Sex.

As he exited the kitchen, her eyes ate him up. She wanted to see him naked, to touch him all over—

He paused in front of her, a small knowing smile making him sexier than ever. “I’m done with the kitchen so I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ll need about twenty minutes so I can shave, too.” He rubbed his bristly jaw and some rough emotion darkened his voice. “You’re so soft all over, I don’t want to risk giving you whisker burns.”

Margo’s eyes widened. But with that cryptic comment, which made her stomach tumble over, he walked away.

She twisted to watch him go—and saw he was grinning. How could he give her whisker burns if he refused to have sex with her? Or—oh, God—did he plan to make her insane again while denying himself with another of his superhuman shows of control?

When he disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door, she dropped back in her seat. Oliver, disgruntled, resettled himself over her lap.

For the next few minutes her imagination drummed up every sensual possibility known to man. She could hear the shower going, and in her mind she could see him naked, his hard, muscled body wet and glistening, how the water would trail through his gorgeous body hair, over his chest, his abs, down that tantalizing happy trail—

The water shut off and her heart missed a beat. An invisible ribbon pulled tight deep inside her. She realized she’d stopped petting Oliver, that her hands were still and her gaze staring off at nothing in particular.

Oliver stretched, yawned and made his way off the couch—with her help—to go to his bed. He turned three circles, pawing a blanket this way and that before dropping down and stretching out flat, his front paws off one end of the bed, his back paws off the other, his little furry face relaxed.

Margo smiled at him. He was still the sweetest cat ever. No one in her family, not even West, liked to pet him.

But Dash did. He was as attentive to the cat as she was.

She let out a sigh.

“Feeling melancholy?”

Twisting around again, she found Dash standing there, his hair still damp, finger-combed back from his freshly shaved face. He wore only drawstring lounge pants that hung low on his lean hips.

No shirt.

Mercy.

Mouth going dry, Margo stared as he looked toward Oliver. “Is he out for the night?”

“Yes.” Oh, God, she sounded like a frog. A weak frog. Clearing her throat, she said more forcefully, “Yes. I’m surprised, too, because it’s starting to rain and usually that spooks him.”

“Maybe,” Dash said, going to the front door to check that it was locked, “he’s comforted by me being here.”

Because she sure enjoyed having him around, Margo agreed, “Maybe.” And wasn’t that a kicker? She’d been alone so long, she would have sworn a man of Dash’s size and presence would crowd her house, her lifestyle, her way of doing things.

Instead, it was so nice to have him there. Even now, as he took her hand and drew her up from the couch, she could breathe in his intoxicating scent and that, too, was so, so nice.

His thumbs rubbed her shoulders. “I haven’t asked you in a while, but how’s your head?”

She’d actually forgotten about that injury. “It’s fine.” With his chest right there, she had to touch. His chest hair was crisp, not superthick but definitely supersexy. “No more headache.”

“And you said your arm isn’t giving you any problems.”

Oh, she hoped this was going where she wanted it to go. “I want the splint off, that’s all. But no, there’s no pain.”

Standing there in her living room, he let his gaze wander from her face to her chest. Very intent, he lowered his hands and opened the belt on her housecoat. “Logan and Reese almost lost their eyeballs, seeing you like this.” He spread the terry cloth wide. “But I understood.”

“In a ratty old housecoat? What dull lives they must lead.”

“It’s soft in a way they’ve seldom seen with you. And comfortable.” He pushed it off her shoulders. “There’s no denying your curves in this thing.”

As he looked at her “curves,” she inhaled. His gaze was so tactile she felt it.

“If it had been any other guys, I don’t know. I think it would have pissed me off.” His eyes met hers. “But my brother, Reese...I know they were just taken off guard. Again. With you hurt and us together, they’ve had to see you differently. It’s entertaining. And now that they see you as a woman, there’s no going back. Not that I want you to start flaunting yourself at the station or anything.”

As if that would ever happen. “It would be grossly inappropriate for me to wear revealing clothes at work.”

“I’m not talking about anything revealing. But what you wear is like a suit of armor.” He cupped her left breast—and just held her.

She loved his hands, how big they were, how strong they looked in comparison to hers. His fingers were long, his knuckles big, his forearms and the backs of his hands dusted with hair. So masculine. So sexy.

“I’ve been to the station enough times to see other women in their uniforms.” Dash lifted her a little as if testing the weight of her breast. “There are little things women know to do to make even a burlap sack look attractive. Except that you never do those things.”

“Never?” Slowly, so he wouldn’t object, she trailed her hand down his body, over those firm abs and that narrow line of crisp hair that disappeared into his sleep pants. His skin was so warm, so sleek. She curled her fingers over the drawstring waistband, then had to resist the urge to tug them down. “I dressed differently at Rowdy’s bar.”

His smile went crooked, maybe over her sneaky caress, or maybe over what she’d said. “Yeah, and Rowdy recognized right away that you were up to something. We both know he’s different from Reese and Logan. You could walk up to Rowdy buck naked and while he’d no doubt enjoy the show, he wouldn’t miss a beat.”

True. There was little a woman could do to take Rowdy by surprise. He was the most sexual man she’d ever met. Or rather, she’d thought so...until she and Dash got involved. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” He cuddled her breast and finally his thumb came up to coast over her nipple. Once, twice—until her nipple tightened. He watched as if fascinated. “You already know how I enjoy seeing you.”

“Do you ‘miss a beat,’ as you said?”

“Yeah, that and more. Seeing your sweet little body almost levels me. But honestly, honey, your attitude is every bit as sexy as your body.” He turned her, taking his time as he stripped the housecoat off her shoulders, down her right arm and then down her splint. Instead of letting her turn again, he tossed the housecoat to the couch and kept her facing away from him, one hand splayed over her belly, the other stroking her backside under the big T-shirt he’d given her. “I wanted to wait,” he told her. “I hate the thought of maybe hurting you. But damn, Margo, I can’t.”

She shouldn’t sound so anxious, but it felt like she’d wanted him forever. “You mean—”

“Touching you today,” he whispered near her ear, “tasting you, that was enough to obliterate my good intentions. But then seeing you in cop mode with Logan and Reese... Intelligence and cunning are so damn sexy.”

Would Dash always surprise her with his odd observation of things? “What I suggested wasn’t all that cunning, really. It’s just—” Her voice dropped off when he cuddled both breasts.

“Let’s go to your bedroom.”

Hallelujah. “All right.” She wanted to forget everything except Dash and how he made her feel and the fact she would finally get to experience everything with him. But she couldn’t be that irresponsible. “Let me grab my phone from the kitchen.”

“Sure.” He picked up her housecoat. “Do you think Rowdy or Cannon might have news tonight?”

“I don’t know, but your brother and Reese would also use my cell if they had any news.” Phone now in hand, she passed him on her way to the bedroom. “Come along, Dash.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Margo heard the amusement in the way he said that, but so what? Erotic need hastened her steps to the bedroom. Once inside, she put the phone on the nightstand and began stripping off the T-shirt.

Dash stepped into the room, closed the door and leaned back against it to watch her. His gaze burned over her, but he didn’t offer to help, didn’t move away from the door, didn’t say a word.

Margo threw the T-shirt at him. It hit his stomach and fell to the floor. Not feeling the least bit modest, she faced him with her shoulders back, her chin lifted. She felt a little awkward in the splint, but not enough so to hesitate when what she wanted was so close at hand.

He took his time looking her over, his gaze lingering at the notch of her thighs until she wanted to squirm.

The prolonged, intense silence got to her. “Take off your pants,” she told him.

“Not yet.” He looked into her eyes, letting her see the stunning lust in his. “You don’t seem to realize it, but I’m hanging on here by a thread. I don’t want to rush through this, so leaving them on for now is a safeguard.”

“You promise they will come off?”

“Yeah. Soon.” He stepped up to her, his hands—fingers spread—moving from her shoulders, over her breasts, down to her waist and thighs.

She trembled.

He opened his mouth on her throat, up to her jaw, below her ear. In a gravelly rasp, he said, “I want to eat you again.”

Margo’s knees went weak. She wanted that, too, but more than that, she wanted him, all of him. “I need you inside me.”

“Come here.” He drew back the covers on the bed, sat down with his back to the headboard, his legs stretched out, and patted his abs. “Sit.”