a line. Oh, and before you ask, yes, Cannon is getting his own book, No Limits. His story will actually be the first book in a new series. To check on release dates, my website should always be your go-to resource, www.lorifoster.com.

Happy reading!

To Shana Schwer, best friend extraordinaire.

Not only because you find me an answer for every

police question I have, and love the UFC as much as I do, and are such a terrific pet lover. But because you’re you,

a pretty terrific person all the way around.

And extra thanks to Nancy Glembotzky,

the true owner to Oliver the cat, the ragdoll puppy-cat

I used to show Margo’s softer side. I love when my readers are also animal lovers like me! Thank you, Nancy,

for sharing Oliver with me.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

FROZEN PELLETS OF sleet carried by the icy March winds stung Lieutenant Margaret Peterson’s face. The late snowstorm wasn’t uncommon.

Welcome to Warfield, Ohio.

With one gloved hand Margo held her coat closed at her throat. The other hand, ungloved, remained in her pocket as she hurried to her new car parked in the lot across from the bar. At 1:00 a.m. the streets were dark with minimal traffic. A lone streetlamp lent an angelic glow to the beautiful pearl color of her Lexus.

Closing out a bar wasn’t new for her; usually at times like these, in the quiet of the night after hours of being sized up by hungry men, she felt like Margo, not Margaret, a woman instead of a lieutenant. Despite her reasons for being at the bar this time, playing the game left her feeling sexier, softer, more vulnerable—the opposite of her kick-ass cop persona.

But right now, she was both soft woman and commanding lieutenant, balancing the image she needed to convey with the ability she’d honed.

For months she’d been unofficially undercover, hoping to glean information on the bastards who ensnared women, forcing them into seedy porn movies that included bondage, domination and some sick, sexually inspired discipline.

If the women had been willing, well then, she’d leave them to it. Who was she to judge? She wasn’t a hypocrite; she believed in consenting adults doing as they pleased.

But abducted women? Abused women?

The first young lady who’d come to them had been disoriented, confused and so incredibly scared. The bastards had grabbed her, blindfolded her and taken her to a vacant building, where they’d forced her to star in an underground porno. Maybe they’d let her go because they knew they’d be cleared out by the time anyone would find their location.

And maybe, just maybe, they had planned to only do one video. But like most sick fucks, once they got a taste of their perversion, they wanted more.

Margaret detested all bullies, took great pleasure in bringing down criminals, but she had a very special, deep-rooted red-hot hatred for men who sexually mistreated women. It was the worst type of degradation, the most demoralizing thing that could happen to a female.

Her heart beat harder, faster, just thinking of it. Fury rivaled the cold, heating her from the inside out with molten hatred.

Eventually, one way or another, she would crack this case and annihilate the ones responsible—or die trying.

Hanging in local bars—the very locations where the women were often targeted—had seemed an ideal setup. For too many months, right through the holidays, she had spent several nights a week on the prowl...without a single nibble.

Others had given up. The captain believed the bastards had either shut down or moved their enterprise elsewhere. In her bones, Margo sensed they were still around. And then, just last week, a woman showed up at the station. Bruised, traumatized, hysterical, she had barely escaped.

That made four instances now, two of them fatal. Margaret was determined to get to the bottom of it, so on top of the reignited but routine investigation, she kept her eyes and ears open while trolling the “less respectable” bars.

Nothing new in that, really.

Being a female lieutenant with tough-as-nails notoriety complicated dating. And with her particular tastes...

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Before she could register that deep voice as someone she recognized, Margo had her coat open, her loaded Glock in her hand.

The weapon didn’t faze him.

Tall and handsome and far too carefree, he stared into her eyes. Even in the dim light through the never-ending sleet, she saw his crooked smile and she felt his anticipation.

Well, hell. Spending hours in a classless bar amid nasty drunks had less impact on her tension than Dashiel Riske’s half smile.

She didn’t lower the gun, but she did keep her finger off the trigger. “Stupid move, Dash.”

“Approaching you in the dark?” He stepped closer and, moving her gun hand aside, put his fists in the lapels of her coat and pulled it closed against the blustering wind. The position had his hands near her breasts—and caused her heartbeat to stall. “Would you shoot me?”

“No.” She was trained enough to discern a threat before firing. “But I might slug you.”

Taking liberties, he slid his hands up and under her collar to draw her closer. “Is that forthcoming?” He angled his face down to hers. “Should I duck for cover?”

“No.” If he weren’t so warm, she’d have pushed him away. Maybe.

Dash was such a player, never taking anything seriously—most especially not women. Where other men hesitated, he forged on with sensual confidence born from success.

For a while there he’d hung at the bars with her, specifically Rowdy’s bar, Getting Rowdy, the closest to where the women had been grabbed. He’d adequately allowed her to use him as a prop in her scam. With Dash, she could pretend to be an easy drunk and easier prey.

Even though she’d sometimes sat on his lap, kissed his neck or ear—even felt him up—other women had come on to him. She didn’t like to think he’d done without during their ruse.

But she hated even more to think of him hooking up.

When she’d started to feel jealous, she knew she had to cut him free.

At first he’d objected, but then the holidays had come and the department had given up on finding the sick fucks responsible....

“What are you doing here, Margo?”

After a glance around, she tucked the Glock .40 back into the specially designed inside pocket of her coat, where she also kept another fully loaded magazine. “What are you doing here?”

“I vote we sit in your car out of this ice storm and then I’ll tell you.”

It beat freezing to death, so Margo turned and, with a touch of her hand to the driver’s-side handle, released the autolock. Sliding into the leather seat, she pushed the keyless ignition button. Dash walked around the hood and folded his big body into the passenger seat. The small, sleek car fit her perfectly. But Dash’s muscular frame looked a little squashed, making her almost smile.

“You can move the seat back,” she told him.

“Thanks.” He adjusted it, which allowed him to stretch out his jean-covered legs a few inches.

The interior felt like a meat locker from having been in the dark, bitter cold. She turned up the heater, set the climate control for both heated seats and relocked the doors.

“New ride?”

“A gift to myself.” But she didn’t want to talk to Dash about that. She’d spent too many months blocking him from all personal thoughts.

He studied her in silence. “How long were you at the bar?”

Far too long considering it had turned out to be a waste of time. “Why?”

“Just wondering if you might have had a little too much to drink.”

“Of course I didn’t.” He’d done this routine with her enough times to know she never let herself get tipsy. She had the slightest buzz—but was as rock-steady as ever. “A few beers, that’s all.”

“Beer, huh? Longnecks?”

“Of course.” She varied her routine from one bar to the other, just in case her drinking habits factored in to the minds of the psychopaths preying on their victims. She showed up at each bar pretending to be already drunk and then added to that perception by her loose behavior.

“I suppose you’re as good at holding your liquor as you are at everything else?”

Was that a condescending tone she heard? “I know my limit.” Anything she did, she did well. It was sort of family law—if you weren’t going to excel, don’t bother.

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she said, “Well? Let’s hear it. Were you following me or will you claim this is happenstance?”

“I didn’t follow you, but I was looking for you.”

“Scouring bars?” And why now? Months had passed without him seeking her out, when she’d been almost positive that he would.

Not that she was bitter about it or anything. She’d ended things for a reason—a reason that still existed.

Dash gave an infuriating shrug. “Before you gave up, this is the night we would have met at Rowdy’s.”

“So?”

“Call me sentimental, but I miss it.” After the slightest pause, he added, “I miss you.”

“Really?” She refused to be sucked back in by his charm. The holidays had been almost intolerable—in part because she’d spent too much time thinking about him. Spring was upon them, and with it came a renewed sense of purpose, a purpose that didn’t include Dashiel Riske.

“Don’t you?”

“What?”

In that warm, teasing voice of his, he said, “Miss me.” He shifted, sending electrical awareness into the air. “Just a little maybe?”

Fond memories made her fight a smile. “We did have some fun.” Rowdy’s bar had quickly become her favorite hangout. Getting Rowdy was a clean but comfortable place that served simple meals, good drinks and fun entertainment, like pool and darts, and a dance floor.

Best of all, badass Rowdy Yates stayed around to run the place himself. That was incentive enough to turn the staunchest teetotaler into a booze hound.

Though Rowdy and his bartender, Avery, had married over Christmas, he was still a sinfully gorgeous hunk surrounded by an aura of danger and sensual menace, more than worth a fantasy or two.

“Admit it,” Dash murmured, watching her with probing intent. “Admit that you missed me.”

She reluctantly gave her attention back to Dash—and wanted to groan. A lonely streetlamp gave faint illumination to his features, but she knew every nuance of his gorgeous face. No, he didn’t have Rowdy’s bad-boy rep, but his razor-sharp sensuality and construction-worker physique churned up a different type of fantasy.

Too bad she knew they’d never suit.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “Just a little.”

“I’m wounded—especially considering I wasn’t your first pick.”

No, he wasn’t. She’d initially wanted Rowdy to play her counterpart in the role of bar trollop, but Avery Mullins, now Yates, had already staked a rock-solid claim. Not a big deal because she knew she never would have gotten involved with Rowdy anyway, not beyond a one-night stand.

“As I recall, you offered.”

“More like insisted.”

She inclined her head in agreement. As second choice, she’d accepted Dash’s help with her cover, help she needed to give her a reason to hang around the bar without getting hit on by every lonely sap alive. She wanted to look the part of helpless, vulnerable, female boozer, but she didn’t want to appear too pathetic.

The first woman who’d escaped had initially been at the bar with a boyfriend. They’d parted ways at the door, and she’d gotten snatched right off the street.

So Margo set herself up as easy prey by following the same scenario—with Dash.

“I’d love to know what you’re thinking.” Dash looked her over in a way that felt far too physical.

That I missed you so much, too. Blocking that response, she asked, “What are we doing here, Dash? It’s getting late and I’ve had a full day.”

His gaze narrowed, proving she’d hit a nerve. “If you wanted to start back at the bar scene, you should have given me a call.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it alone.”

His gaze moved over her face. “Do Logan and Reese know what you’re doing?”

Oh, now that just pissed her off. She settled into the corner of the seat, getting comfortable for this long-overdue confrontation. She would have preferred somewhere less...confined, maybe a location where his presence didn’t fill every inch of her space, where she didn’t breathe in his scent, where his tall, ripped body wasn’t so temptingly close.

But all she had was the here and now, so she’d make her point and then send him on his way. “You’re confusing yourself, Dash. My detectives answer to me, not the other way around.”

He disregarded her commanding tone and clear umbrage to say, “So they don’t know?”

“I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you.”

As if finally realizing her mood, he raised his brows. “You know it’s dangerous.”

“I can handle danger.” Hadn’t she spent too many nights being dangerously attracted to him?

“What if your ploy works and someone grabs you?”

“That’s the plan.” And yes, it was dangerous. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t right. But deep down, she had so damn many issues....

“You need backup.” Before she could say anything, Dash whispered, “Let me be your backup.”

“You and I have different objectives.”

“I want to sleep with you,” he admitted without reserve. “You want to catch some creeps—so sure, our main objectives are miles apart.”

Plainspoken Dash. Margo shook her head, denying what he wanted and how his brazen words affected her.

“But,” Dash said with emphasis, “the two aren’t mutually exclusive. I’d like to see the creeps caught, same as you.”

He’d like to see them caught. No sign of outrage or disgust at what happened, at what the men did—or what the women suffered.

Margo blew out a breath. If she involved Rowdy Yates, he would go after the bastards with single-minded intent.

Dash’s brother, Detective Logan Riske, one of the most honest, honorable, driven men she knew, always attacked injustice. He was seriousness personified.

Funny how the two brothers were so dissimilar in personality.

Logan saw her as a sexless superior, not a woman.

But Dash had been making his interest known almost from the moment they’d met. Unlike Logan, he played at life and enjoyed every moment.

In many ways, Margo was just like the rest of her family. Being a cop was in her blood.

But other things...other genetic ties...

“I’m pretty sure,” Dash went on, interrupting her disturbing thoughts, “that you want to sleep with me, too.”

A denial would be pointless. Dash knew women. Instead, she gave him the truth. “It won’t happen.”

“Because?”

“For one thing, I’m the lieutenant at a station previously plagued by corruption. I spent a lot of time and made a lot of enemies clearing out the trash.” More than one bad cop had lost his job. Other, less conscientious cops resented her for turning out their friends.

Logan and Reese were two of only a handful of good cops who had backed her 100 percent.

With anything work-related, she trusted them both. Away from the station...she preferred they stay out of her business.

Sleeping with the brother of a lead detective would definitely blur the lines.

“It’s important that I keep my personal life completely separate from work.” Few would understand her personal life, and too many others would use it against her.

“You think I’d gossip with Logan?”

“Probably Reese, too.” Logan and Detective Reese had been buddies forever; Logan and Dash were as close as two brothers could be. They all hung out together.

That made the circle far too close for her peace of mind.

“Seriously?” Dash angled his broad shoulders into the corner of the car to better face her. “You think guys sit around and share conquests?”

“Conquests?” Margo smirked. “Is that what you call it?”

“I might if I was the pathetic type to brag about how and when and with whom I had sex.” Getting comfortable, he unzipped his coat, showing a black thermal crew-neck shirt beneath. “But here’s a news flash for you—I don’t screw and tell. At least, not since I was seventeen. And trust me, even if I was the type—and again, I’m not—do you really think Logan or Reese wants to hear about us doing the nasty?”

Curiosity finally got her attention off his throat and up to his dark brown eyes. She tipped her head. “Would it be nasty?”

Dash watched her for several seconds before replying. “Entirely up to you.” His voice went deep and dark. “It can go any way you want—as long as it goes.”

She imagined sex with Dash would be...fine. Satisfying, sure. The man exuded testosterone and confidence. But it’d be the same old run-of-the-mill bang-for-fun encounter. He’d be polite, a gentleman. Considerate. It’d take the edge off, but there’d be no real depth. No risk.

No danger.

Unfortunately, that just didn’t do it for her.

Not that she’d ever tell Dash what did do it for her. That, by necessity, she reserved for fleeting adventures with strangers. Men she could control.

Men she would never see twice.

She did not share with guys closely related to her detectives.

“You know,” Dash said, “Logan prefers to think you’re made of stone. Reese, too. Must be a cop thing, right? To them, you’re a peer, not a supersexy woman.”

She and Logan had always shared mutual respect. Reese...that had taken a while but they were on good terms now. Both Logan and Reese were incredible detectives and she was lucky to have them.

But they weren’t peers. “I’m their superior.”

Dash grinned. “Maybe that attitude of yours helped to form their perspectives.”

Even now he couldn’t be serious. “Maybe.” Other than how it pertained to being a cop, she knew little enough about how men thought. What she did know she didn’t particularly like.

“I’m not the only one who sees it.”

She cocked a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You being sexy.” He watched her far too closely, maybe judging her response. “Rowdy sees it, too.”

A little thrill of excitement uncurled inside her, but she hid it. “Rowdy married his bartender.”

“Doesn’t make a man blind now, does it?”

No, but maybe it should. She detested men who cheated almost as much as the guys who were physically abusive.

“You know, honey, Rowdy has a distinct dislike of cops. You and he never would have happened.”

Dear God, had he read her thoughts? Did he know she’d once set her sights on Rowdy?

Did anyone else know?

She tried to put on her poker face, but he’d caught her off guard. Instead, she just spelled out the truth to him. “Rowdy has a certain appeal, but even if he’d been interested, I never would have gone down that road.”

“Ah,” Dash said, a little mocking. “Still too close to home, huh? I mean, his sister is married to Logan and you’re all uptight about that possible gossip—”

Margo lost her temper. “Is there a point to this chat? Because if so, I wish you’d get to it.”

“All right.” Taking liberties, Dash adjusted the climate controls, turning down the heat now that the car had warmed. “I want your answer.”

“About?” She glanced at the illuminated clock. If she didn’t get home soon she may as well plan on staying up. Her shift would start in less than five hours.

Before she realized his intent, Dash moved toward her, leaning over the console and stealing the breath in her lungs.

She frowned—and his mouth brushed hers.

In a rough whisper, he said, “This.”

Margo couldn’t deny that it felt good to be near a man, this man, soaking up his heat, hearing the husky timbre of his voice, feeling the restrained power innate in all good men.

He put scant space between their mouths and waited.

When she didn’t pull away, Dash leaned in again, nudging her lips apart with his own. She relaxed at the damp touch of his tongue, first tracing her lips and then dipping inside.

God, he tasted good, like a man should. Her heart pumped faster. More so than the average guy, Dash was muscular from work in his construction company. Tall, handsome, friendly...and sexy.

What would it hurt if she gave in? If she took the brief pleasure he offered? It wouldn’t last, and in some ways it’d only make her want more, things she couldn’t have.

Unreasonable things.

Twisted things.

Margo flattened her hands on his chest and levered him away. “That’s enough.”

His forehead rested against hers. “Our definitions of enough are further apart than our motivations.”

“I...can’t.”

Remaining close, frowning just a little, Dash studied her face, her eyes...her soul. “Tell me why.”

She couldn’t. “I’m sorry.” Did she have to sound so breathless? “You should go now.” Before she changed her mind and complicated her life horribly. It wouldn’t be fair to him...and it wouldn’t be fair to her.

Dash didn’t press her, but his tension increased. One hand still on the side of her face, he brushed his thumb over her temple. “You’ve been as clear as you can be, you know? Not interested. I hear you say it and I believe you. I see you like this, and I’m convinced.”

She couldn’t get enough oxygen to relieve the restriction in her chest. “But?”

“But I’m getting mixed signals all the same.”

So damned astute. Maybe he had a few things in common with Logan after all. God knew his brother rarely missed even the most subtle clue. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” He dropped back to his seat, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “That’s the explanation?”

She shook her head. “I don’t explain myself. It was only an apology.” Without meaning to, she licked over her bottom lip—and saw the heat in his dark eyes increase. “I don’t owe you anything, Dash.” And no way would she tell him she did want him—just not enough to overcome the problems. Sex with Dash would be like bungee jumping when she wanted to skydive.

“No,” he said softly, “I don’t suppose you do.” His expression flat, all his natural humor squashed, Dash buttoned up his coat again, opened the door and stepped out. A blast of wintery air slapped her heated face—but it couldn’t compete with the sudden frigidness of his mood. “Drive safely, Margo.”

He was one of the few people other than family who called her that. To the rest of the world she was Margaret, a rigid, by-the-books, untouchable lieutenant.

He didn’t slam the door, just calmly closed it—and walked away, his shoulders hunched against the relentless sleet.

* * *

STANDING BENEATH THE overhang of the bar with snow and sleet trying to blind his view, the chill of the winter storm reaching down deep to his bones, Saul Boyle watched the man exit her car. Must’ve been a short convo. His brother, Curtis, would be pleased.

“She’s all alone now,” he said into the cell.

“The roads are shit,” Curtis mused, and then added, “I’d feel better about this if Toby was with you.”

That made Saul bunch up in jealous anger. “He won’t be available until tomorrow, and then we might miss our chance.”

“There would be other chances.”

He clenched his teeth. “I don’t need Toby. I told you. I got someone to help me.”

“Yes, that pathetic dopehead who needs the cash for his next fix.”

Why did Curtis have to ridicule every decision he made? “He’ll be solid, Curtis. I swear.”

The lengthy pause had Saul sweating before finally, his tone gentle, Curtis said, “I’m trusting you with a lot, Saul.”

“I know.” It made him giddy, the idea of proving himself to Curtis. He was as good as anyone. He was better than Toby. “I got this.”

“Make sure, Saul. I need the police off my ass, not digging deeper into my business.”

“She’s the one leading the dig, so once she’s gone, the others will back off.” Saul started walking toward the van, where his disposable hired hand waited. “After tonight, she’ll be a distant memory.”

“Perfect. Let me know when it’s done.” And with that Curtis hung up.

Anticipation building, Saul grinned as he trod through the accumulating snow. Curtis loved the slow torment inherent in their playtime, but Saul lived for the brutality of a surprise attack—as long as it wasn’t directed at him. Curtis could be unpredictable...but no. His brother was fair. Vicious when necessary, but he knew what he was doing.

Curtis was the brains. It was his money and power that made it all possible. Saul enjoyed being the muscle.

Together, they made an unstoppable team.

* * *

WITH HURT COILING around her, Margo watched Dash go until he disappeared into the darkness. For reasons she couldn’t understand, defeat burned her eyes.

Damn him, why did he need to confuse things?

She turned on her headlights, fastened her seat belt and put the car in gear. With no other cars on the road, she pulled out of the lot and onto the icy street, going slow to accommodate the worsening weather.

The defroster and her wipers couldn’t quite counteract the ever-forming ice on her windshield. Twice she felt her tires slipping and slowed even more. Before the night was over the station would be bombarded with calls. The wrecks would pile up. Hopefully none of them would be too severe.

Lost in deep thought, she’d traveled a little over a mile when suddenly from her left, bright headlights emerged from the obsidian night. Blinded, she threw up a hand to shield her eyes...and several realities crashed through her mind.

She was about to be T-boned; given the speed of the approaching car it had to be deliberate. The impact was going to hurt her, maybe even kill her.

Damn it, now she’d never know what it was like to sleep with Dash Riske.

The last thought had barely formed when metal hit metal with a great grinding crash. The force of the impact jarred every bone in her body. Her forehead connected with the steering wheel...and as a great blackness slowly swallowed her up she didn’t see or hear anything else.

CHAPTER TWO

THE VAN BARRELING toward Margo’s driver’s-side door snapped away Dash’s brooding annoyance.

She was about to get ambushed.

Fear and rage slammed into him, but neither of those emotions would help the situation, so he went on autopilot. Slowing his truck to keep from sliding on the slick roads, he locked his hands on the wheel and said a quick, silent prayer that she wouldn’t be hurt.

Thanks to the shitty weather, he’d made the decision to follow her home to ensure she got there safely. He hadn’t planned on her ever knowing about it, but subterfuge no longer mattered.

His guts twisted when the bulky van rammed headlong into her petite Lexus. Heart hammering, he half-assed parked his truck at the side of the road and, keeping one eye on the van, launched out the door. Knowing he had to reach her, he moved fast, sliding every other step of the way.

Her car careened sideways, spun once and collided with a telephone pole. The air bags released and glass shattered. From overhead wires, clumps of accumulated snow and ice dropped hard.

Even before the sound of the crash faded away on the dark night, Dash reached her. Seeing her demolished door buckled in, the glass everywhere, sent fear jamming into his throat.

“Jesus.” The obscene sound of grinding gears and a revving engine told Dash the driver of the van was okay—and desperate to disengage from the snowbank.

Dash reached for Margo’s door handle.

He jerked at it twice, pulling with all his strength until finally with a sharp screech of bent metal, it wrenched open. Margo lay slumped over the steering wheel and deflated air bags, her small body lifeless.

Carefully, Dash put his fingertips to her throat...and blew out a breath when he felt her steady pulse. Thank God.

How much time did he have before the van freed itself from the snowbank?

And once it did, what would happen?

“Margo? Come on, honey, talk to me.” In case she had neck or spinal injuries, he didn’t want to move her. He pulled out his cell phone and almost by rote dialed his brother instead of 911.

Logan answered with “What’s up?”

“Margo was just in a wreck. Bad. We’re at...” He looked around and found the street signs. “Corner of Second and Main. She’s unconscious.”

Calm and commanding, Logan asked, “Any other cars involved?”

Dash could hear Logan moving and knew he was already on his way. “An old cargo van.” Except for the glare of headlights off Margo’s car and the van, inky darkness blanketed the empty streets. Tension prickled along his spine—he could almost smell the sense of danger.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, but...” Dash could barely believe it, but he knew what he’d seen. “She was rammed, Logan.”

“You mean deliberately?”

Sure looked that way to him. With the roads like an ice rink it was possible the idiot behind the wheel just didn’t know how to drive.

But Dash wasn’t willing to take chances. “That’s my bet.”

A new urgency entered Logan’s tone. “If she’s out, don’t move her unless you have to. But if you get any vibes at all, grab her up and take cover. You got me?”

Fuck. He looked again at the van still trying to rock out of the packed snow. “Yeah.”

“Take her gun if you have to.”

Funny that Logan didn’t even ask if Margo was armed. He knew she went nowhere without a weapon. “Got it.”

Suddenly Margo sat back with a heart-wrenching moan. Blood trickled from her temple down her ear and jaw. Her short, dark hair glittered with chunks of glass from the shattered windshield.

Gasping, she opened her eyes, flinched and gave a weak, muffled curse.

Dash crouched down beside her outside the car door. “She’s awake.”

“Tell her backup and an ambulance are on the way. And Dash? Watch your ass.”

“’Course.” Dash disconnected the phone and dropped it into his pocket. “Sit still, honey. Logan is sending help.”

“Dash?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Was she concussed? He smoothed back her hair and winced at the gash he found near her hairline. He didn’t want to alarm her, but if at all possible, he’d prefer to get her in his truck so they had a way out if it became necessary. “You hit your head. Anything else hurt?”

“Everything.” As if personal injuries didn’t matter at all, she whispered, “The other car?”

“A cargo van.” He glanced that way but behind the windshield all he saw was darkness. “They’re stuck for now.”

Instead of being reassured, she drew her gun and tried to turn toward him—probably to leave the car. The seat belt caught her and she sucked in a painful breath.

“Let me help.” She hadn’t yet moved her left arm, so he used extra care as he reached in around her, gently opened the latch on the seat belt and freed her.

Looking past him, Margo swallowed hard, blinked twice and rasped, “Move.”

Her voice was so weak he barely heard her—but he didn’t try to disarm her. Looking back, he asked, “Any idea who that is?”

“Yeah.” Stark pain narrowed her eyes. “Trouble.”

The wheels of the van finally found purchase. It shot forward a few feet, slewed to the side and, oddly enough, did a U-turn to face them again.

“Ah, hell.” His first instinct had been right. “We have to go. Now.”

Margo clenched her teeth and slid one leg from her car.

Not fast enough. The van barreled toward them again, so Dash did the expedient thing and hefted Margo up against his chest. On a short cry, her body shuddered before going deliberately still.

So brave. So damned stoic.

The van sped forward and he knew he’d never make it to his truck in time. Instead he headed for the sidewalk and ducked toward the questionable safety between two brick buildings. Fuck. No outlet.

Margo groaned raggedly, shifted to take aim and a loud blast sounded far too damn close to his ear.

He nearly dropped her.

Seconds later he heard return fire and hunkered down with her, trying to shield her with his body until he could get them both behind a heavy metal trash bin.

She locked her jaw as he set her on the dirty, icy ground behind the hulking steel bin. A thick layer of ice covered every surface. Her breath frosted in front of her.

“Are you okay?”

Small, wounded, dazed, she still pulled it together and gave him a stiff nod.

He could tell she had extreme pain. From her head—or somewhere else? What could he do about it anyway? More blood ran down her jaw, her neck. An overhead utility light showed the whiteness of her face.

They both heard the van’s engine idling right outside the alley. Not liking their odds, Dash put his shoulder to the giant grimy bin and scooted it catty-corner to provide a few more inches of cover. He eyed the windows in the two buildings sandwiching them. One had bars and was too high to reach anyway. The other would leave them exposed. No way would they get through it without getting shot.

“Dash?”

Absently, not wanting her to worry, he said, “Help will be here soon.” Reassurance and the physical protection of his body was the best he could give. In the refuse, he located a long thick pipe and lifted it. It’d make an adequate weapon if it came to that. He glanced back at Margo. “Don’t suppose you have a second gun with you?”

“No. Extra magazine and handcuffs...but those were in my purse.”

“Still in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Any other weapons in there?”

“AR-15 in the trunk.”

Dash chewed his upper lip, considering his odds of making it to the car and back....

“No.” Margo shifted, winced. “Don’t even think it.”

Given her condition, he wanted her gun—but no way would he take it from her. The way she held it he knew it gave her comfort. His brother was the same. Logan had often said he felt naked without his sidearm.

A sudden barrage of gunshot blasted the metal bin and ricocheted off the brick building. Cursing, Dash dropped over Margo, doing his best to cover her with his chest and arms, protecting her head from the flying debris of brick and mortar. They were so close they shared breath.

When the bullets stopped flying, he sat back and looked her over, smoothed his hands over her face, her hair. No new injuries, thank God.

Moving away from his touch, she swallowed audibly. “I have vertigo.”

From her head wound. A strange combustible mix of rage and worry left him taut. Margo had ability and experience, so he’d happily take direction from her. “What can I do to help?”

With the wrist of her gun hand, she swiped blood from her face. Even that movement made her clench with agony. She bit her bottom lip, sucked in two slow shallow breaths. “I need to return fire but my coordination is blown.”

He brushed her hair back to eye her injury again. “Logan is on his way.”

“Until he gets here, we’re sitting ducks and they’re determined.”

Meaning if they didn’t fire back, the goons would press forward. “Why don’t I return fire?”

Face stiff, she held her breath, peeked around the bin and ducked back again. Slumping against him, she stated, “They want me dead.”

Like hell. Dash kept his voice calm with supreme effort. “That’s not happening.”

As if he hadn’t spoken she carried on an internal debate, gripping the Glock in her right hand while trembling uncontrollably. “I can’t steady my arm.”

“I can shoot,” Dash said again. He stripped off his coat and tucked it around her legs.

She wavered in indecision. “Are you any good?”

“Logan taught me.” And that said a lot. “I’m good enough to fend them off until he gets here.”

Out on the street, the low drone of voices carried on the turbulent night. The bastards thought they had them. They were making plans.

“It’s now or never, babe.”

Margo gave one small nod. “You’ll have to take it from me.”

Dash didn’t at first understand, but when she just sat there, bloodied and battered, her hand locked tight on the weapon, he realized what she meant. “Easy now.” He gently pried the heavy black weapon from her stiff, cold fingers.

“Don’t you dare hit an innocent bystander.”

Given the dark of the night, the lousy weather and the obvious firefight, there shouldn’t be any innocents hanging around. “It wouldn’t be my first plan.” Keeping the gun at the ready, he eased forward a little bit at a time...and spotted one man taking aim from the driver’s-side window of the van.

It took only that split second for him to mentally record the man’s face, his features.

Shots came their way, the noise unsettling. Dash felt Margo flinch, and rage calmed his frantic heartbeat.

He let out a slow breath, braced as he eased forward and squeezed off three rapid rounds before taking cover again.

Watching him with something like blurry admiration, Margo asked, “Hit anything?”

“The van.” Maybe. He was a decent shot, unless compared to Logan and Reese...and probably Margo.

Using only her right arm, with her left held at a strange angle, she scooted farther back to the brick wall to give him more space. “Keep shooting.” Dash saw her every shallow breath, and he felt her unwavering strength.

Damn, she needed medical care. But first things first.

Creeping forward again, he put two more shots into the van. This time he knew for certain that he’d hit a tire and the grille. Curses filled the air.

“Next one is through your window, assholes!”

Unbelievably, Margo snickered.

Maybe realizing that their position out in the open—especially since their victims were willing to fight back—wasn’t the best place to be, the attackers gave up. The van accelerated, and even with one tire demolished, it managed to flee the scene.

Peeking out, Dash watched until they disappeared from sight. “Stay put.”

She made a small sound that he chose to take as affirmation.

Standing, he crept along the brick wall to the open street and glanced out again. Nothing but empty buildings and shining ice. The wind howled, reminding him that he was without a coat. He ignored the bitter cold because that was all he could do.

The taillights of the van disappeared into the night, and still Dash watched until the flop-flop-flop of the destroyed tire faded away to nothingness.

When he returned to Margo, he found her slouched against the wall, her eyes sinking shut. Her utter stillness scared him.

“Hey.”

She didn’t bother to look at him. Maybe she couldn’t. “Gone?”

Relief nearly took out his knees. “For now.” He hoped like hell they wouldn’t circle around and come back again, but he’d stay alert just in case.

It felt like an hour had passed, but it was probably less than five minutes. Surely backup would arrive soon.

He placed the Glock on the ground between them, lifted his thermal shirt and ripped away a section of his white undershirt.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s okay. I’ll only be a second.” He ducked out of the alley, cautiously approached the main street and found it still empty. All around him, ice sparkled beneath stars and moonlight. Like muted wind chimes, the continuing fall of sleet made a faint tinkling sound. The air was so cold, so crisp, that it hurt his lungs to breathe.

It would be a beautiful sight if goons weren’t trying to kill them.

As far as the van had gone, it’d take the shooters at least a few minutes to sneak back on foot, but he doubted they would. They had to know the police had been called.

Stepping through the deep snow, grateful that he’d worn his boots, Dash gathered packed snow and ice into the ripped cloth and tied it shut. After one last look around, he returned to Margo with his makeshift ice pack.

He went to his knees beside her, impressed by her fortitude, worried about her lethargy and exploding with protective instincts. “Keep your eyes closed.” With tender care, he brushed the chunks of gravel-like glass out of her short dark hair and off the shoulders of her black wool coat before pressing the ice to her head.

Pain drew her brows together, but she said not a word.

He held the pack in place and looked her over. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your head?”

With exaggerated effort she opened her eyes to look up at him. “Afraid so.”

His heartbeat jumped. Dreading her answer, he asked, “Where?”

A slow, deep breath expanded her chest. Her colorless lips parted for faster breaths until she almost panted. “It’s unfortunate, but my left elbow is dislocated.”

* * *

WHAT THE FUCK? Dash looked at how she held her left arm slightly out from her body in such an awkward way. His brows flattened. Her right hand—the hand that had gripped her gun so tightly—was bare, but she wore a leather glove on her left. “You’re sure?”

Her red eyes mocked him. “Quite sure.”

Anger ignited. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She again closed her eyes, almost like she couldn’t help herself. “What could you have done about it?”

No idea, but she still should have told him. “When I took you from your car—” God, he’d thrown her half over his shoulder then literally jogged with her in that position.

“It hurt like hell, but being shot would have been worse.” Pale with pain, Margo added, “You did great, Dash. Better than I’d expected.”

What had she thought? That he’d fall apart? Maybe hide behind her—the big, bad lieutenant?

More anger simmered to the surface, and that really pissed him off. He never got angry. He was the easygoing one, damn it, the one who enjoyed life and all its vagaries. He didn’t get riled, and why should he? He’d been blessed in too many ways to count.

He had parents who adored him and a brother that would make anyone proud.

Most would call him wealthy, but because the money didn’t mean that much to him, he preferred the term financially secure.

Inherited genes gave him height and strength, a fit body that he’d honed in his construction company—a body that appealed to women.

That brought him back around to his disgruntlement toward Margo...the one woman who rebuffed him at every opportunity. Now he knew she considered him a wimp.

In the face of more pressing problems, he decided to work that out with her later. He could hear her teeth chattering—when she didn’t have them clenched in pain—so he settled back against the wall beside her and carefully drew her to his side to both support her and share heat.

She sighed and sank closer, wedging into his shoulder. “Mmm, you are so warm.”

Her voice sounded drowsy, and that, too, bothered him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go to sleep yet.” She surely had a concussion to go with her other injuries. God, he couldn’t believe this. He wrapped himself around her as much as he could. “The ambulance should be here soon.”

Even as he said it, they heard the distant whine of approaching sirens. He probably had only a minute more alone with her. Shaking out his coat, he tucked it around both their legs, trapping his warmth in with hers. “You’ll be able to rest soon.”

“I don’t need to be babied.”

“I know,” he soothed. He looked beneath the ice pack at her bruised but beautiful face. “I think the bleeding has stopped.”

Her lashes lifted, treating him to the sight of her dazed blue eyes. “You’re a mess, Dash. You have blood everywhere.” Her gaze moved over his neck, his chest. “From me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why did she keep pushing him? “Don’t worry about it.” Ruined clothes were the least of his concerns.

Her slim brows pinched down. “You followed me.”

“Instinct,” he said without apology. “I know you’re a cop, and I know you can take care of yourself. But I’m a man and I couldn’t help seeing you as a woman alone leaving a bar late at night.”

“Sexist.”

“Guilty.” He tried a small smile to counter the possible insult. “Under the circumstances I hope you don’t mind too much.”

“If you weren’t here...” she whispered, then stopped, swallowed, stared at him some more before starting over. “If you weren’t here, I would be dead.”

“No.” He wouldn’t even consider that possibility. He kissed her head, tucked her face against his throat.

“I can handle almost any situation.”

“I know.” Even now, her stubborn pride showed through.

“But I won’t lie to myself. I’m still a little disoriented. My head feels like it’s splitting in two and even though it’s not my gun arm injured, I’m not sure I could have shot straight enough to hit anyone.”

“So? My shots were off, too, but they still didn’t like their odds.” He was incredibly proud of her, and he needed her to know it. “They wanted you completely disabled after the wreck.”

“I was.”

“No.” He tipped up her face. Her eye was swelling, her forehead bruised, and blood ran down her cheek. And still he wanted to kiss her. Why not? He brushed his mouth so very gently over hers, then whispered against her lips, “Instead, your first instinct was to grab for your gun.”

“It’s ingrained,” she said just as quietly.

“Because you’re a cop through and through. According to Logan, one of the best he’s ever known.”

“He said that?”

“You don’t realize how he and Reese admire you? Why do you think they don’t see you as a woman? The cop in you is too dominant.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.”

For Logan and Reese, sure. But Dash wasn’t one of her subordinates. Eventually—if she’d give in just a little—he’d get her under the sheets and law enforcement would be the last thing on her mind. “If those miserable fucks had walked up to you, you would have shot them, Margo. I know that.”

She continued to look at him until her eyelids grew heavy again. She gave in, closing her eyes and snuggling close again. “It’s not easy for me to admit, but I’m so glad I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He had no problem admitting it.

She swallowed, let a few seconds of silence pass. “What I hate is that now you’re stuck in this mess.”

“I know.” He understood the ramifications. His truck sat out there where the goons could have easily read his plates. If they wanted to uncover his identity, they would.

But he was here with Margo, holding her, protecting her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because he couldn’t stop kissing her, he put another soft peck to the top of her head. He had a million questions, but they’d all have to wait. Now that he’d thought of license plates, he said, “E-K-B 8-9-3-2.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“Plates for the van. I’m just making sure I don’t forget.”

She stirred. “You noticed them?”

“They rammed you. Hell, yeah, I noticed.” The sound of the sirens swelled louder, closer, and finally dimmed as the squad cars arrived. The reflection of red-and-blue lights bounced off ice everywhere.

Logan bellowed his name.

“Here!” He kept Margo close to his side, aware of her limp against him again, her eyes remaining closed. “We’re in the alley.”

Logan was the first in, his gun drawn until he spotted them. His gaze scanned the alley for any threats, then shifted to search over Dash’s body before locking on his face.

Logan held himself perfectly still. “You’re hit?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s Margo’s blood from her head. Her elbow is dislocated and she probably has a concussion, too.”

Some of the stiffness eased from Logan’s rigid shoulders and he began giving orders. Even now, in the thick of it, Dash had to smile at how easily his brother took control of any situation.

Pride was there, but fear for Margo overshadowed it.

Reese, dressed in jeans and a pullover sweatshirt, walked in ahead of the paramedics. His messy hair and casual clothes were proof that he’d left his bed to join Logan. Whistling when he saw them huddled together there on the ground, Reese hunkered down in front of Dash. He nodded at the Glock. “The lieutenant’s gun?”

“Yeah.”

Reese retrieved it from him.

“She said she has more weapons in her trunk.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Resolute and calm, he said, “You need to come with me.”

Dash turned his head to look at Margo. “She’s hurt.”

Reese’s gaze shifted to his lieutenant. Without an ounce of sympathy, he said, “Peterson, you hanging in there?”

“Yes.”

At her faint voice, Reese cocked one brow but said nothing about it. He eyed the blood everywhere, noted how Dash held the compress to her temple, as well as how he cradled her close. “The EMTs are getting a stretcher.”

Rousing herself, Margo got her eyes open and tried to struggle up to her feet. Dash could tell she did her best to hide her pain from Reese—a pain she’d allowed Dash to see. He hurried to help her, taking extra care not to jostle her injured arm.

Suspiciously satisfied, Reese half grinned. “Gonna walk out on your own steam, huh?”

Dash scowled at Reese. “Don’t be an ass.”

He shrugged. “It’s what Logan or I would do.”

But Margo wasn’t a man, she wasn’t large and muscled or—

She pressed away from Dash’s hold. “I’m sure as hell not going to be carried.”

Reese gave Dash an I-told-you-so look.

The EMTs crowded in, and she said, “Give Reese the plate numbers,” as she limped toward them— leaving Dash behind without a word.

Dash watched two medics offer her assistance, saw her give a few whispered commands, and he felt so incredibly helpless that it enraged him. “She is the most stubborn woman.”

“Proud more than stubborn,” Reese said with a slap on Dash’s shoulder that staggered him forward a step. “Stop fretting. They’ll take good care of her.” He scooped up Dash’s coat, shook it out and offered it to him. “I need to know what happened, right now before you forget any of the little details.”

Shoving his arms into the sleeves, Dash stated, “I’m going to the hospital with her.”

“I’ll drive your truck,” Reese said, “and we’ll all go to the hospital.”

* * *

BLOOD OOZING BETWEEN his fingers, Saul held his aching head. But the pain from where he’d hit the dash was nothing compared to the dread he suffered as he waited to see how Curtis reacted to the fuckup. He’d let her get away. Rage built, but Saul kept his expression impassive.

Curtis wouldn’t need more reason to unleash his caustic temper.

At just that moment Curtis strode in, his body bunched in anger, his face florid with it.

Saul grimaced, but it was Toby who took the meaty blow on the chin. It half knocked him off his seat, and sent blood trickling into his goatee.

Slowly, Toby righted himself. His eyes squinted in fury, but he kept silent. With the back of his hand he wiped away the blood.

“You should have fucking been there.”

Without reacting to the blow, Toby pushed to his feet and kept his attention glued to Curtis.

Curtis rounded on Toby again. “You know Saul can’t handle this shit!”

Knowing better than to object to the insult, Saul inched back—out of harm’s way.

Toby worked his jaw. “You’d sent me elsewhere.”

“You took too fucking long. If you’d gotten back sooner...” His anger slipped away, filled with nothing more than rank disgust. “Find me a woman,” Curtis ordered, and Saul knew he was talking to Toby, that he wouldn’t trust him again for a very long time.

Enigmatic, Toby asked, “Personal use, or for a project?”

Saul always admired Toby’s poise under extreme circumstances; it wasn’t the first time Curtis vented on Toby to keep from assaulting his own brother.

If Curtis wanted the woman for himself, then the requirements would be far different than any woman they’d use in their playtime. Saul waited to hear the answer, hoping it’d be for a project so he could take part.

In that, he never disappointed Curtis.

His brother clenched and unclenched his fists. “A project.” He shot a mean look at Saul—but he refrained from striking him. “Looks like I’ll have to take care of that bitch cop myself.”

“Setting a trap, then.” Toby nodded. “Got it.”

Saul sat forward. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to do what you fucking couldn’t. That’s the plan.” Curtis turned to walk away. “Let me know when you have the woman.”

Toby caught Saul’s arm and hauled him up. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

The second they were away from Curtis, Toby turned and sank a fist into Saul’s gut.

Saul doubled over, wheezing, unable to catch his breath as the pain radiated out, making him light-headed.

Toby pulled him upright. “Your brother might spare you, but I’m not going to. Remember that.”

As Saul watched him walk away, he thought about getting even—but he dismissed the idea. In fact, he laughed.

His brother was ready for another project, and Saul could hardly wait.

CHAPTER THREE

DASH RELATED EVERYTHING to Logan, then told it again to Reese, then to the uniformed cops. Everyone wanted to know everything—repeatedly. He paced, hungry, tired, and as Reese had accused, fretting.

Because he didn’t sit, Logan got up to prowl the hallway with him. “So you met Margo at a bar?”

“Yeah.” For the fifth time. “I was looking for her and found her and...” He waved a hand. Logan knew the rest, for crying out loud.

“I thought you were done with that.”

On a humorless laugh, he said, “No.” He’d tried, damn it. He’d spent the holidays visiting his folks with Logan and Pepper. Of course their parents adored Pepper. She was unique, beautiful, blunt and a perfect match for Logan. Unfortunately, his mom had seen Logan all happily married...and wanted the same for Dash.

“So you’re still interested in her?”

Logan didn’t sound happy about it. Thanks to his mother’s attempts at hooking him up, he’d taken to hiding out in his cabin on the lake. The solitude hadn’t been as peaceful as usual. He’d given up, and instead gone through a string of one-night stands.

But that ended up a waste of time because none of the women measured up to Margo. So he’d started shopping anew for a retreat cabin. One without memories of Logan and Pepper.

“She’ll need some help for the next few days.”

Logan frowned. “Who?”

Pushing past him, Dash headed back to the waiting room. “Margo.”

“Peterson can take care of herself and she won’t appreciate you trying to coddle her.” Logan kept pace beside him.

“Wrong.” Dash shoved his hands in his pockets to keep his fists from showing. “She wouldn’t appreciate you coddling her.”

“But you’re different?”

“Damn right.” He had to believe that. “Now stop needling me.”

“I wasn’t,” Logan said in that ultracalm tone that for some reason had Dash on a ragged edge tonight. “What can I do to help? Want me to go grab you a few things? Your shirt is a mess.”

With Margo’s blood. Jesus. What the hell was taking so long? “A shirt, socks, maybe a razor—I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem. My house is closer to the hospital than yours. I should be able to get back before you and Peterson leave here.”

Dash was taller, so he couldn’t share Logan’s jeans, but he said, “Throw in a pair of sweatpants or something, will you? I’ll do some laundry in the morning.”

“If Peterson lets you hang around that long.”

When Dash glared at him, Logan bit back a smile and raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m sure she’ll welcome you with open arms.”

Standing in the doorway to the waiting room, Reese asked, “Who? Peterson? Is that a joke?”

Dash shouldered past him, almost making Reese spill the coffee he’d just refilled. Normally he could take their jokes about Margo having ice for blood and balls to rival any guy.

But not tonight.

A minute later, Reese came in and sat across from him. “Logan headed off to get some stuff. Said he’d be right back.”

Had they found something more wrong with her? Was that the holdup? Was she even now headed in to surgery? Would someone let them know if that was the case?

Reese’s phone rang and for the next few minutes, Dash had to listen to his muted conversation with his wife. Until recently, Dash hadn’t envied his brother or Reese for their marital status.

But now... He got up to pace again but got only as far as the door when Reese spoke.

“Alice said if there’s anything she can do to help, let her know.”

Dash nodded. “Thanks.” He propped himself against the wall. “How’s the kid?”

“Doing good.” Reese sat back in his seat and sprawled out his long legs, then started rubbing his left thigh where an old bullet wound still pained him during times of fatigue. “Finally over the flu, poor little guy.”

So that’s why Reese looked so beat. “Few sleepless nights?”

“Alice is a wonderful mother hen. And Marcus... Well, it still breaks my heart to look at him.”

Meaning both Alice and Reese had stayed attentive to Marcus’s needs.

Dash said only, “Yeah,” because there were no other words adequate enough to cover it all. At only nine, Marcus had seen a world of hurt. His dad was now behind bars, where he belonged, and his junkie mother had died from an overdose.

But if anyone could make Marcus whole again, it was Reese and Alice.

Silence filled the waiting room for a few minutes, and then they both heard the squeak-squeak-squeak of rubber-soled shoes approaching. Dash met the guy halfway—but that didn’t stop the doctor. Still walking, he asked, “You’re with Margaret Peterson?”

“Yes.” Dash trailed him back into the waiting room, where Reese had sat forward in anticipation.

“I’m Dr. Westberry.” He held out a hand, so Dash took it.

“Dash Riske. I’m a...friend.”

The doctor looked at him over his glasses, sized him up, then turned to Reese.

“Detective Bareden. Peterson is my lieutenant.”

“I see. There’s no family present?”

Dash shook his head. “No.”

“Okay, then.” The doctor opened a clipboard to peruse notes. “The good news is that she’ll be fine. No nerve or bone damage. No surgery needed. But we had to reduce—that is, put back in place—her elbow.”

“I’ve heard that hurts like hell,” Reese said.

“Very painful, yes.” The doctor scowled. “She refused a sedative, but we gave her something for the pain both before and after. She’s still going to be in very real discomfort for a few days at the least.”

“Why did it take so long?” Dash asked. “Her head was bleeding, too, and she might have other injuries—”

Looking back at that damn clipboard, the doctor said, “On top of the tests to check for injury to the arteries and nerves in the arm, and the possibility of broken bones, we also evaluated her head injury.”

“And?” Reese asked.

“We didn’t find any other damage. We stitched her head, and a nurse cleaned up some of the blood.” He looked at each of them. “She has a concussion. It would be best if someone could stay with her tonight.”

Dash took a step forward. “Me.”

One brow lifted, Reese looked at him.

Gaining steam, Dash said, “I’ll be staying with her. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Yes, well, if she agrees for you to be there, you’ll need to monitor things. Every two hours while she’s awake, every three hours while sleeping, do a neuro-check—ask for her name, the date, make sure she knows where she is. Make sure her pupils are equal.”

Dash listened as the doctor gave more details, ready to do whatever needed to be done.

“I gave her a prescription to control the pain, so if you can, make sure she uses it. It’ll help her to rest.”

Dash had no idea how she was supposed to rest if he had to wake her every few hours, but he’d do it all the same.

Tiredly, the doctor sank down to a seat and finally closed the clipboard. “She’s in a splint to keep her elbow bent and to prevent her from moving it. The sling is to help her support her arm, but she can remove that when it’s more comfortable for her. However, she has to wear the splint, she cannot move her elbow and she should keep it elevated as much as possible. Ice every couple of hours during the day for swelling.”

“Got it.”

Somewhat skeptically, the doctor said, “It’s important that she not be too active for the next few days. We don’t want to risk a new injury.” Then half under his breath, he added, “Not sure how you’ll manage that one, but I wish you luck with it.”

Reese grinned. “Did she give you hell?”

“Let’s just say she has a very strong will.”

Dash didn’t see any humor in the situation. “Anything else?”

“She’s been given instructions to follow up with an orthopedist in three days. Overall we prefer to keep immobilization limited otherwise we see too much stiffness in the joint. She’ll be told then when she can remove the splint entirely and start light exercises to regain range of motion.”

“Is she going to be out of commission for long?”

“Most achieve full activity in four to six weeks.”

Reese whistled. “She’s not going to like that.”

Dash knew it was true—and dreaded the frustration she’d feel.

The doctor pushed back to his feet, his clipboard tucked to his side. “Overall, she should be fine.”

Dash again shook his hand. “When can I see her?”

“The nurse will let you know. Shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

After the doctor left, Reese scrutinized him. “You need some rest, too, you know.”

“Says the guy who’s been up with a sick kid.” Now that Dash knew Margo would be okay, the exhaustion sank in. He dropped into the chair beside Reese.

It didn’t make any sense for him to be this invested. Okay, sure, he hated to see anyone hurt, especially a woman. He would always do what he could to help someone in her situation.

But he felt so much more than mere concern for another person. Only family had ever engendered this much caring.

But Margo wasn’t family. She wasn’t even a casual date.

If she got her way, they’d be acquaintances and nothing else.

Dash didn’t plan to let her have her way.

Reese snorted. “I was going to suggest you let your brother take her home so you can catch a few hours sleep before you start playing Florence Nightingale —”

“No.”

“—but given your expression, I think I’ll save my breath.”

“Good plan.” Margo would kick Logan out, and then she’d never let Dash in. Dash had to take advantage of her current vulnerability because once she had a chance to catch her breath, she wouldn’t admit to needing help. “Don’t worry about it, Reese. I’ve got it covered.” He pulled out his cell phone and called his foreman. Owning a company meant he could take days off when needed.

And though Margo might not realize, it also meant he was used to calling the shots. She might run roughshod over most men, and intimidate others, and she probably mistook his good humor for weakness—but very soon, Lieutenant Margaret Peterson would get to know him better.

And she’d learn that appearances seldom told the whole story.

* * *

GETTING HER CLOTHES OFF was the hardest part, especially that damn leather glove. Her fingers had swollen so badly that they had to cut it away. After that, the meds they gave her kicked in and although they didn’t obliterate the pain, they did make it more manageable.

Now if only they could medicate her frustration and worry.

By following her, Dash had become a target, same as her. Never, ever, did she want to involve him like this. He wasn’t a cop, wasn’t equipped for the danger about to come their way.

But every time that worry wormed into her mind, she recalled Dash’s quick thinking and capability in fending off two armed men. She remembered how he’d cared for her without being condescending. She recalled his concern, and how he’d deferred to her.

Such a nice surprise. And sort of...a turn-on. Thinking of Dash was easier than concentrating on her aches and pains.

Through the long process of X-rays, exams, setting her elbow and the numerous tests on her noggin, he’d stayed with her at the hospital.

Why would he do that? She wasn’t an infant in need of help. She could have taken a taxi home. It especially unsettled her when she found out Logan had brought Dash a change of clothes and toiletries because Dash planned to go home with her.

And now her two top detectives knew it.

It was so humiliating, and so...comforting, that she almost couldn’t bear it. She had not come from a family of coddlers. Pep talks, commonsense commands and a good push in the right direction were given at times of need.

Nothing else was needed or expected.

Her family knew she’d been injured, but none of them were willing to run out in the predawn hours to check on her. During a very brief phone call, her dad had asked, “You’ll be okay?”

Without a single hint of pain in her voice, she’d replied, “Yes, sir, of course.”

She could hear the approval in his voice when he said, “Good. We’ll talk later.”

That’s how mature adults treated minor injuries. Not that Dash seemed to understand the protocol. She was a lieutenant, for crying out loud—the youngest woman ever promoted to that rank in their city. She was not a frail, helpless civilian.

She didn’t need anyone fussing over her.

But he’d stayed anyway, and by the time they got out of the hospital, her head stitched and her arm snug in a splint and sling, the sun was already on the rise.

Slumping against the passenger door, her left arm cushioned by his coat, Margo kept her eyes closed. That was easier than seeing his concern.

“We’re almost there,” Dash said softly.

Red splashes of dawn glistened off every ice-covered surface of road, trees and buildings in blinding display. It amplified the ache in her head. Each small bump in the road made her elbow throb. She had more bruises than she could count. Over her entire body, a never-ending pulse of discomfort tried to claim all her concentration.

But a few minutes later, with Dash pulling into her driveway, Margo had other things on her mind, more important things.

Thanks to her, Dash was now in danger. Would he be safer away from her—or with her? More importantly, would his presence hinder her from doing what needed to be done?

What she damn well intended to do.

“Easy,” Dash told her as he parked. He circled around the hood of the truck and opened the passenger door. The ground looked a fair distance away and she dreaded the effort it would take to get back on her feet.

She half turned, and Dash carefully slid one arm under her thighs, the other behind her back so he could lift her out. He handled her weight without a single sign of strain, cradling her against his broad, warm chest.

A lesser woman would have stayed put and let him carry her in.

She had not been raised to be a lesser woman.

“Thank you.” She truly appreciated the assistance since his truck rode so high off the ground. The very prospect of hopping out made her ache all over. “I can walk from here.” I hope.

At close range, his deep brown eyes took her measure. “You’ll insist?”

“Yes.”

“Shame, since I like holding you.” He treated her to a molten look, and then slowly bent so that her feet touched the ground. He continued to hold on to her until she’d steadied herself. Tucking her coat back around her, he asked, “Okay?”

It hurt to breathe, but she nodded.

“So stubborn.” He reached in to the floor and snagged up her purse, the stuff Logan had brought him and the bag of her bloodied clothes. The clothes she would pitch, but thank God he’d had the foresight to retrieve her purse from her car.

Her brand-new ruined car.

That alone warranted a groan, but she bit it back and tried not to drag her feet along the lit walkway to her front door. Because of the splint and sling, her coat was only draped over her left shoulder and the bitter wind easily tore it away again. The borrowed scrubs were no barrier at all and the chill cut right through to her bones. Tiredly, she readjusted her coat again.

Dash transferred his load to one hand and with the other wrapped her up close. “Come on. The last thing you need is a cold on top of everything else.”

Given her hectic work schedule, she got home at all different hours. The outdoor lights were automated, set to come on at dusk and go off again at dawn. She had plenty of mature trees that blocked the rising sun in the front, but they’d be flickering off very soon.

“Nice place.”

Ha. Dash hadn’t looked around; ever since the doctor had allowed him behind the curtain at the hospital, she’d felt his constant attention focused on her.

No one had ever scrutinized her as he did; it went beyond the intimate way a man watched a woman he wanted. What it meant, she didn’t know for sure because she’d never encountered it before.

She knew Dash was worried because he only smiled when he knew she was watching. But the emotion in his eyes held more than worry—and it unnerved her, making her uncomfortable in a very foreign way.

They reached the front door and, knowing it’d be futile, she turned to face him. Maybe it was the pain meds or the confusion from the concussion—or even plain-old indecision. But she hadn’t been able to work up a credible way to refuse him. Not that he’d really asked for permission. Because the doctor announced she shouldn’t be alone given her concussion, Dash had volunteered himself to babysit. Now that she’d had some time to get her thoughts together, she decided he’d be safer well away from her.

And she’d be safer...without his presence making her feel things she shouldn’t.

Staring him in the eyes, hoping she sounded convincing, she said, “Thank you for the ride.” She lifted her chilled fingers for a handshake—and Dash grinned.

Folding her fingers in his and drawing her hand to his chest, he asked, “Is that your way of trying to get rid of me?”

Yes. “You don’t need to stay.”

He shifted so that his body blocked the wind, stepped close enough that his broad shoulders shielded her from daylight. “Would you rather have Logan or Reese?”

She shuddered at the thought. “No.” If it was truly necessary, she did have family. Albeit, not anyone she’d want around when she wasn’t 100 percent. But she had an alarm she could set, and—

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.” What a stupid idea. When did she have time for a committed relationship?

“Then I’m it, right? The doc said you couldn’t be alone, so if you make me leave, I’ll have to call my brother, and he will probably call—”

“All right!” She winced, pain slicing into her brain. Damn him, he knew she didn’t want her detectives seeing her in a debilitated state. “Do not call Logan.”

“I won’t,” Dash soothed. He lifted her purse and spoke in a rough whisper. “Your keys are in here?”

She was too cold, utterly fatigued and achy to debate this on the front porch. And contrary to common sense, she was also a little relieved that she wouldn’t be alone tonight. Eyes squeezed shut, she nodded. “Side zippered pocket.”

“Hang in there, honey. I’ll have you inside in a moment.” He set down the bag of clothes, located the keys and unlocked the door.

Immediately, Oliver stepped out, rubbing his downy white head against her shins.

Dash went still. “You have a cat?”

He could see that she did. “No, he must’ve broken in. Quick, call the cops.”

“Smart-ass.” With a little more incredulity, he said, “You have a really old cat.”

At the sound of Dash’s voice, Oliver halted, then hunched his back and hissed.

“He’s my puppy-cat.” It hurt like hell, but Margo bent down to him. “It’s okay, Ollie.” She stroked his head, tickled under his chin. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go in.”

It wasn’t easy to walk with the cat winding nervously in and out around her ankles. She stumbled her way to the sofa and gingerly sank onto the cushions so that Ollie could join her. He jarred her injured elbow when he leapt up beside her. She gritted her teeth and let him butt his head on her free hand, then rub the length of his body against her uninjured arm.

Dash closed the door and now, with him inside her home, the reality of her situation really hit. She looked at him, saw him watching her curiously, and wanted to curl up and sleep for days.

Instead she said, “Ollie is blind.”

Dash stayed silent, but his expressive eyes gave him away. He thought her softhearted.

Sweet.

He thought she was gentle, like most women.

She should disabuse him of those notions ASAP, but she didn’t have the energy. Not right now.

Almost like a reminder of what they’d just endured and how proficient he’d been under pressure, Dash still wore the shirt with her dried blood all over it. Disheveled brown hair and beard shadow added a rugged edge to his good looks. Even holding a purse didn’t detract from his machismo.

She swallowed. “When I got him, Ollie already had a long list of medical issues, but he was so affectionate, such a big loving mush, that I couldn’t turn him away.” Maybe she was softhearted after all, at least when it came to her cat. “We suit each other.”

“Because you’re a big loving mush, too?”

Yes. “That’s not what I meant.” But what had she meant? She shook her head.

Dash let it go. “He lost an eye?”

“Yes.” Ollie tilted toward her, demanding she pet him harder, wanting her to use both hands. Poor guy. No way for her to explain that he’d only be getting one-handed pets for a few days. “He can’t really see out of the other. He survived a tornado but was so damaged that his original owners couldn’t care for him anymore. They already had to rebuild and...”

“And,” Dash said, his brows pinching down, “he was a member of their family.”

That’s how she’d always looked at it, too, but she didn’t want to harshly judge others who’d been through so much. “He’s mine now.” And she would never abandon him.

Dash came farther into the room. “Will it spook him if I get too close?”

“Yes, but don’t take it personally. He still has nightmares from the horrors he went through.” Ollie pawed her thigh in time to his loud rumbling purr.

“Nightmares?”

“He’ll start crying at night like something is wrong. But the vet says he’s fine. Usually he just needs to wake up enough to realize he’s safe.” With me. Her arm throbbed more insistently. She needed to bathe, change her clothes and get some rest.

But what to do with Dash?

Her modestly-sized home shrank with him in it. Where would she put him? He would overflow the couch, and she didn’t have a guest bedroom...

“How do you get him to settle down again?”

She wanted to sleep, not talk, but complaints had never been accepted in her family, so she sucked it up and put on a good front. “During the bad nights, I’ll hold him a while and finally he’ll go back to his bed.”

“He doesn’t sleep with you?”

She drew her hand along Ollie’s back all the way to the end of his tail—just the way he liked it. “His choice. I’ve never forbidden it.”

By small degrees Dash seated himself on the sofa. The cushions dipped with his weight. Denim stretched over his strong thighs. He brought with him the scent of man and the brisk outdoors. How could she possibly be aroused right now?

“You called him your puppy-cat?”

At the moment, even his deep voice seemed a turn-on. What the hell was wrong with her?

Ollie turned his head toward Dash, sniffed the air and backed up into her side, reminding her to reply.

“Being blind hasn’t stopped him. He’ll listen to me and follow me everywhere I go, just like a happy puppy.”

“Cute nickname.” Carefully, Dash held out his large hand. His fingers were long, his palms calloused. A working man’s hands. “Your voice and presence must reassure him.”

“Yes.” Those hands had touched her gently in the alley, brushing back her hair, skimming over her bruises—taking her gun from her. Sexy, competent, compassionate.

What would it be like to feel those hot palms firmly moving over her naked body?

“Margo?”

She struggled to get her gaze up to his face. “Ollie doesn’t take well to strangers.” But Ollie didn’t strike out with his claws. He sniffed Dash’s palm for the longest time, and when Dash slowly turned his hand over, Ollie butted his head into him for a pet.

Her traitorous cat liked him!

And there was Dash’s beautiful smile. That particular tilt of his mouth affected her like a touch in secret places.

She shuddered, and Dash lifted a brow. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Maybe. She cleared her throat to remove the huskiness. “I can’t believe he’s letting you pet him.”

“I love animals and they know it. Helps with winning them over.”

Margo could only stare as Ollie sidled closer to Dash and began his loud, rumbling purr—the purr he saved for special moments of affection.

“Yeah, you’re a good boy, aren’t you, Ollie?” As he’d watched her do, Dash brushed his hand over Ollie’s head to his back, all the way to the tip of his tail, while Ollie arched in bliss. “You like that, don’t you, my man?”

Her parents disdained her cat, or disdained her for loving him, yet Dash seemed pleased to have the cat’s approval.

It had to be the meds, but damn it, her eyes grew wet. “You haven’t yet been exposed to his bad habits.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“He sometimes misses the cat box.”

That turned Dash’s smile into a soft chuckle.

A chuckle. Oh, God, how she liked the sound of that. She squirmed in her seat.

Dash gently rubbed Ollie’s ear...leaving her mesmerized. “Given he’s blind, I’d say if he’s hitting it fifty percent of the time, he’s doing pretty good.”

Not understanding her reaction to him, Margo said in distraction, “I put a large rubber mat under the box. When he misses, it doesn’t hurt anything.”

“He looks like he’s going to nod off.” Dash treated the cat to another long stroke. “Soft fur.”

“He’s a rag doll.” To divert her concentration from Dash’s gentle touch, Margo looked away at the clock on the wall. Nearing 7:00 a.m. “He was probably frightened when I didn’t come home, so he hasn’t slept as much as usual. Before he goes to sleep, I need to feed him.”

“Why don’t I take care of that for you?”

How easy would it be to let him take over? Too easy. “I can do it.” Now that her arm was encased in the splint, she could walk without jarring it. But even the smallest movement amplified the ache in her head.

Dash moved around in front of her, caught her under her arms and easily brought her to her feet—without causing her any more pain.

So tall and leanly muscled. Other than the ruined shirt and beard shadow, no one would know that Dash had been up all night with her. The comparison to her present pathetic state made her want to throw up. Or maybe that was the concussion, too.

She could not be this pitiful.

Not with him. Not ever. “You don’t need to stay.”

He followed her sluggish path to the kitchen. “We already sang this tune, remember?”

“You can’t treat me like an invalid.”

“Trust me, Margo, that’s not how I see you.” When she stopped and stared at him, he held up his hands. “Sorry, but I can’t help it. Even wounded, you’re impressive.”

Her back teeth clenched. “That’s a joke, right?”

He lowered his hands—and his eyes. Taking her in from breasts to thighs, he said roughly, “No.” He looked up at her face. “It can be frustrating as hell, but overall I like it that you’re not the average woman.”

She absolutely could not have this conversation right now. “Fine. Suit yourself.” She pointed to a cabinet. “The cat food is in there. Open him up a can, but put it on a big plate by his water fountain.”

Dash looked at the gurgling water bowl. “That makes enough noise for a...” Realization dawned. “A blind cat to find.”

She turned away from his admiration. “I need a shower.”

“No.”

Disbelieving, she stared at him.

“You aren’t supposed to get the splint wet.”

Here we go again. “But I can’t sleep with blood in my hair.”

He stepped up behind her. “It’s not as bad now that the nurse cleaned you up, but...” He touched his fingertips to her short hair, skimmed those rasping fingertips down her throat to her shoulder. “How about I run a bath for you?”

“I can’t wash my hair in the bath.”

“You’ll ruin the splint in the shower, and you’re not supposed to get the stitches wet.”

“I’ll take the splint off.”

“No.” He quickly amended that with, “Be reasonable. You could end up back at the hospital. Three days, the doc said. Wear it three days and then maybe they’ll move you into a brace.”

It annoyed her that he was right. “Oliver is impatiently waiting to be fed.”

She felt Dash’s hesitation, then he said, “Sorry, boy.”

Already missing the heat of his body, Margo turned to watch as he took a can out of the cabinet and peeled off the lid.

He glanced her way. “If you take a bath, I could wash your hair.”

“In your dreams.”

Ollie smelled the food and began an impatient meow, winding in and around her legs.

“I have dreamed about it. At least the part where you’re naked and wet.”

Her breath strangled in her chest. She was already on the ragged edge. She didn’t need Dash adding to her confusion.

As if he hadn’t just said something so outrageous, Dash opened three cabinets before finding the plates. He dumped out the food and put it down for the cat. “C’mon, Ollie. Here you go, kitty.”

Margo stood there, the last of her resources quickly fading. “If you think for even one second that I’d—”

“Margo.” Dash watched Ollie dig in, then straightened again to face her. “I take it you haven’t looked in a mirror lately, have you? You’re sort of impersonating the walking dead.”

She knew that. The gash on her head had only required five stitches to keep it from scarring. It had swollen like a goose egg, then settled to a mere bump that caused purple, blue and green bruising over half her forehead. Her makeup was only partially washed off and the dried blood had her short hair sticking out in odd little clumpy curls.

A yawn took her by surprise, and even that—stretching her mouth wide—hurt like the devil. The yawn ended in a broken groan and she muttered, “Feel a little like the walking dead, too.”

Sympathy softened his voice. “I can only imagine. But you know, blood and bruises and lusty groans of pain have a way of discouraging a guy from making a play.”

“I thought you said I was impressive.”

“You’re still standing, right? Most people would be curled up and crying.”

Trying for a sneer, she asked, “You?”

“I’m getting there.” His warm smile curled her toes. “It’s past time for your pain meds.” He dug the bottle out of his pocket and shook out a pill. “Water?”

She hesitated for far too long before nodding. “Thanks.” With any luck the pain medicine would numb her enough to let her sleep after she got clean.

He filled a glass and carried it to her. After she’d swallowed the pill, he tipped up her chin. “If it makes you feel any better, I promise you don’t have anything I haven’t already seen.”

She was so worn out, she had a feeling she’d pass out the second she got settled somewhere. Which probably meant a shower really wasn’t a great idea. “Fine. Run the bath if you want, then stay out of my way until I’m done.”

“Spoilsport.” He started down her hall, peeking into each room, studying her spare bedroom, then her home office, until he finally found the right one. “A shallow bath. And I’ll be right outside the door waiting...just in case you change your mind.”

CHAPTER FOUR

DASH LEANED AGAINST the wall outside the bathroom, listening to the occasional ripple of water. In his mind, he could almost see her, so strong and brave and independent.

But equally small and soft and so badly hurt.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his gritty eyes, trying to fight off the exhaustion. Now that he had her back in her own home, safe and sound, the adrenaline dump left him weary. “You okay in there?”

“I won’t melt in warm water, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’re not getting the splint wet, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

Hearing the strain in her voice, he wanted to curse. She’d taken clean clothes in with her, but he had no idea how she would manage to get dressed. The doctor claimed her arm would cause considerable pain for at least a few days.

Struggling in and out of the tub, washing her hair, soaping up her body...

Damn, but the visuals were killing him.

“Margo? You sure you don’t need any help? You have to be hurting.”

“I’m okay.”

Damn it. Why wouldn’t she trust him a little? Okay, sure, letting him bathe her would cross a few boundaries, especially considering the lack of intimacy they’d shared.

But they were both adults. True, damn it. “We’re both adults,” he said aloud.

“Go away.”

Was there a funny note to her voice? Something more than discomfort?

He pushed away from the wall, paced a few feet and came back. He felt ridiculous, fretting outside her door, waiting for her to admit that she needed him. “I understand why you think you have to be so tough.”

Nothing.

“Logan and Reese treat you like you’re Superman, or the Hulk or something equally macho.” Most of the time he doubted Logan and Reese ever noticed her as a female.

“I prefer it that way.”

He had a feeling she would prefer everyone see her as a hard-ass. When it came to him, she was doomed to disappointment.

He waited another five minutes, then said, “You need to come out now, Margo.” Much as he relished the thought of assisting her, if she fell asleep in the tub she could end up hurting herself more.

“I am.”

He clenched at the sound of water sluicing over her body. “Be careful that you don’t slip on the wet floor.”

Seconds passed in tense silence. “Hey, Dash?”

She sounded a little drunk, and that alarmed him. “Yeah?” He reached for the doorknob.

Voice slurring, she said, “If you could use only one word to describe me, what would it be?”

He dropped his hand again. Had the medicine affected her that quickly? Probably. He’d always thought drugs were a no-no with a concussion, but apparently things had changed. That, or the pain of her dislocated elbow trumped the concussion.

Resting back against the wall, he fought a smile. “One word, huh?”

“Just one.”

He chewed his upper lip, giving it quick thought, then decided she could handle the truth. “Fuckable.”

Silence.

He waited. Margo wasn’t herself right now, not with everything she’d been through. Her injuries and the powerful pain medicine...if she were any other woman he’d be treating her with kid gloves. But this was Lieutenant Peterson, the ballbuster, and he knew her well enough to know she’d detest sympathy.

When the door opened, he slowly straightened in anticipation.

She hadn’t really dried her hair and little rivulets of water ran down her silky neck and disappeared into the collar of a large, soft robe that fit over her splint and was only loosely tied around her petite frame. Without makeup, the stitches and bruising were even more obscene.

His heart gave a soft thump—and he knew he was a goner.

Even fatigued, she tilted up her chin. “So...not impressive, as you said earlier?”

He could see the fogginess in her gaze; it took away some of her edge, making her softer, more accepting. It nearly leveled him. “The meds have you loopy.”

“Maybe. I can hold my liquor, but...” She stumbled, and Dash caught her right arm, up high near her breasts, carefully steadying her again. “The Peterson family doesn’t indulge weakness.”

His brows pulled down. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“We’re not pill takers.”

“Even prescribed medicine?”

“Meds are for wimps.” She leaned into him. “A strong person toughs it out.”

Who the hell had come up with such an asinine rule? “An intelligent person follows doctor’s orders.”

She didn’t acknowledge the truth of that. “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone I took pain meds, okay?”

“I’ll make you a deal.” He cupped her face, drawn by the warmth and silkiness of her bruised skin. “I’ll keep your secret as long as you continue to take them when you need to.”

“We’ll see.” She smiled sleepily—and with sexual intent. “Now, about that one word...”

Knowing what she wanted, what she needed, Dash drew his gaze from her naked mouth to her shadowy blue eyes. “I’m sticking with fuckable.” His thumbs moved over the delicate hollows of her cheekbones. “But impressive would be right behind it.”

Their gazes held for the longest time.

She leaned toward him. “Washing my hair one-handed wasn’t easy, especially with those stupid stitches in the way.”

“You should have let me help.” Another trickle of water trailed down her neck. “I can at least dry it for you.”

Staring up at him, practically begging to be kissed, she finally nodded.

Before he forgot his good intentions or she regained her usual starch, Dash stepped around her into the bathroom. He bent to drain the tub—something else she couldn’t manage—and picked up a spare towel.

He saw the discarded scrubs half-sticking out of a clothes hamper—and her clean clothes sitting on the side of the sink with the sling on top. It struck Dash that other than the splint she was naked beneath the robe.

He jerked around to look at her again. Though small, she had noticeable curves, the back view as curvy as the front.

As if she felt his hot stare, she said, “I have bruises.”

His chest tightened. “Want to show me where?”

With a helpless shake of her head, she whispered, “Everywhere.”

He moved up behind her, his hands at her tiny waist. He would have loved to kiss each and every mark, but not with her like this. “I’m going to help you now.”

“How?” A shiver ran up her spine—and no wonder.

Wet hair and exhaustion and only the robe for covering.

Dash grabbed her clothes, then guided her forward. “Come on. Let’s go to your room.”

Her small bare feet left damp marks in the plush carpet as she moved ahead of him. “Where’s Ollie?”

“Curled in his bed in your living room, sound asleep.” Just as she’d said, the cat ate, cleaned himself, then snuggled down to sleep. “What about you? Are you hungry?”

“Not enough to stay awake.”

Without his prodding, she went past the home office, the spare bedroom and into her own room to gingerly sit on the foot of the bed.

Dash gave a quick glance around—and didn’t find a single surprise. Everything was as orderly as he’d expected it to be, her comforter a neutral cream color without the adornment of throw pillows, her nightstand and dresser clutter-free. He didn’t see a single speck of dust or a shoe out of place.

With Logan being a cop, he recognized the quick-access safe in the corner of the room. Since Reese had taken her weapon in the alley, he wondered if she had other guns locked in that safe. It was big enough to hold a rifle or two...and more.

“I’m cold.”

Dash took in her bare calves and feet, her narrow wrists, her slender throat. So fragile, but still so strong. “Does anything hurt besides your head and arm?”

“Pretty much everything. But it’s not bad.”

Or were complaints of any kind as taboo as medicine? Had she come from a family of stoic martyrs?

“Your legs? Shoulders?”

Damp lashes shadowed her big blue eyes. “Mostly my arm and head.”

If she weren’t drugged, Dash doubted she would admit that much to him. “Okay. I’m going to dry your hair first.” Otherwise it’d just get her clothes wet. “Then we’ll get you dressed and you can sleep.”

“It’s short, so it doesn’t take long.”

Feeling equal parts tender and horny, Dash set her clothes on the bed beside her. “I like your hair, Margo. A lot.” He ran his fingers over her head. Her hair, in a Halle Berry sort of style, was curlier wet, but when dry it looked silky soft and feminine—a great contrast to her shark persona.

“Thank you. I like your hair, too. It’s always a little messy, and a lot sexy.”

Flirting? “Is that so?”

“You know how you look.” Her gaze moved down to his waistband. “You know how women react to you.”

Other women, sure. But Margo never made things easy. Despite her claims to the opposite, he already knew she was attracted to him. He felt her interest every time she looked at him. But she fought it.

She fought him.

Usually. Now...not so much.

But damn it, given her drugged state, he couldn’t really do anything about it. Or could he?

Pretending it meant nothing at all, Dash pulled both the soiled thermal shirt and the ripped undershirt off over his head and dropped them to the floor. The waistband of his jeans had loosened from extended wear and they hung low on his hips.

Margo’s lips parted. Breathing more deeply, she stared at the worn denim of his fly. Her pale throat worked as she swallowed. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t want you to get messy again now that you’re clean.” More bare than not, he stepped right in front of her, cupped her head in one hand, and used the towel in the other to carefully rub over her hair.

The sweet scent of her shampoo mixed with the warmth of her skin. He breathed her in—and felt himself reacting.

That wouldn’t do, so he concentrated on not getting hard as he continued to towel-dry her hair. “Tell me if I hurt you.” Very carefully, he touched the soft terry towel around her stiches.

When she said nothing, he looked down at her and found her eyes on his abs, her cheeks flushed. He would love seeing her like this more often.

“Feel good?”

“Yes.” She kept her injured arm, wrapped up in the half cast and Ace bandage, tucked up close to her body. With the other arm she balanced herself. Her toes curled into the carpet. “Dash?”

He mimicked her soft tone. “Hmm?”

“Have you ever been married?”

One brow lifted. “No.” And then he wondered... “You?”

“No.” She looked up at him. “Ever been in love?”

“I’m thirty.”

“Me, too. So?”

How to answer her? “I’ve had a few more serious relationships where I thought I was in love, but it never worked out.”

“Why not?”

Apparently a drugged Margo was not only more openly sensual, but also far more curious. “My mother says I’m too particular and too set in my ways.”

Her cool fingers touched his ribs, drifted down to his abs, then hooked in the loose waistband of his jeans. “Particular how?”

He never should have started this ploy. It was difficult enough being near her, wanting to protect her, care for her, and then to have her looking at him with hunger... Yeah, difficult.

But if she planned to touch him, too, he was screwed.

Or rather, not screwed, given she was definitely out of commission for that.

“Why don’t we have this conversation tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some sleep?” Not giving her a chance to object, he dropped the towel and used his fingers to brush back her hair, moving it away from her stitches. Her short, soft waves glided through his fingers. “Better?”

Her eyes sank shut. “Mmmm...” She leaned toward him again. “You have an incredible body. I especially like this happy trail, how it disappears down here—”

“Margo?” Time for another battle. “Hold up, honey.” He caught her wrist and lifted her hand to kiss her palm. “Even warriors wear out every now and then.”

“I’m not a warrior.”

“But you are too hurt for me to take advantage of.”

She snorted. “I wouldn’t let you.”

“You,” he murmured, “are under the influence.” He crouched down in front of her. “I’ll help you get your clothes on, okay?”

She lifted her heavy eyelids to stare at his mouth. “No one has dressed me since I was three.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”

“No.” She literally swayed. “My parents were strict about independence.”

He didn’t know her parents, but he liked them less by the minute. “Were they strict about other things?”

“About...everything really.” She shifted, winced and went still again. “My family is all in law enforcement.”

“Logan mentioned that once.” Something about her being a fourth generation of cops. Her dad was some hotshot chief of police before he retired early with a medical problem or something.

“I was supposed to be a boy.”

What did that mean? “I’m very glad you’re not.” He pushed back to his feet.

She gave a heavy sigh. “Me, too.”

Needing a minute to get his head on straight, Dash said, “I’m going to go grab the flannel shirt Logan brought me. It’s big enough to fit over your splint and it’ll be easier to get on you than the T-shirt you chose.”

“The only button-up shirts I have are starched dress shirts.”

He tipped up her chin. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.” With long strides he left the room to get the bag Logan had brought to him. The cat snored from his bed, oblivious to Dash’s presence. Outside, a weak sun tried to penetrate heavy clouds rolling in. Great, just what they didn’t need—more lousy weather. Work at the current job site would stall for a day or two. Not a big deal since they were right on schedule—a rare thing in the construction business.

After automatically double-checking that he’d secured the front door, he snagged up the bag and dug out the flannel shirt on his way back to Margo.

He found her sitting exactly where he’d left her. Going to his knees again in front of her, he braced himself for what he’d do. “Let’s get you out of this robe first, okay?”

“I’ll be naked.”

Dash put his hands on her hips, his thumbs brushing her thighs through the soft cotton of her robe. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

“You’ll want me.”

He searched her face and didn’t see a single sign of modesty or timidity. “Already do, but right now I just want you to be comfortable.” He untied the belt.

“If you tell Logan or Reese, I’ll castrate you.”

Not so drugged that she couldn’t threaten him. For absurd reasons, that made him feel better. “You think I would?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a great judge of men. Some men,” she amended.

“You can trust me.” He eased the robe off her right shoulder and down her arm until she slipped her hand free.

His blood thickened, and it sounded in his tone when he added, “Believe me, Margo. I would never say or do anything to embarrass you.”

Goose bumps rose on her flesh.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

Was being cold also considered a complaint? “I’m sorry.” Quicker now, Dash pushed back the material and, except for where the terry cloth draped one thigh and still covered her left arm, she was bare.

His gaze naturally went to her body. He was sympathetic, but not dead. Her uniforms and business suits did a great job of hiding her generous rack. Full, pale, with dusky mauve nipples. Only the bruises painted over her collarbone and shoulder kept him from touching her.

“Easy now.” Breathing more deeply, he stood to gently free her left arm.

Margo said not a word, but her face tightened, her brows pinching together, her lips compressed.

“You can groan, you know.” Dash hated seeing her suffer in silence. “You’re allowed.”

She gave one sharp shake of her head, composed to the bitter end.

To hell with that. “A groan or two won’t make you less sexy, especially when I can see your nipples.”

Nothing.

“They’re very pretty.”

She stiffened.

“And those dark curls between your legs—”

She jerked her head up to stare at him—and groaned in discomfort.

“That’s it.” The way she affected him was so strange, and so appealing. “No reason to hold it in.”

Groaning again, deeper this time, she said, “Damn you.”

The bite in her tone almost made him smile. “Be yourself with me, honey.”

“I am!”

“No, you’re manning up and it’s stupid. You aren’t a man, and you aren’t impervious to pain.” He picked up the flannel shirt but made no attempt to put it on her. He was a freaking saint, standing there before a gorgeous naked woman and still remembering his altruistic motives. “Or is that another family rule? No female attributes allowed?”

“It’s a weakness and there’s no point in advertising it.”

“Huh. Well, if it makes you feel better, I would be groaning.”

She shocked him by pushing to her feet and leaning into him, her splinted left arm caught between them, her right hand flattening on his chest, her fingers in his chest hair. “Kiss me.”

Whoa. He hadn’t expected such an aggressive assault, given her state. “I don’t think so.”

“It’ll make me feel better.”

But it’d kill him—since she couldn’t do anything beyond a simple kiss. “Not a good idea.”

“You don’t want me?”

“You already know I do—” When her hand snaked down his body to cup him through his jeans, he froze.

“Yes,” she said with purring satisfaction. “You do.”

Dash groaned as she cuddled him.

“Better,” she murmured. “Why don’t you groan and I’ll continue manning up.”

Jesus, even boggled with meds she was doing him in.

It took a lot to step back from her exploring hand, but Dash managed it. “I said no.” Her mercurial mood swings had him braced for anything.

But not for her to snuggle up against him. “You’re right, I am cold.”

A perfect segue. He allowed his arms to go around her, his hands to stroke down her silky back to that lush little bottom—God, she had a great ass—before he got it together and raised his hands to her waist, which really was still sexy enough to make him cramp. “Let’s get you dressed and in the bed so you can sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll make use of a quick shower, too. Okay?” Without meaning to, he dropped his hands to her hips.

One day soon, he promised himself.

He should win some type of award for restraint under extreme circumstances. “The doc said I only needed to check you every three hours. Hopefully that can be accomplished without disturbing you too much.”

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll kick back on your couch and watch some TV.” Dash summoned his most serious expression. “Now, what do you say we get the shirt on you, then I’ll help you to step into your panties, then your bottoms.”

Her heavy eyes watched him with suggestion. “The drawstring yoga pants will be easy enough.”

“Good.” He wasn’t really in the habit of dressing women. Undressing them, sure. But never while worrying about causing pain.

“One thing.”

“What’s that?” Stop stroking her, damn it. He ordered his hands to be still.

“Instead of going to the couch, why don’t you stay with me? After your shower, I mean.” Her gaze went smoky. “My bed is plenty big enough.”

Shoot me and get it over with. “I can if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you.”

When was the last time he’d slept with a woman without having sex? Never.

“Now just stand still and I’ll do everything.” Trying not to move her arm at all, he inched the sleeve up and over her swollen hand, her bent elbow encased in plaster, and up to her shoulder. He pulled the shirt around her back and helped her ease her right arm in.

Logan’s shirt swam on her. Dash pulled it together in the front. It was almost as loose as the robe had been.

Aware of his knuckles brushing her body, he started at the bottom, near her thighs, and buttoned it up—past the springy pubic curls, her taut belly, that narrow rib cage and her heavy breasts. “Better?”

Oblivious to the growl in his tone, she said, “Yes.”

“We need to get your sling on you, too.”

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“It’ll keep you from hurting your—”

“No.” She turned away, heading for the top of the bed.

Dash stared for a second before asking, a little desperately, “What about your panties and yoga pants?”

“Too tired.”

Torture. He moved up past her. “All right, then. Let me help.” He folded down the bed, plumped her pillow. “Sit down.”

“You’re awfully bossy,” she complained around a yawn, but she sat and let him help her ease back. Stark pain darkened her expression until she got situated, then she let out a shaky sigh and closed her eyes.

Dash sat on the bed beside her. He brushed back her bangs to see her stitches, and realized she was already falling asleep.

It was a dangerous game to play, but he did it anyway. “What about your family, Margo? Are they glad you weren’t a boy?”

“We don’t complain.”

He had no idea what that meant.

“We’re strong and independent,” she whispered, her voice fading. “You’re expected to do things right. And if you do things wrong...”

She sounded like a lost little girl, and it broke Dash’s heart. “What if you did it wrong?”

She was quiet for so long Dash thought maybe she’d gone to sleep. He stayed still, unwilling to leave her yet.

Her eyes opened. “They didn’t complain when they got me instead of a boy.”

Bastards. It wasn’t easy, but Dash kept the anger from his voice. “What did they do?”

She released a long breath and closed her eyes again. “Petersons accept what they cannot change, and they make the best of it.”

Dash watched her fade away—and decided it was past time for him to learn more about Lieutenant Margaret Peterson.

* * *

THE BRUSH OF DASH’S calloused fingertips against her cheek woke her. Sluggish, she struggled to get her eyes to open. Her drapes were shut so only slivers of daylight filtered in, leaving the room dim.

Stretched out next to her on the side of her bed, Dash rested without a shirt. Nice.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Sorry to bother you.”

She started to move, and pain coursed through her.

Dash’s hands settled on her shoulders. “Shhh...be still.”

Reality crashed in on her. “The wreck.”

“You remember what happened?”

Using only her right hand, she touched her forehead where she’d gotten the stitches. “I remember.” As long as she didn’t move too much or too quickly, the pain abated.

“Good.” He bent and put a butterfly kiss to her forehead. She didn’t quite understand that, but it was nice so she said nothing. “I have to ask you a few things.”

Right. The neuro test because of her concussion. She gave a very slight nod.

Voice husky and deep, Dash went to a series of questions, asking for her name, if she knew how she’d gotten home, the day of the week.

Lastly he asked for her birthday.

Odd, but whatever. She told him because she wanted to return to the oblivion of sleep.

He didn’t let her.

He wanted to know if she’d gotten any gifts, how she’d celebrated...and she told him. She’d bought herself a car, and celebrated alone—as she always did.

Somehow, she knew that had made him sad. She felt it in how he touched her, the murmured words of “next time.” Meaning...what? That he’d be around to celebrate her next birthday with her?

A nice thought.

When next he woke her, he helped her to sit up and insisted she take two aspirin.

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“No.” She sank back to the bedding—with Dash’s help—and closed her eyes.

“You know the drill, sweetheart.”

He used an awful lot of endearments. When she had her wits again, she’d set him straight on that. Anticipating his questions, she said, “I’m Lieutenant Margaret Peterson. Thirty years old. I’m in my own home.”

“Good.” He brushed the backs of his knuckles along her jaw. “Favorite food?”

Sleep tugged at her, and she mumbled, “Mmm, maybe fried chicken.”

She heard his smile when he said, “Favorite color?”

“Sky blue.” Such odd questions, but the sooner she got through them, the sooner he’d let her get back to sleep.

“The last man you slept with?”

“I don’t know.”

Dash hesitated, then asked, “You don’t remember his name?”

“Never knew it.” She let out a long breath. “Names are a nuisance.” When she hooked up, all she wanted was escape from the duty of her own choices. And thinking that, she faded into a dream about faceless men who served a distinct purpose, no strings attached.

Unfortunately, at the height of the dream, the multiple men morphed into one—Dash.

And not a single inch of her was numb.

CHAPTER FIVE

ON HIS BACK, his hands stacked behind his head, Dash stared at the ceiling. After scrounging for food in Margo’s kitchen he’d taken a quick shower and changed into clean boxers and the borrowed athletic pants that Logan had brought him. Typical of Ohio weather, the day brought a big turnaround. Snow and ice gave into a slow melt beneath a blazing sun and milder breezes. The forecast claimed they’d be in the sixties tomorrow.

He’d awakened Margo twice now. An equal number of times Ollie had come to check on her. He wasn’t the type of cat that Dash could play with. Older, slower, set in his ways, Ollie enjoyed a little petting, edible treats and plenty of time for napping in the sunshine.

Oliver was a sweet old guy...taken in by a very tenderhearted lieutenant.

She was such a fraud, charmingly so.

Who’d have ever thought it? He’d bet his last nickel that neither Logan nor Reese knew Margo owned an ancient blind cat who missed the cat box.

They also didn’t know that, when her defenses were down, she was as soft and vulnerable as a woman could be.

The conflicts in her personality left him in turmoil.

He wanted to fuck her. Bad.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, all starchy and buttoned-up and in command, he’d wanted to break through her defenses with a good old-fashioned lay.

But he also wanted to make love to her. Endlessly.

He wanted to kiss her from head to toes, lingering at warm, damp places in between. He wanted to show her that she didn’t have to be strong, not with him.

She could lean on him when necessary, and he’d support her, always.

He wanted their relationship to matter.

He wanted to leave an impact in ways both physical and emotional.

Locking his hands to keep from turning to her, touching her, he stared at that damned ceiling and planned his next move. It was going on five o’clock, and in a few more minutes he’d need to check her again.

She was so complex.

While drugged and exhausted, she’d tried to seduce him. He had a feeling that, now better rested, she’d wake with new determination to send him packing.

He was just as determined to stay, to pamper her. To have her.

I don’t know his name.

How could she not know the name of a man she’d slept with? Delirium from her concussion? Forgetfulness because the encounter had happened so long ago? Or lack of caring, because sexual involvement didn’t matter that much to her?

Or...had Margo indulged a one-night stand with a complete stranger? Dangerous, except that she wasn’t a helpless woman. Far from it.

Did she often hang in bars looking to hook up?

He could accept that; she was a beautiful, smart, independent woman, and hey, he understood sexual urges—and the lack of interest in commitment. But his back teeth locked when he thought of her admiration for Rowdy. At least that was one interlude he knew would never happen. Rowdy Yates was many things—a good friend, a dangerous rebel, a terrific business owner.

And a loyal family guy. He would never cheat on Avery.

Dash was still sorting through his thoughts when he heard the soft moan.

He went still at first, then turned his head to look at Margo. Was she dreaming?

In a sensual, lithe movement, she arched her neck a little.

Fascinated, alert, Dash went up on his elbow to better see her.

She made a soft sound, and her lips parted.

“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.

Her brother, as tall as the dad but leaner, had a more affable manner. He seemed equal parts amused curiosity and brimming anticipation. The jury was still out on him.

Margo did her best to stand straight and tall as she greeted her family. “Mom, Dad, you didn’t have to come out in this nasty weather.”

“If you hadn’t been sleeping,” her father said, “you’d know the weather isn’t so nasty now.”

“It wouldn’t look right if we didn’t,” added Mrs. Peterson as she toyed with a single pearl necklace.

Focusing on Dash, his tone accusatory, her father said, “Is there a reason you wanted us to stay away?”

“Of course not. I just meant—”

“Damn, sis.” Her brother stepped forward, blocking the father’s view of Margo.

Dash waited, ready to level the guy if he wasn’t gentle enough.

But her brother only inspected her, then gave a half shake of his head. “I’m thinking you should have stayed in the bed.”

“No, I’m okay. It was a late night, though.” She tried a brave smile that made Dash want to leap to her defense. “Did Dash do introductions?”

“I tried,” Dash said, and even he heard the antagonism in his tone. “But I was sent to summon you forth.”

Expression tight, Margo looked away from him. “Of course. I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Dad.”

Her father sat forward. “Let’s hear it then. Who is he and why is he here?”

The first order of business should have been Margo’s injuries, not her company. She wasn’t an underage girl, and he wasn’t the one who’d hurt her. Dash sawed his teeth together a little more, but seeing Margo’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, he felt compelled to come to her rescue.

“My apologies. I’m Dashiel Riske.” Forgoing their history together, he said, “I was on the road behind your daughter yesterday when the van rammed her car and—”

“Situational awareness, Margo,” her father chided. “You weren’t paying attention.”

Bastard. It wasn’t easy, but Dash said without inflection, “It was more a matter of the icy roads and zero visibility. No amount of situational awareness can prepare you for that type of sudden ice storm.”

Lifting both brows, her brother watched him.

Apparently unused to being contradicted, Mr. Peterson bunched up as if he might attack.

Dash ignored his hostility, just as he ignored Margo’s dismay. “When she crashed, she was temporarily knocked out but came around after I got her car door open. We took cover in an alley. Margo fought them off—”

“Physically?” her brother asked with mock awe. “Guess all that time in the gym is paying off, eh, sis?”

How was it a joking matter? Dash forged on. “She shot at them.”

“Ah, a shoot-out.” Her brother rubbed his hands together. “No doubt she was a crack shot, even with a dislocated elbow.”

“And a concussion,” Dash snarled.

Her brother said, “Pfft. Margo wouldn’t let that slow her down.”

Good God, they were all nuts. She was not superhuman. She was not invincible. Jumping past the reality of her pain, the danger and the hospital visit, Dash tried to wrap it up—so that, yes, he could get her back in bed. “She insisted I return here with her until we knew if it was safe for me to go home.”

Margo gave him a wide-eyed stare.

As far as lies went, it sounded believable enough. He embellished on things with a shrug. “The goons saw my truck and probably read my plates. I’m involved now, so given Margo’s expertise I didn’t argue with her.”

Now knowing that her daughter had been unconscious, that she’d been deliberately rammed, that goons had tried to murder her, her mother said, “Margo?” in an imperious way.

Dash didn’t understand. “Excuse me?”

“You call my daughter ‘Margo’?”

Given the woman’s expression, he shouldn’t have. Too late now, though. “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at her seething father. “I’m not an officer, and she’s not my lieutenant.”

“Damn. What are we thinking?” Her brother gestured for Margo to take the seat he’d vacated. “Sit down already.”

Gingerly, Margo sat.

Dash went to stand on the left side of her chair, near her injured arm.

Her brother took up the other side—and offered Dash his hand. “Since we’re on a first-name basis here...” He smiled. “I’m West. My mother is Marsha, my dad Martin.”

Mrs. Peterson added with bloated pride, “West is head of DVIU.”

Taking his hand, Dash asked, “DVIU?”

Her father filled in. “Drug and Vice Investigation Unit.”

Was that somehow more impressive than Margaret being a lieutenant at such a young age? He’d have to ask Logan. “Nice to meet you, West.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Dash noted that when West ended the handshake, which was friendly, not combative, he rested his hand on Margo’s shoulder.

A show of support? After all that teasing? Maybe. He understood the way with older brothers. Logan often gave him shit just for the fun of it.

But never when he was already down.

“And you, Mr. Peterson?” Dash turned to her father. He looked a lot like Margo, with the same dark hair, but with silver at the temples. Where Margo was slight, the father was a beast. Powerfully built, seasoned, the type of man who liked to make his presence known—in one way or another. “I understand Margo comes from a long line of law enforcement.”

The elder Peterson slanted a venomous look at his daughter. “I’m retired.”

Whoa. What was that about?

“Margo insisted,” West murmured as if sharing an inside joke with Dash.

Margo, for her part, sat perfectly still without even blinking.

Her mother watched Dash with a sharp eye. “What is it you do, Mr. Riske?”

“I work in construction.”

“You’re a laborer?”

Said with a curled lip of disdain. Dash barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The inquisition wouldn’t have bothered him if Mrs. Peterson weren’t so condescending. “When it suits me, sure.”

Margo spoke up. “He owns his own construction company, Mother.”

That renewed her father’s interest. “Is it a large operation?”

Dash shrugged. “Not really. We’re local only, working within the tristate. I employ three crews, around forty-five guys.”

“Commercial or residential?”

“Both.”

“Don’t construction workers spend a lot of time off?” Mrs. Peterson asked.

“Sometimes. But since we’re a design-build firm with in-house design and planning services, we stay pretty busy.”

Mr. Peterson eyed him. “Any plans to expand?”

“Nope.” He and Logan had inherited small fortunes from their grandparents, but neither of them was the type to laze around or serve on a committee. Logan loved the cryptic uncertainty of police work, and he was good at it. But Dash wasn’t the suspicious type. He preferred the simplicity of construction.

With her parents still scrutinizing him, Dash said, “Actually, my brother and I are both pretty well set for life. Generous grandparents with trust funds and all that.” He smiled. “They adored us.”

Margo went wide-eyed.

“I work because I want to, because I enjoy it—not because I have to.”

“But as the owner, you don’t actually work in construction,” Mrs. Peterson wrongly asserted. “You just run things.”

“Running things is actually the hardest part. Paperwork is the bane of my existence. But more often than not, you’ll find me side by side with my crew. I like getting sweaty, using my hands.” He held out his calloused palms, flexed his fingers. “I take a lot of satisfaction in seeing a project come together, whether it’s new construction or remodeling.”

Suddenly Mrs. Peterson’s attention dipped down his body and roamed lazily over his naked chest. “Obviously you stay in shape.”

West said, “I’m guessing his shirt is on Margo.”

Being judicious, Dash said, “Her clothes were a bloody mess, so I played the gallant.” Funny that he’d been so worried about Margo facing her family that he’d forgotten he wore only boxers and drawstring pants. “My clothes were ruined, too, actually. I borrowed a few things from my brother.”

“I assume you’re leaving soon?”

He met Mr. Peterson’s hard stare with one of his own. If the abrupt statement was meant to throw him, it didn’t work.

Before he could reply, Margo stood. “He’s staying until I tell him to leave.”

True enough, as long as she didn’t send him packing anytime soon.

Margo smiled, and then, with her eyes growing a little glazed, she asked, “Anyone want coffee?”

Mr. Peterson left his seat, his attention narrowed at his daughter. “Did you take something?”

“Aspirin,” Dash said.

“Her eyes look—”

“Jesus, Dad,” West interrupted. “She has a concussion.” He turned to his sister. “And no, Margo, you are not making coffee.”

“If everyone is staying, I am.” Arm held close to her body, she turned to Dash. And smiled at him. “You want to come to the kitchen with me?”

He wasn’t the only one to catch the suggestive way she put that. Dash didn’t know what to do. Maybe giving her the pain pill was a bad idea.

West saved him. “No need. We’re leaving now.” He said to his parents, “Remember we have early dinner plans? Mother, you don’t want to be late.”

Mr. Peterson folded his arms over his chest and planted his big feet. “You’ll return to work tomorrow?”

Forgetting her injury, Margo shrugged, froze with discomfort, then lifted her chin in defiance. “Likely. But I’ll decide that later.”

Surely, Dash thought, the department had restrictions on that sort of thing. Whether her parents realized it, or Margo wanted to admit it, she needed time to recover.

She and her father had a staring contest, and to Dash’s surprise, Margo won.

It helped that Mrs. Peterson showed her impatience by going to wait by the door...without saying a word to her daughter.

Mr. Peterson made an ordeal of checking the thick watch on his thicker wrist. “We have plenty of time but since we’re done here...”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Margo sang. “So kind. So considerate.”

Her brother smothered a grin and shuffled everyone out. He was almost off the porch when he turned back and came to the door, again offering Dash his hand. “Thank you.”

Cold air prickled his bare skin, but Dash stood his ground. “For?”

“Your care, your assistance—and your discretion.” He winked at his sister, and left.

CHAPTER SIX

MARGO STOOD IN the doorway and watched as her meddling family drove away. She even waved—but as soon as they were out of sight she closed the door, locked it and turned to find Dash missing.

“Coward,” she mumbled to herself. Yes, the pills made her less circumspect. She wasn’t unaware of her own nature; she felt it necessary to be a control freak, an alpha, and aloof.

But that was for Lieutenant Margaret Peterson.

Margaret was unyielding and in charge. Margaret was cold and calculating. Margaret ruled with an iron fist.

Margo, however, enjoyed the contrast of being a smaller, softer woman—with a bigger, harder man.

Oh, yes—hard. “Dash?” she called, anxious now to see him, touch him and coerce him into returning her touch.

She heard water running in the kitchen and, smiling in anticipation, followed the sound. Wishing she’d put on the sling, she kept her arm and the heavy splint supported close to her body. “You can run, but you can’t hide your big gorgeous self.” She paused. Okay, sure, that was a rather uncensored comment. But who cared? Without the muscle-loosening pain pills she might have only thought it, not whispered it aloud.

And to say it about Dash? Logan’s brother. Logan, one of her best detectives.

Again, who cared?

Dash was at the sink, Oliver winding in and around his legs, when Margo came in. The muscles in his broad back caused a deep furrow over his spine. His shoulders flexed as he filled a carafe with water.

She wanted to eat him up. “There you are.”

“Making coffee.” He glanced at her, did a double take on her expression, dipped his attention over her whole body, then looked away. “Take a seat.”

Instead she propped a hip against the table and watched the play of muscles in his biceps as he got out coffee mugs. Visually she traced his gorgeous upper body down to his sexy tush. She couldn’t help noticing the remnants of a tan, especially where the low-hanging soft cotton pants exposed a paler strip of flesh at the bottom of his spine.

One little tug on that drawstring and the casual covering would drop to his ankles. She warmed and her heartbeat accelerated.

Unfortunately he wore boxers, too. She slightly lifted her left arm, and winced. Still too painful for much use.

So he’d just have to strip all on his own. She could watch.

And enjoy.

“I figured you might want something to eat, too,” Dash said, still not facing her. “Soon as the coffee is done I can—”

Moving forward, Margo caged him up against the cabinet and leaned into him, her cheek against his warm back and her right arm circling around him, her fingers splayed over his washboard abdomen, toying with that tantalizing trail of hair that went down, down...

Lord have mercy.

Dash froze. “Margo—”

Overwhelmed with need, she lightly bit his shoulder blade, licked his sleek, warm skin and felt him shudder.

“You shouldn’t—”

“I can’t resist.” She kissed a path to his spine.

Very gently Dash turned in her hold. “You have to stop that.”

“No.” She leaned into him again, brushed her nose against his solid, lightly furred chest. Could a man possibly smell better than Dashiel Riske? Impossible.

Her nerve endings sparked and a heavy pulse beat of heat settled between her legs. Knowing he didn’t want to hurt her gave her the advantage. “Now, about that kiss...”

He threaded his fingers into her hair. “You’re loopy again, lady.”

Nuzzling her nose into his chest hair, she said, “Just a little. But if you’ll recall I wanted you before the pain pill kicked in.”

“You’re not yourself.”

“You have no idea who I really am, so how would you know?” No one really knew her. Not her family, certainly not anyone at the station. Only the few one-night stands—

“Time out.” Frowning, Dash cupped her face, looked deep into her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Ignoring the discomfort of her elbow, she snuggled into him again. His chest was wide and solid. She gave a low sound of appreciation. “I want to touch you all over.”

“Shit.” He pressed back farther, put an inch of space between them.

“All this teasing,” she told him, “just adds to the urgency.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looked around the kitchen and asked suddenly, “What’s up with your mom?”

Because she didn’t want to talk about her parents right now, Margo used her good arm to wave that off. “She was past due for her cocktail, probably. Around five o’clock every day she needs a few drinks to keep it together. The longer she has to wait, the stiffer and colder she gets. Sometimes Dad insists she have a drink just so she won’t crack.” Closing in again, she put her nose to his neck. Ah, God, he smelled so good. She kissed a small path toward his nipple.

“Enough, Margo.” He clasped her waist and stepped her back a little. “This isn’t happening.”

Oh, yes, it was. She needed it. “Will you help me with another bath?”

“No.”

“Fine. Guess I’ll have to take care of things on my own.” With that threat made, she went down the hall to her bedroom, aware of Dash following along. She opened the closet door, and cringed at the loud creaking of the hinges.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Dash tracked her every move. “That sounds like a horror movie.”

“I’ve been busy,” she explained. “I need to hire a handyman.” That spurred her imagination and she turned to Dash. “Wanna play the handyman? You’d look pretty good in a tool belt...and nothing else.”

He slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Something was different about him now. He no longer looked determined to avoid her. In fact, he looked...predatory.

She breathed a little faster. “Spoilsport,” she said, but a shiver sounded in her tone.

“I didn’t know you wanted to play.” Eyes narrowed, Dash studied her. He must have liked whatever he saw, because he moved away from the wall. “I think I understand now.”

Oh, how he said that... “Understand what?”

His tone changed. “I’ve decided you do need a bath.”

“You decided?”

His jaw flexed and his gaze bored into hers. He held out a hand. “Come along, Margo.”

His autocratic manner had her taking one step toward him before she faltered. Sudden nervousness—and excitement—held her in place. “Why the change of heart?”

He watched her just long enough to get her pulse tripping. “I’ve decided that you’ll be easier to deal with after you’re more relaxed.”

Easier to deal with? “I thought you were worried about me getting the splint wet.”

At her continued hesitation, his dark eyes glittered and a slight knowing smile curved his mouth. “You won’t hurt yourself because I’m going to take care of everything.”

A tsunami of heat rushed through her. “Everything?”

“Everything you need.”

“Oh.” She actually backed up a step. Surely he didn’t mean what she hoped he meant. “I’m not sure...”

His eyes narrowed sensually. “You’re only making this more difficult than it has to be.” He kept his hand outstretched. “Now, come along.”

Dark, hidden desire sparked into full-blown lust. She swallowed hard and meekly accepted his hand.

“Good decision,” he praised, still in that firm voice. He gently led her down the hall and into the larger bathroom.

With every step, her heart beat harder.

Once inside, he told her, “Wait here while I get the bath ready.”

That sounded entirely too close to an order, but Margo stood there just the same, watching him, trying to contain her rioting emotions as he filled the tub with warm water, and got out two big towels and a washcloth. He put one towel on the side of the tub, presumably for her to rest her arm.

When he was satisfied with the arrangements, he turned to her. “Your arm isn’t hurting?”

She shook her head.

“Is that a yes or no?”

“No.”

“Good. Your head?”

“It’s fine.” Right now the only ache she had was sexual.

“I’m glad.” He coasted his fingertips over her jaw, down her throat. “Stand still while I undress you.” Slowly, with his lower body angled close to hers, Dash unbuttoned the flannel shirt. It was like a reverse striptease, and very effective. She tingled all over by the time he got all the buttons undone.

He opened it to expose her breasts.

For the longest time he stood there studying her in such minute detail that she almost couldn’t take it. “Dash?” You’d think the man had never seen breasts before, he looked so intent.

“Shh.” He brushed the flannel shirt over her shoulders and it dropped down to catch on her splint on one side, her elbow on the other. “I’m going to touch you now.”

Thank God. The anticipation was killing her.

“I don’t want you to move. Do you understand me, honey?”

She didn’t, not really.

“Tell me you understand.”

If that’s what it took to get his hands on her... “I understand.”

“Good.” He cupped both breasts, lifting as if to measure their weight while letting his thumbs brush just under her nipples.

Margo locked her knees and tried not to gasp as her nipples stiffened.

With a dark look of satisfaction, Dash caught each nipple with his fingertips and lightly tugged. “You like that?”

“Yes.” Her lips parted, her eyes grew heavy—and she leaned toward him.

“Ah, no, honey. Remember? You’re to stand still.” He pressed her nipples a little more tightly until she froze with a gasp. He searched her face with no discernible emotion. “Does that hurt?”

It felt too wonderful to bear. “No.”

“Feel good?”

She managed a nod.

“I’m glad.” He did a little more tugging. “You’ll be still now.” He waited, and when she didn’t move, he smiled. “That’s better. Now let’s try this again.” He went back to teasing, brushing the very tips, rolling, toying with her.

On a soft groan she closed her eyes.

He paused. “Your arm is okay?”

“Yes, yes.” She nodded hard. “Absolutely fine. Just don’t stop.”

“Please.”

It took her three breaths, and she said, “What?”

Very gently, he told her, “You forgot to say please.”

He looked so serious, watching her as he added more pressure to her nipples again. She licked her lips and whispered, “Please.”

He didn’t smile, but she saw the pleasure in his dark eyes. “That one word sounds so pretty coming from you.” He bent his head. “Let me see if you taste as good as you look.”

That was all the warning she got before he closed his mouth around her right nipple and started gently sucking.

“Ah, God...Dash...”

“What?” He moved to the other nipple, nipped with his teeth, tugged, then sucked her in. She felt the rasp of his velvet tongue, the heat of his moist mouth, and as he sucked the sensation went straight through to her womb.

Urgency mounting, Margo reached for the waistband of his pants...and Dash caught her wandering hand, then moved out of her reach.

While he seemed to contemplate some decision, his thumb coasted over the pulse throbbing in her wrist. “Maybe sitting in the tub will make it easier for you to stay still.” He knelt in front of her, coasted his hands over the backs of her thighs, then her bottom, before hooking his fingers in the waistband of her yoga pants. He stripped them down her legs. “Step out.”

The steamy tub kept the bathroom warm, but still her wet nipples puckered at the touch of air...and the touch of command in Dash’s tone.

She stepped out.

Staying on his knees, he eyed her lacy panties. “Such a contrast.” Using one finger, he traced tantalizing circles around the front of her underwear, dipping every so often to a spot that turned her knees to butter.

Margo was busy contemplating ways they’d be able to have sex with the clunky splint in the way when Dash said, his voice low and gravelly and sexy as hell, “I’m going to make you come.”

She wanted to say, When? Instead she held her breath.

“Twice,” he added. “That ought to help take the edge off so you can settle down and rest.”

Oh, definitely. That’d be a big help.

He eased her panties down to her knees and touched her again, oh, so gently, using only one finger. “But we’re not going to have sex.”

Wait a minute...

He brushed her panties down the rest of the way. “To ensure you don’t make your injuries worse,” he continued, helping her to lift first one foot and then the other, “you’re going to do exactly as I say, exactly when I say it.”

“But—”

Standing again, his body only a breath from hers, he cupped a hand over her sex and stared down into her eyes. “If you don’t,” he warned with enticing gravity, “I’ll stop and instead of being satisfied, you’ll have to sleep with your frustration.”

She couldn’t get enough air into her starved lungs. It was almost as if Dash knew her secret fantasies— fantasies she’d never shared with anyone, that no other man had ever picked up on, and had definitely never enacted.

But she believed him when he said he would satisfy her.

The drugs stole her edge, but she wasn’t completely without reason. When the sex games ended, Dash would need to know that they were only games—and they had a time and a place that could never infiltrate her real life.

Later she would explain it to him. Right now, she desperately wanted to see how things played out.

Her entire body warm and pulsing with need, she stared up at him, nodded and whispered ever so quietly, “Thank you.”

* * *

MARGO LOOKED SO SWEET and so fucking ready, it took all of Dash’s resolve to stick to the plan. She might not realize it, but he recognized her desire on a very basic level. He understood her, appreciated her sexuality.

She was a woman through and through.

Tough when she needed to be, strong always and incredibly intelligent. More than equal to a man in every way that counted.

But sometimes a woman enjoyed the innate contrasts of being smaller, gentler and physically weaker than a man. It worked for him because on occasion he enjoyed playing the dominant role.

With Margo, he liked it a lot.

His goal was twofold. First, he wanted to help her relax and deal with the discomfort of her injuries. Arousal blunted many things, including aches and pains. A mind-numbing orgasm could also relieve her of worries, of the many problems ahead.

Secondly, but just as important, he wanted to show her that she could be herself with him. That sexual need didn’t detract from her strong personality and capability. Taking a more submissive role in bed—with him—wouldn’t carry over into her everyday life out of bed.

Stepping back from the temptation of her nudity, her silky hair and fragrant skin, and especially her helpless anticipation, he studied her body while rubbing his mouth. She trembled with need; he couldn’t leave her like that. She would rest better after getting off.

After he got her off.

But he also couldn’t forget, not for a minute, that she was hurt. And that meant he’d just have to do without, torturous as it would be, until she was better able to reciprocate.

“You really are so fucking hot.” He was going to love touching her, hearing her moan, feeling her come with his fingers pressed deep. Knowing how it would affect her, he said, “Let’s get you in the tub so I can get started.”

He held her right arm to keep her from slipping, then arranged her to his liking.

Breath held, she let him.

“Rest your left arm on the ledge.” He helped her, ensuring she didn’t get the splint wet. “Is that comfortable?”

She drew a breath. “Yes.”

With a hand opened wide between her shoulder blades to support her, he said, “Lean back.”

She did, and the water lapped at her nape, dampening her short dark curls. Liking that, enjoying the compliant picture she made, Dash sat outside the tub and used a cupped hand to pour water over her breasts.

“You are so incredibly stacked.” He trailed a finger down her stomach. “Open your legs.”

Anticipation kept Margo silent and unmoving, on the precipice of need.

“Did you hear me, Margo?”

She licked her bottom lip and slowly widened her feet apart.

“Nice.” He studied her. “Know what I think would be even nicer, though?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, knowing that she wouldn’t. Coming up to his knees, he lifted one of her feet and rested it over the tub ledge. Yeah, he liked that. “Brace yourself. I know you have a tub mat, but I don’t want to take any chances on you sliding.”

With her uninjured right arm, she held on and nodded.

Carefully, Dash lifted her other foot to the ledge on the opposite side of the tub, leaving her exposed. “Stop tensing your knees... Yeah, that’s better.” He could see every inch of her soft pink flesh, swollen with need.

Her breasts rose with each quick inhalation.

Dash met her gaze. “Now I can really get to you.”

With a vibrating groan, she bit her lips and struggled to stay still. Steam left her face rosy. Or maybe that was sharpening desire. She did seem to be as into the sex play as he was.

Trailing a wet fingertip up the inside of her thigh, he ordered, “Leave them there.”

She closed her eyes, but only briefly. Lieutenant Margo Peterson was not a coward, ever.

Picking up the soap, Dash lathered his hands. “Since you insisted on the bath, I want to make sure you enjoy it...for a really long time.” Her nipples were still tight, and got tighter still when he put his soapy fingers to her and teased.

She squirmed and Dash, knowing it wasn’t her problem, asked, “You didn’t want to get clean?”

Turning her head to the side, she made a hungry little sound of need, the muscles in her sleek thighs clenching, her feet flexing.

“Easy now.” He paused, his slick fingers still on her breasts, but now only holding her. “Are you going to be able to stay still?”

Aroused color slashed her cheekbones. Her eyes were dazed. The bath water lapped at her breasts. “Yes.”

“Is that a promise?”

Her gaze pleaded with him, and she whispered, “Please don’t stop.”

He smiled...and rinsed her breasts. She was sensitive here, and he almost thought he could get her off with just this.

But that’d be asking too much of him. He needed to touch her. All of her.

Everywhere.

“It won’t be easy, I know.” Leaving one hand to toy with her nipples, he lowered the other into the water, between her legs. “But you’re not going to move, not until I tell you that you can.”

“All right.”

Dragging out the suspense, he slipped his fingers along her inner thighs, teased behind her knees, tickled over her hip bones and belly.

“Dash,” she whispered desperately.

“Shhh. No talking, either.” It took all his concentration to hang on, to remember that this was for her, only her.

She drew in a shuddering breath.

“All you need to do is rest there and let me have my fun.” Knowing she couldn’t, he said, “Now loosen up for me,” at the same time that he cupped his hand over her again—this time with her legs sprawled wide.

A vibrating moan escaped her.

“You just can’t keep quiet, can you?” He pressed two fingers into her, easily since she was already slippery wet and ready. With his other hand he toyed with her nipples.

She made another throaty sound of excitement, and Dash told her calmly, “You may as well get comfortable, because I’m not in any rush here.” He eased his fingers back out of her. “We have all night.”

She lifted her hips, his hand now loosely covering her, seeking the more intimate stroke.

“Shh. Rest back in the tub or I’ll have to stop. I won’t chance you getting hurt.”

“I won’t,” she all but wailed, writhing against his hand.

“Your arm is okay?”

“Yes!”

He smiled. “Does your head hurt at all?”

“Damn you...”

“Cursing me?” He pretended to pull away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Better.” He held one nipple and despite how she squirmed, kept his fingertips just barely inside her. “You sounded sincere enough.”

Two deep breaths...and she said, “I am.”

“Then behave.” He pressed his fingers deep again, slowly working her, using the heel of his hand to add friction to her clitoris.

Her teeth locked. She was already so close, and he’d barely done half of what he wanted to do.

“Keep your knees open.”

Eyes closed tight, she nodded.

He watched her splinted left arm, making sure she didn’t forget about it.

And suddenly she gasped, almost lost in a fast orgasm.

Surprised by her swift response, Dash eased up, saying softly, “No, not yet.”

Ripe excitement left her entire body taut, rosy.

Dash touched her everywhere, her swollen sex, her breasts and her mouth and her plump little ass. “You are so sexy, Margo.”

“I...I need to come.”

“And you will,” he promised. He saw the carnal desperation on her face...and he loved it. “After I’ve gotten my fill of enjoying your body.”

One thing was certain: she did not feel any pain. He could tell by the way she moaned and moved and how easily she kept trying to spiral out of control.

Dash abandoned her breasts for the moment to concentrate between her legs. “I think you’ll like this.”

She caught her breath and waited.

“Two fingers in you, nice and deep.” He watched the movement of his hand, his fingers sliding in and out of her tender body. “I have large hands, but still, it’s not quite the same as when we’ll have sex.” His cock hurt, he wanted her so much. But he wouldn’t veer off track.

She strained to remain still.

“And with my other hand, I can...” He touched her clitoris, and she gasped, her hips lifting. “Maybe we should put that off until later.”

“Do it now.” Her voice was high, thin.

“I don’t want you to come yet.”

“Dash...” Frustration made her frantic. “I don’t know if I can wait any longer.”

He said with certainty, “You can.”

She moaned raggedly.

Maybe he should save that much teasing for her second orgasm. She was already drawn so tight that it worried him. He didn’t want to add to her aches and pains. He wanted to alleviate them.

“I’ll prove it to you....” She was about to protest when he touched her again, saying, “Later.”

It took him less than thirty seconds to push her over the edge, and hearing her cries, seeing the open, honest pleasure on her face, he damn near followed her.

As her orgasm faded, she slumped and he quickly pulled the drain on the tub to let the water out. “Relax, honey.”

She gave a faint but honest laugh. “Now I can, definitely.”

“I’m glad.” Pleased with her, Dash shook open the towel. “Time to dry off.”

“Forget it.” She motioned him away with her right hand. “Just leave me here for a little while.”

He grinned at her tranquil posture. “You know I can’t do that. Come on now, you’ll be more comfortable once you’re dried and dressed.”

“And fed.”

“Exactly.” He caught her under the arms. “Careful now.” He helped her out, then said, “If you can stay on your feet, I can take care of everything.”

“Yes, sir.” She giggled.

Pausing with the towel to her belly, Dash stared at her. A giggle? From Lieutenant Margaret Peterson. “You are dopey as hell.”

“I’m boneless.”

“Boneless, huh?” He kissed her, and wanted to go on kissing her. But that would test his control too much. “I like that ‘sir’ business.”

“You earned it.” She sobered as he bent to dry her legs. “But, Dash, you do realize—”

“That it’s only in the bedroom? Or in this case, the tub? Maybe someday the kitchen table?” He sent her a quick smile of reassurance. “Of course I do.” He briskly dried her thighs, and more slowly between them. “I’ve never known a stronger, more independent woman than you. What we do together won’t change that.”

Margo put a hand on his shoulder, balancing herself.

He brushed the edge of the towel over her breasts, concentrating on her nipples. “But games are fun for everyone, so anytime you want to play...” He couldn’t stop himself from bending to her nipple for one quick, soft suckle. “Just let me know. I liked it. A lot.”

Maybe a little uncertain, she ran her tongue over her lips.

“It’s all right if you admit that you liked it, too.” Hoping to put her at ease, he teased her and said, “I won’t tell.”

“You already know that I did.”

“You’ll like it again in...oh, a few hours. Before we go to sleep.” He smiled. “I did promise you two climaxes, right?”

She sighed. “And what about you? I’m more than happy to—”

“No. I won’t take the chance of causing you pain.” He kissed the bridge of her nose, her temple, and suggested, “Make it up to me when you get the splint off in a few days.” He waited to see what she’d say, if she’d maybe deny the odds of being with him a few days from now.

Instead she lightly trailed her nails down his chest to his abdomen. “Count on it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

DASH WOKE CURLED around Margo. She was on her right side, his knees behind hers, her splinted arm resting above his around her waist.

Her sweet little bottom pressed into his lap.

Even before his eyes opened he remembered yesterday and lust rushed through him. His arm tightened the tiniest bit.

After her bath, he’d cooked her dinner, held her and Oliver on the couch while watching a movie and then they’d gone back to bed.

Using only his fingers, he’d given her another climax. He’d badly wanted to pleasure her with his mouth as well, but hadn’t trusted his restraint. Instead, after she’d come, he stayed with her, touching her softly, then with more insistence until she caught up, until the sensations began to build again.

He kept her going, loving the way she cried out, how she clutched at him with her right hand. Slowly the orgasm built and, body taut and breath ragged, she came a third time.

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