Dash of Peril

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.