Dash of Peril

“Do you want to put on your yoga pants, too?”

She wanted a suit of armor. Or even her uniform. Right now neither was possible. Overwhelmed with the idea of her father waiting while Dash was in her bedroom with her, suggesting she put on underwear, she merely nodded.

Her world had turned upside down.

“Do you need a quick trip to the bathroom first?”

Now that he mentioned it... “Yes.” Thank God she had a master suite with her own bathroom so she wouldn’t have to go into the hall yet.

With her right hand she held on to Dash as he more or less lifted her from the bed then assisted her into the bathroom.

“The pain pill should kick in soon, and no, they have no idea I was giving it to you.” He propped a shoulder on the door frame and gave her an insolent look. “I have the bottle in my pocket, so unless your dad or brother frisks me, we’re good.”

“My brother, too?”

“Yeah, imagine that.”

Margo didn’t understand the dark note in Dash’s voice, and she was too frustrated to care. “They’re all three here?”

“Yes.” His gaze held her captive. “All three.”

It got her back up, the way he sounded more abrupt by the second. “I can manage if you want to—”

He looked away from her, but said, “I’m waiting.”

“Ooookay.” Knowing her father’s intolerance for tardiness, she didn’t want to waste time. She closed the bathroom door in Dash’s face, and came hobbling back out a mere half minute later.

As if searching for signs of distress, Dash looked her over.

On top of relieving herself, she’d also gargled and smoothed her hair one-handed. Neither had helped all that much. Though she felt more alert, she knew the truth. “I’m a mess.”

“With good reason.” Dash took her uninjured arm again and led her toward the bed, where she’d left her panties and yoga pants. He put her hand on his shoulder. “Hold on to me for balance.”

Why not? In one day Dash had already seen her in a more pathetic state than anyone else ever had in her entire thirty years. “Right.”

Going to one knee, he held her panties for her. Black panties with frosty pink lace as decoration. Soooo not the look for a feared lieutenant known for the ruthless demolition of corruption in the force, an ice queen who’d faced down enraged male officers with nary a flinch.

Dash looked up at her, his gaze dark and steady and somehow knowing. “It’s okay.”

Why was she still having sexual thoughts? Because a gorgeous hunk is on his knees in front of you, that’s why. If he had her backed to a wall, this would be the perfect position for him to—

“Believe me, I know,” he murmured low, sending a swirl of heat through her stomach.

“Do you?” She put her hand on his jaw, now dark with beard shadow.

“I’m trying not to think about it.” His attention went down her body. “Yet.”

Meaning later they could both think about it?

Obviously she needed to get laid, and fast. It no longer seemed to matter that Dash wasn’t the right man. In fact, he was starting to look like exactly the right man. He was here, and she had no doubt he could get the job done, that he would probably be quite thorough.

The powerful relief of sex would help to counter the weak way she felt right now.

But would he be willing?

Leaning on him, Margo lifted one foot at a time. “This might sound egotistical, but I’ve never had a man refuse to kiss me.”

“Think of it as a delay, not a refusal.” With the same dispassion he might have used on a child, Dash pulled up her panties, and then her yoga pants.

“So if I hadn’t just taken a pain pill—”

He sat back on his heels, his dark eyes filled with challenge. “I don’t take orders, either.”

“Orders?”

He straightened before her, so tall, so leanly muscled. And now he had a commanding air about him, something she’d never before noticed with Dash.

He cupped her face in his work-roughened hands. “You’re so used to calling the shots, you probably think you can get by with it in all situations, with all people. But I’m not one of your detectives.”

The steel in his tone gave her a shiver. Muscles going warm and weak, Margo leaned into his chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But of course she did. And of course...he was right.

The entire appeal of one-night stands was the opportunity to be someone else, someone unknown, a woman without a reputation for being so tough.

A woman...not so in control.

“All that aside,” Dash said, “you need a few days to recover. And tasting you here—” he brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb “—makes me want to taste you everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” She hoped he meant what she thought he—

Obliterating her thoughts, he said, “Here,” and brushed his knuckles over her right nipple.

How could she be so sensitive? In the back of her mind, she thought, Because this is Dash.

She breathed harder.

Watching her, he trailed his hand down her ribs and over her stomach, stopping between her thighs. “And here.” His fingertips played over her ever so lightly.

Her bones turned to butter....

Until he said, “But you’re not up for that yet.”

Wrong and wrong again. She wanted him and no paltry injuries would change that. Persuasive arguments tripped to her tongue. “Dash—”

“No is no, honey.”

How...naughty of him, to get her primed when he had no intention of following through.

And why did that just ramp up her excitement more?

Unfortunately, with her parents in the other room, she couldn’t very well make him live up to the promise of his touch. “Because I can’t keep the folks waiting, I’ll accept that. For now.”

“Good girl.” Dash smiled, then took his hands from her body and shoved them into the pockets of the loose cotton pants. His lean jaw flexed. “Now that we’ve settled that, I have a question.”

“Can it wait?”

“Afraid not.” And with no pause at all, he demanded, “If they already had a son, why the hell weren’t your parents happy with you being a daughter?”

* * *

HIS MOM CALLED him the carefree one. His dad praised him for knowing how to relax and when to laugh. True enough, when compared to Logan’s serious persona, Dash was the cheerful, lighthearted brother.

But right now, his temper simmered near a boil. Not only had Margo slipped out of the bedroom without answering his question—if she even had an answer for something so asinine—but now he also had to deal with her dysfunctional family.

Like detached strangers on a public bus, they politely tolerated each other. He was uncomfortable with them, so how would Margo feel?

At the edge of the couch her mother sat like an ice statue, back ramrod-straight, feet together, hands folded over the purse in her lap and her face as smooth and seamless as plastic surgery could make it. An expensive sweater and pleated slacks emphasized her still-trim figure. Her hair was lighter than Margo’s and without the fun curls. In fact, her hair looked like a damned helmet it was so starched into place. And instead of Margo’s beautiful blue eyes, her mother’s eyes were a lackluster gray.

Her father deliberately took up space, brawny arms stretched out over the back of the couch, expression critical of everyone and everything. His only concern upon arrival wasn’t whether or not Margo was okay. No, he wanted to know only why Dash was there.

Surely not to help, as if such a thing were unthinkable. The ass. Dash imagined the senior Peterson enjoyed cowing others; he had that smarmy type of personality prevalent in bullies. For now, because he was Margo’s father, Dash would give him respect.

As long as the man didn’t push him too far.

Her brother, as tall as the dad but leaner, had a more affable manner. He seemed equal parts amused curiosity and brimming anticipation. The jury was still out on him.

Margo did her best to stand straight and tall as she greeted her family. “Mom, Dad, you didn’t have to come out in this nasty weather.”

“If you hadn’t been sleeping,” her father said, “you’d know the weather isn’t so nasty now.”

“It wouldn’t look right if we didn’t,” added Mrs. Peterson as she toyed with a single pearl necklace.

Focusing on Dash, his tone accusatory, her father said, “Is there a reason you wanted us to stay away?”

“Of course not. I just meant—”

“Damn, sis.” Her brother stepped forward, blocking the father’s view of Margo.

Dash waited, ready to level the guy if he wasn’t gentle enough.

But her brother only inspected her, then gave a half shake of his head. “I’m thinking you should have stayed in the bed.”

“No, I’m okay. It was a late night, though.” She tried a brave smile that made Dash want to leap to her defense. “Did Dash do introductions?”

“I tried,” Dash said, and even he heard the antagonism in his tone. “But I was sent to summon you forth.”

Expression tight, Margo looked away from him. “Of course. I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Dad.”

Her father sat forward. “Let’s hear it then. Who is he and why is he here?”

The first order of business should have been Margo’s injuries, not her company. She wasn’t an underage girl, and he wasn’t the one who’d hurt her. Dash sawed his teeth together a little more, but seeing Margo’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, he felt compelled to come to her rescue.

“My apologies. I’m Dashiel Riske.” Forgoing their history together, he said, “I was on the road behind your daughter yesterday when the van rammed her car and—”

“Situational awareness, Margo,” her father chided. “You weren’t paying attention.”

Bastard. It wasn’t easy, but Dash said without inflection, “It was more a matter of the icy roads and zero visibility. No amount of situational awareness can prepare you for that type of sudden ice storm.”

Lifting both brows, her brother watched him.

Apparently unused to being contradicted, Mr. Peterson bunched up as if he might attack.

Dash ignored his hostility, just as he ignored Margo’s dismay. “When she crashed, she was temporarily knocked out but came around after I got her car door open. We took cover in an alley. Margo fought them off—”

“Physically?” her brother asked with mock awe. “Guess all that time in the gym is paying off, eh, sis?”

How was it a joking matter? Dash forged on. “She shot at them.”

“Ah, a shoot-out.” Her brother rubbed his hands together. “No doubt she was a crack shot, even with a dislocated elbow.”

“And a concussion,” Dash snarled.

Her brother said, “Pfft. Margo wouldn’t let that slow her down.”

Good God, they were all nuts. She was not superhuman. She was not invincible. Jumping past the reality of her pain, the danger and the hospital visit, Dash tried to wrap it up—so that, yes, he could get her back in bed. “She insisted I return here with her until we knew if it was safe for me to go home.”

Margo gave him a wide-eyed stare.

As far as lies went, it sounded believable enough. He embellished on things with a shrug. “The goons saw my truck and probably read my plates. I’m involved now, so given Margo’s expertise I didn’t argue with her.”

Now knowing that her daughter had been unconscious, that she’d been deliberately rammed, that goons had tried to murder her, her mother said, “Margo?” in an imperious way.

Dash didn’t understand. “Excuse me?”

“You call my daughter ‘Margo’?”

Given the woman’s expression, he shouldn’t have. Too late now, though. “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at her seething father. “I’m not an officer, and she’s not my lieutenant.”

“Damn. What are we thinking?” Her brother gestured for Margo to take the seat he’d vacated. “Sit down already.”

Gingerly, Margo sat.

Dash went to stand on the left side of her chair, near her injured arm.

Her brother took up the other side—and offered Dash his hand. “Since we’re on a first-name basis here...” He smiled. “I’m West. My mother is Marsha, my dad Martin.”

Mrs. Peterson added with bloated pride, “West is head of DVIU.”

Taking his hand, Dash asked, “DVIU?”

Her father filled in. “Drug and Vice Investigation Unit.”

Was that somehow more impressive than Margaret being a lieutenant at such a young age? He’d have to ask Logan. “Nice to meet you, West.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Dash noted that when West ended the handshake, which was friendly, not combative, he rested his hand on Margo’s shoulder.

A show of support? After all that teasing? Maybe. He understood the way with older brothers. Logan often gave him shit just for the fun of it.

But never when he was already down.

“And you, Mr. Peterson?” Dash turned to her father. He looked a lot like Margo, with the same dark hair, but with silver at the temples. Where Margo was slight, the father was a beast. Powerfully built, seasoned, the type of man who liked to make his presence known—in one way or another. “I understand Margo comes from a long line of law enforcement.”

The elder Peterson slanted a venomous look at his daughter. “I’m retired.”

Whoa. What was that about?

“Margo insisted,” West murmured as if sharing an inside joke with Dash.

Margo, for her part, sat perfectly still without even blinking.

Her mother watched Dash with a sharp eye. “What is it you do, Mr. Riske?”

“I work in construction.”

“You’re a laborer?”

Said with a curled lip of disdain. Dash barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The inquisition wouldn’t have bothered him if Mrs. Peterson weren’t so condescending. “When it suits me, sure.”

Margo spoke up. “He owns his own construction company, Mother.”

That renewed her father’s interest. “Is it a large operation?”

Dash shrugged. “Not really. We’re local only, working within the tristate. I employ three crews, around forty-five guys.”

“Commercial or residential?”

“Both.”

“Don’t construction workers spend a lot of time off?” Mrs. Peterson asked.

“Sometimes. But since we’re a design-build firm with in-house design and planning services, we stay pretty busy.”

Mr. Peterson eyed him. “Any plans to expand?”

“Nope.” He and Logan had inherited small fortunes from their grandparents, but neither of them was the type to laze around or serve on a committee. Logan loved the cryptic uncertainty of police work, and he was good at it. But Dash wasn’t the suspicious type. He preferred the simplicity of construction.

With her parents still scrutinizing him, Dash said, “Actually, my brother and I are both pretty well set for life. Generous grandparents with trust funds and all that.” He smiled. “They adored us.”

Margo went wide-eyed.

“I work because I want to, because I enjoy it—not because I have to.”

“But as the owner, you don’t actually work in construction,” Mrs. Peterson wrongly asserted. “You just run things.”

“Running things is actually the hardest part. Paperwork is the bane of my existence. But more often than not, you’ll find me side by side with my crew. I like getting sweaty, using my hands.” He held out his calloused palms, flexed his fingers. “I take a lot of satisfaction in seeing a project come together, whether it’s new construction or remodeling.”

Suddenly Mrs. Peterson’s attention dipped down his body and roamed lazily over his naked chest. “Obviously you stay in shape.”

West said, “I’m guessing his shirt is on Margo.”

Being judicious, Dash said, “Her clothes were a bloody mess, so I played the gallant.” Funny that he’d been so worried about Margo facing her family that he’d forgotten he wore only boxers and drawstring pants. “My clothes were ruined, too, actually. I borrowed a few things from my brother.”

“I assume you’re leaving soon?”

He met Mr. Peterson’s hard stare with one of his own. If the abrupt statement was meant to throw him, it didn’t work.

Before he could reply, Margo stood. “He’s staying until I tell him to leave.”

True enough, as long as she didn’t send him packing anytime soon.

Margo smiled, and then, with her eyes growing a little glazed, she asked, “Anyone want coffee?”

Mr. Peterson left his seat, his attention narrowed at his daughter. “Did you take something?”

“Aspirin,” Dash said.

“Her eyes look—”

“Jesus, Dad,” West interrupted. “She has a concussion.” He turned to his sister. “And no, Margo, you are not making coffee.”

“If everyone is staying, I am.” Arm held close to her body, she turned to Dash. And smiled at him. “You want to come to the kitchen with me?”

He wasn’t the only one to catch the suggestive way she put that. Dash didn’t know what to do. Maybe giving her the pain pill was a bad idea.

West saved him. “No need. We’re leaving now.” He said to his parents, “Remember we have early dinner plans? Mother, you don’t want to be late.”

Mr. Peterson folded his arms over his chest and planted his big feet. “You’ll return to work tomorrow?”

Forgetting her injury, Margo shrugged, froze with discomfort, then lifted her chin in defiance. “Likely. But I’ll decide that later.”

Surely, Dash thought, the department had restrictions on that sort of thing. Whether her parents realized it, or Margo wanted to admit it, she needed time to recover.

She and her father had a staring contest, and to Dash’s surprise, Margo won.

It helped that Mrs. Peterson showed her impatience by going to wait by the door...without saying a word to her daughter.

Mr. Peterson made an ordeal of checking the thick watch on his thicker wrist. “We have plenty of time but since we’re done here...”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Margo sang. “So kind. So considerate.”

Her brother smothered a grin and shuffled everyone out. He was almost off the porch when he turned back and came to the door, again offering Dash his hand. “Thank you.”

Cold air prickled his bare skin, but Dash stood his ground. “For?”

“Your care, your assistance—and your discretion.” He winked at his sister, and left.

CHAPTER SIX

MARGO STOOD IN the doorway and watched as her meddling family drove away. She even waved—but as soon as they were out of sight she closed the door, locked it and turned to find Dash missing.

“Coward,” she mumbled to herself. Yes, the pills made her less circumspect. She wasn’t unaware of her own nature; she felt it necessary to be a control freak, an alpha, and aloof.

But that was for Lieutenant Margaret Peterson.

Margaret was unyielding and in charge. Margaret was cold and calculating. Margaret ruled with an iron fist.

Margo, however, enjoyed the contrast of being a smaller, softer woman—with a bigger, harder man.

Oh, yes—hard. “Dash?” she called, anxious now to see him, touch him and coerce him into returning her touch.

She heard water running in the kitchen and, smiling in anticipation, followed the sound. Wishing she’d put on the sling, she kept her arm and the heavy splint supported close to her body. “You can run, but you can’t hide your big gorgeous self.” She paused. Okay, sure, that was a rather uncensored comment. But who cared? Without the muscle-loosening pain pills she might have only thought it, not whispered it aloud.

And to say it about Dash? Logan’s brother. Logan, one of her best detectives.

Again, who cared?

Dash was at the sink, Oliver winding in and around his legs, when Margo came in. The muscles in his broad back caused a deep furrow over his spine. His shoulders flexed as he filled a carafe with water.

She wanted to eat him up. “There you are.”

“Making coffee.” He glanced at her, did a double take on her expression, dipped his attention over her whole body, then looked away. “Take a seat.”

Instead she propped a hip against the table and watched the play of muscles in his biceps as he got out coffee mugs. Visually she traced his gorgeous upper body down to his sexy tush. She couldn’t help noticing the remnants of a tan, especially where the low-hanging soft cotton pants exposed a paler strip of flesh at the bottom of his spine.

One little tug on that drawstring and the casual covering would drop to his ankles. She warmed and her heartbeat accelerated.

Unfortunately he wore boxers, too. She slightly lifted her left arm, and winced. Still too painful for much use.

So he’d just have to strip all on his own. She could watch.

And enjoy.

“I figured you might want something to eat, too,” Dash said, still not facing her. “Soon as the coffee is done I can—”

Moving forward, Margo caged him up against the cabinet and leaned into him, her cheek against his warm back and her right arm circling around him, her fingers splayed over his washboard abdomen, toying with that tantalizing trail of hair that went down, down...

Lord have mercy.

Dash froze. “Margo—”

Overwhelmed with need, she lightly bit his shoulder blade, licked his sleek, warm skin and felt him shudder.

“You shouldn’t—”

“I can’t resist.” She kissed a path to his spine.

Very gently Dash turned in her hold. “You have to stop that.”

“No.” She leaned into him again, brushed her nose against his solid, lightly furred chest. Could a man possibly smell better than Dashiel Riske? Impossible.

Her nerve endings sparked and a heavy pulse beat of heat settled between her legs. Knowing he didn’t want to hurt her gave her the advantage. “Now, about that kiss...”

He threaded his fingers into her hair. “You’re loopy again, lady.”

Nuzzling her nose into his chest hair, she said, “Just a little. But if you’ll recall I wanted you before the pain pill kicked in.”

“You’re not yourself.”

“You have no idea who I really am, so how would you know?” No one really knew her. Not her family, certainly not anyone at the station. Only the few one-night stands—

“Time out.” Frowning, Dash cupped her face, looked deep into her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Ignoring the discomfort of her elbow, she snuggled into him again. His chest was wide and solid. She gave a low sound of appreciation. “I want to touch you all over.”

“Shit.” He pressed back farther, put an inch of space between them.

“All this teasing,” she told him, “just adds to the urgency.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looked around the kitchen and asked suddenly, “What’s up with your mom?”

Because she didn’t want to talk about her parents right now, Margo used her good arm to wave that off. “She was past due for her cocktail, probably. Around five o’clock every day she needs a few drinks to keep it together. The longer she has to wait, the stiffer and colder she gets. Sometimes Dad insists she have a drink just so she won’t crack.” Closing in again, she put her nose to his neck. Ah, God, he smelled so good. She kissed a small path toward his nipple.

“Enough, Margo.” He clasped her waist and stepped her back a little. “This isn’t happening.”

Oh, yes, it was. She needed it. “Will you help me with another bath?”

“No.”

“Fine. Guess I’ll have to take care of things on my own.” With that threat made, she went down the hall to her bedroom, aware of Dash following along. She opened the closet door, and cringed at the loud creaking of the hinges.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Dash tracked her every move. “That sounds like a horror movie.”

“I’ve been busy,” she explained. “I need to hire a handyman.” That spurred her imagination and she turned to Dash. “Wanna play the handyman? You’d look pretty good in a tool belt...and nothing else.”

He slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Something was different about him now. He no longer looked determined to avoid her. In fact, he looked...predatory.

She breathed a little faster. “Spoilsport,” she said, but a shiver sounded in her tone.

“I didn’t know you wanted to play.” Eyes narrowed, Dash studied her. He must have liked whatever he saw, because he moved away from the wall. “I think I understand now.”