Lori Foster - Dash of Peril

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.

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.