Lori Foster - Dash of Peril

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.

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.