“I—” She stopped and said carefully, “Are you giving me your knife?”

“Yeah, Tex, I’m giving you my backup-backup-backup knife so I don’t see you waving a pocketknife at someone again.”

Her eyes actually lit. She unsheathed the knife. Flat handle, double-edged blade. Heavy. Smaller than he preferred. Still, it’d get the job done in a pinch.

“My daddy liked guns,” she said. “Hunting. But I never learned.” Her mind seemed to go elsewhere, and she shuddered.

Probably thinking about Bambi’s mother. Damn cartoon. “I take it you prefer knives?”

“You bet. Every cowgirl should have a knife—even if it’s only to open some beans when she can’t find a can opener.” She held it up, and her smile was gorgeous. “Thank you. Really.”

“No problem. Really.” He took a bite of the potatoes and stilled. The girl could cook. “Besides, I intend to collect.”

“Doesn’t that just figure?” Her scowl was definitely cute, but under it…was that surprise? “You want sex with…me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Damn straight I want sex with you. You didn’t think I would?”

“I…” She shrugged and said lightly, “It’s nice to be wanted.”

The lightness was bullshit and contradicted by the hurt in her eyes. “Who didn’t want you?”

Her mouth dropped open. “I didn’t say that.”

Bull’s-eye. “Who didn’t want you?”

“Well, jeez, I’ve been divorced twice. What do you think?”

He leaned back to watch her move her potatoes from one side of the plate to the other. Uh-huh. She had hurt buried in there. And despite his avoidance of relationships, he wasn’t blind. Women rarely escaped a relationship with their self-confidence intact.

She’d been angry when she thought he’d fucked her without liking her. Hard to imagine a man not liking little Tex, but the world was filled with assholes. “I think both your husbands made you doubt your attractiveness.”

Her pupils constricted, and the tiny muscles beside her mouth flinched down. “I forgot the salad dressing.” She shoved to her feet and rummaged—pretended to—through the fridge before returning with a small bottle.

He couldn’t help pushing despite the fact his fucking curiosity had led him into landmines before. However, her reaction seemed to exceed the normal bitterness from a divorce. And, he plain wanted to know… “Did you love them?”

Her muscles tensed as if she’d jump up again. Too bad for her she’d run out of culinary excuses. He put his hand over hers, a physical restraint, and pushed with his voice. “Lindsey, did you love them? Simple question.”

She slumped, gaze on her plate. “I thought I did,” she whispered.

“They didn’t?”

She shook her head. When her hand trembled under his, he wanted to take her in his arms.

No. She wasn’t ready for that kind of comfort. Not from him. By being an asshole, he’d destroyed the trust he’d earned the first night. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, releasing his hand and his dominance.

She pulled in a breath harsh enough to hear. Her shoulders straightened. “So, what’s going on with the security system at the shelter?” she asked lightly.

Damn, he fucking admired her spirit. “I’ll make sure they get top-of-the-line equipment.” He cut a bite of his steak. Sampled. He hadn’t lost his touch. “You’ve got a decent grill out there.”

“It’s Abby’s.” She looked around. “I really love this place already.”

“Good.” He damned well planned to get her to cook for him again. “No rodents here?”

Her laugh was light, cheerful, back to the Lindsey he knew and had avoided before because she was so damn appealing. “I miss Francois. He was good company.”

Now that was pitiful, a fucking field mouse for companionship. Jesus, she was something. Rather than screaming when seeing a rodent, she’d named it Francois. She’d faced down a gang with pepper spray. Despite her big eyes and gentle heart, she was a strong woman. Fucking strong. “I’ll keep you company tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He grinned. “Because I like you?”

***

In the kitchen, Lindsey glanced into the sink. Empty. The Enforcer had actually loaded the dishwasher and put the condiments away. Helping out was sure more than either of her husbands had done. Of course, Miguel had helped in the kitchen before they’d married. Not after he’d obtained his green card. Obviously, premarriage behavior wasn’t an index of reality. Don’t get carried away, girl.

Carrying the plate of sweets into the living room, she found him on the couch, flipping through the channels.

“Looking for a game?”

His dimple showed. “Nothing good on. Got any movies?”

With one arm propped on a plush red pillow, he looked right at home on her overstuffed white sofa. She’d chosen comfortable, practical furniture. It sure wasn’t delicate—but neither was she. Good sturdy Texas stock, that was her. “Movies are in the bottom of the stand.”

Grabbing a cookie as he walked past, he gave her a firm kiss and squatted down in front of the TV. Startled, she could only stare at him, then, okay, stare a little longer because the man had a really fine ass.

With a shake of her head, she set the cookies on the distressed white coffee table and snuggled into a corner of the couch. Was he seriously planning to stay and watch TV? Wasn’t it a tad domestic for him?

But he inserted a DVD and joined her, dragging her over his body so she lay sprawled on top of him. Resigning herself to watch a gory movie, she blinked in surprise. “You like Jurassic Park?” Jeez, it had a romance and children and—

“Yeah.” His dimple flashed for a second. “Not for girly love shit. I’d just rather watch dinosaurs than war.”

“Oh.” She frowned. DeVries’s bearing, his ability to snap out orders, the careful assessment he did of his surroundings, all screamed soldier. “Were you in the military?”

“Mmmhmm.” After adjusting her so her cheek rested on his shoulder, he took another cookie, eyes on the screen. “You’re a great cook.”

“Grandma’s recipe.” She lifted up to look at him. Melissa’s husband had been in the Air Force. “What branch?”

His foggy-green eyes flicked down to her. “Navy SEAL.” With a firm hand, he pushed her head back down.

Ooookay, guess the military wasn’t going to be a topic of conversation. What the heck, she’d always enjoyed this movie, and lying on top of a muscular guy wasn’t a problem. In fact, he was a pretty comfortable mattress and wonderfully warm.

“That why you took a fake name?” he asked. “A divorce?”

She stiffened and had to force herself to relax. He kept tossing unexpected questions at her. Butthead. So she used his answer, “Mmmhmm,” and had to smother a snicker when his jaw tightened. But he turned back to watch the show.

As they watched, she deliberately commented on the romance which made him chuckle. In turn, he critiqued the actors’ idiotic combat maneuvers. Bet he was something in the field.


WITH HER HEAD on his shoulder, the little Texan was half-asleep, draped over him like a limp kitten. He usually went for larger women, but this one was just plain cute. And when she was happy, she revved right up to totally beautiful.

His curiosity nagged at him. He still didn’t know why she used a fake name. Might be a divorce. Might be scandal. Might be related to breaking the law. Or maybe she was running from someone. If some asshole was threatening her, he needed to know.

As Jurassic Park ended and the credits scrolled up the screen, deVries turned off the television. How sleepy was the girl? Steady, even breathing. One hand curled around the side of his neck.

“What’s your name, pet?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Lindsey R—” Her mouth snapped shut as her eyes opened, and her body turned rigid. Color rushed into her face. “You bastard.”

“Just wanted to know,” he said mildly, eyeing her warily. Good thing the knife he gave her was still in the kitchen.

As she shoved to her feet, one hand came dangerously close to unmanning him. “I think it’s time for you to head home, deVries. Thanks for the steak and all that.”

“Fuck, you got a temper. I only asked your name.”

“And you got that if I wanted you to know it, I would’ve told you. Hit the road.”

“Are you in trouble?” He rose and stepped into her personal space.

Letting her understand he’d touch her even if she were furious, he pushed her hair over her shoulder. The purple colors gleamed under the brown locks. He liked that quirk of hers. “Can I help?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously and retreated out of his reach. Refusing his help. Refusing his touch. “My business is none of yours.”

“Lindsey—”

“God, just go home. It was fun. We’re done.”

Oh no, we’re not. All the same, he backed off. For now. After all, a submissive had the power to say no…until she gave it into his hands. And she would.

***

After deVries left, Lindsey finished cleaning up, even to the extent of running the dishwasher only half-full. She needed to eradicate his presence from her home.

She’d sure been fooled by his terse, tough-guy persona. Who’d think the Enforcer would be so clever and so snoopy.

But duh. She’d seen him in action at the club. A Dom who could play a submissive like deVries did was past intelligent. He was one of Simon’s best investigators—and even worse, from the glint in his eyes, he was more intrigued than put off by her answers.

She wrapped her arms around herself and dropped down on the couch—then caught a hint of his scent on the pillow. Not aftershave. He used one of those woodsy guy soaps like Axe. With a huff of exasperation, she moved to the other side of the couch.