Dash of Peril

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DASH PLANTED HIS FEET and refused to budge. “Slow down, Margo. I need to grab our stuff from the car.”

Looking frustrated enough to attack, she jerked around to blast him—and Dash took her mouth in a devouring kiss that quickly had her subdued. Little by little he lightened up, teasing with his tongue, tasting her, pushing her closer to the edge.

Turning her on turned him on, too. But he knew what would happen and when—and she didn’t. That gave him a much-needed advantage.

He eased away from her lush mouth and panting breaths, then had to untangle her fingers from his shirt. Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles and felt the tension quivering through her. It wouldn’t take too much more, and she’d be wound so tight, he’d have her screaming with an orgasm with very little effort.

Keeping his tone controlled, he stated, “I want you to go on in. Take a few minutes with Oliver. I’ll be right there.”

Her beautiful dark eyes searched his face. “And then?”

“And then you’re going to take off your clothes and wait for me while I get dinner started.”

Her lips parted on a protest, but she said nothing.

Dash could see the simmering excitement in her wary gaze. Making it clear he assumed her agreement, he asked, “Will you need any help?”

Uncertainly, she shook her head. “No,” she said in a very small voice.

“Wear the sling if you need it, but nothing else.” He cupped the side of her face, let his thumb brush her jaw. “Once I have everything cooking, I’ll see to you.”

Her breasts shimmered with a shakily indrawn breath. Again she started to speak, but didn’t. Three more deep breaths later, she turned and headed for the house.

Dash watched her go, his muscles drawn tight, his chest restricted. He was so hard he could be lethal, and he knew it wasn’t the game.

It was the woman. His woman—once she realized how perfectly suited they were.

When she stepped into the house, Dash turned and went to the car. Yes, he wanted to cook dinner for her; as he’d told her, she needed to eat. But this was about more than food and they both knew it.

Deliberately he’d bought boneless chicken so he could cook it more quickly, though at the time he hadn’t seen this particular scenario playing out. He definitely hadn’t planned to be sidetracked by her brother or father.

Her father. Jaw tight, Dash shook his head. Something was going on there, something personal and difficult and, at least for Margo, emotionally troubling.

Today she’d made him so proud, standing up to her father, unblinking when most people would quail under the big man’s disapproval. He thought about calling Logan to see if his brother knew of any family issues between them, but that felt disloyal and he couldn’t make himself do it.

Later, after he had her soft and replete, he’d ask Margo himself and hopefully she’d confide in him.

When Dash walked into the house, loaded down with his bag and the groceries, Margo was on the couch still giving attention to Oliver. He smiled toward her, and she reciprocated with defiance. That made him grin.

“Do you like oven-fried chicken?”

Her expression faltered. “Yes.”

“Good. It’ll take me about twenty minutes to get it in the oven and get the potatoes boiling. Then I’ll have about thirty minutes before I have to do anything more to it.” Thirty minutes that he’d spend on her.

He went on past her, down the hall first to drop off his bag in her bedroom. He’d brought a few changes of clothes—and plenty of condoms. Best to leave those in the overnight bag for now, though. He didn’t want to tempt himself.

With that done, he left the bedroom and went up the hall and into the kitchen. Margo hadn’t yet moved, but he didn’t worry about it.

She was struggling with things, slowly coming to grips with the depth of their relationship. He cared enough to give her all the time and attention she needed until she completely accepted him.

First he set the oven, and then Dash found flour in the cabinet, an egg and butter in the fridge. In the bottom oven drawer he located a thick cast-iron skillet.

He felt more than heard Margo’s approach and glanced at her over his shoulder. Her dark eyes were huge, her face flushed.

Her nipples were tight points against her blouse.

He loved seeing her like this. He just plain loved her. “Everything okay?”

Her gaze moved over his back, down his spine to his ass and then his thighs. “If I get naked, are you going to get naked, too?”

He wouldn’t lie to her. As he cracked the egg into a bowl, he shook his head. “Not just yet.” Next he put the flour on a plate.

“Why do I need to be naked?”

Was that a note of worry?

Maybe apprehension over what he’d do?

Margo was one of the bravest people he’d ever met, but she didn’t like the unknown.

He, however, liked it a lot because it gave him the advantage in dealing with her. He wanted everything; she wanted sex. It would take patience to show her how perfectly suited they were.

Without looking at her, he said, “So I can make you come.”

Silence.

Without changing his demeanor, Dash turned to face her. “And so I can enjoy looking at you, and you can get comfortable with me.”

Her chin lifted. “I’m comfortable.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The seconds ticked by. Closing her eyes, she leaned back on the wall and groaned. “I don’t know how you do this to me!”

So that neither of them would misunderstand, he said, “Make you hot?”

“Yes.”

Dash studied her for a moment, then put butter in the cast-iron skillet and slid it into the oven to melt. Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he approached her. “We have a lot of chemistry between us.”

“Then why aren’t you just as turned on as I am?”

“You think I’m not?” He took her right wrist and carried her hand to the front of his jeans—against his straining erection. His breath caught at the first touch of her small fingers. “I’m dying to get inside you, honey. But I’m also determined to make this as good for you as it can be. And that means indulging the things you like, paying attention and really ramping up the pleasure for you.”

“If you ramp it up any more, I’m going to lose it.”

Her hand touching him made it difficult to stay on track. “Good.”

Her fingers squeezed him through the denim. “I would like it if you’d just—”

“Shh. No.” For the sake of his own control, he lifted her hand away. “You might think you’ll enjoy taking over, but you’ll like submitting more.” It was the use of that particular word that really got to her. Submit. It was such an alien concept for such a dominating woman.

Dash waited.

She chewed her lower lip, looked away from him and whispered, “Is this what you do with other women?”

“I don’t want other women.” He needed her to understand that. Since meeting her, no one else had held his interest.

“In the past then. Is this some favorite game of yours?”

Touching her became a living, breathing necessity. He wedged his hand around the sling and cupped her right breast, then used his thumb to abrade her stiffened nipple.

On a soft moan, she closed her eyes again and shivered all over. Her reaction gratified him.

“I’ll admit this—taking charge is a favorite of mine. But if you want to try anything else, you just need to let me know.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Has any woman ever told you no?”

“Over a preferred fantasy?” He shrugged. “Of course.”

“What?” Curiosity replaced some of the heat. “What did you want to do that she didn’t?”

That particular look in her eyes almost made him laugh. He could tell she was imagining a dozen wrong scenarios. “I think I’ll save that confession for another day.” He bent and kissed her nose. “Right now, I’d rather concentrate on you, with me, and how right this all feels. Okay?”

“Tomorrow, when I get cleared—”

“If you get cleared.” He hated the thought of her pushing herself too hard.

“Tomorrow I just might switch things up.”

She said it like a threat and his smile broke free. “Then I’ll look forward to your efforts. But for now, tonight, trust me to know what you need.” He punctuated that by plucking at her nipple, tugging, twisting the smallest bit.

And even that, such a simple thing, nearly pushed her over the edge.

Dash withdrew. He let his hands hang at his sides and just watched her, enjoying how the sensual fog cleared from her gaze, how she struggled to bring herself back from the brink.

Using her hand to push away from the wall, her gaze evasive, she nodded and turned away. “Forget your torturous bath. I’ll go wash up all by my lonesome.”

“You don’t need any help?”

“Your idea of help will kill me.”

“Spoilsport.” Dash patted her backside. “Tomorrow then.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “When you’re ready, I’ll be in the bedroom.”

That particular tone from her nearly sent his heart punching through his chest. God, he had it bad, and he was staking everything on sex games. He had to be good, better than good, because he had a feeling she’d use any excuse to end their relationship.

Oliver strolled into the kitchen, wound around Dash’s ankles and brought him out of his ruminations. A second later he heard the water turn on in the bathroom.

Quickly Dash finished preparing the chicken, put it into the cast-iron skillet and closed the oven door. In record time he peeled a few potatoes, cut them up and put them on to boil.

To keep the cat busy he filled Oliver’s food dish and drinking fountain, then washed and dried his hands. He’d given Margo twenty minutes—more than long enough.

Anticipation riding him hard, he tossed aside the dish towel and headed down the hallway to find her. As he passed the bathroom he peeked inside, but wasn’t surprised not to find her there. She’d left behind a damp towel on the floor, and a wet toothbrush on the sink. He grinned and decided it wouldn’t hurt to do his own freshening up.

In the bathroom he glanced in the mirror. He should probably shave again to keep from scratching her, but the idea of her waiting, naked, in her room kicked that idea to the curb.

In under two minutes he stepped into the bedroom doorway and saw her seated at the side of the bed, bare except for her panties. Her small feet were together, her right hand resting on the mattress at the side of her hip, her splinted left over her lap. She kept her back ramrod-straight, her chest rising with deep breaths.

More excited than he’d ever been with a woman, Dash stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. “Margo.”

She glanced up, then stood.

Dash stayed near the door. “Why aren’t you naked?”

She came to him, breathing fast, her gaze heated. She flattened her right hand over his chest, dragged it down over his pectoral muscle, down to the waistband of his jeans, then lower still to his throbbing cock. “I was waiting for you.”

HIDING HER SMILE, Margo took in the added signs of arousal in Dash’s face, how his nostrils flared, the color that rose on his high cheekbones.

Good.

One way or another, she was determined to push him. Yes, she enjoyed him being gently dominant. Actually, she loved it.

But even more than that, she wanted him. It was an odd realization, and the usual turn-ons still applied, but...anything with Dash was thrilling. Too thrilling.

She couldn’t take much more teasing, but he had a lot of catching up to do.

Dash caught her hand, pressing it hard to his erection. Still soft-spoken and far too composed, he said, “Take the panties off now.”

“You take them off for me.”

His lazy smile sent her stomach into a somersault. He touched her cheek, her lips. And suddenly he turned her so that her back was to his chest. His hands came around her, one at her breasts, the other at the front of her panties.

“Did you enjoy your bath?”

“All three minutes of it.” Breathing wasn’t easy. She leaned back into him. “I kept thinking about what you wanted to do, and I want that, too. But tonight I just can’t take it.”

“As strong as you are?” His tongue touched her ear, then she felt his warm, moist breath. “You could take it.”

Oh, God. His fingertips teasing her nipple was arousing enough, his erection against her backside was enough to level her. “You’re too good at this.”

“This?”

“Foreplay.”

Still near her ear, he whispered, “Let me see for myself.”

Hot fingertips moved over the crotch of her silken panties, exploring, stroking. Putting her head back to his hard chest, she stiffened her legs and gave in to his touch.

“Mmm,” he murmured low. “You’re nice and wet. Were you in here thinking of me?”

“Yes.” As an invitation, she deliberately widened her stance.

Dash kissed the side of her neck, her shoulder. “I love you like this, Margo.” As he said it, he pressed his cock to her rounded backside and at the same time he carefully pinched her nipple.

For so many reasons, she stiffened. Love? The use of that word sent panic into her heart. And the tantalizing tug on her nipple...

“You like that, don’t you.”

Very much. “Yes.”

He put his hand into her panties, his rough fingertips moving over her, opening her, testing her. “Do you think you can come standing up?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he added, “Let’s find out.”

Margo assumed he’d use his fingers, now damp from her, but instead he again turned her—and went to one knee.

Oh, God...

Without haste, he pulled her panties down her legs but didn’t give her a chance to step out of them. They remained around her ankles, hobbling her, making her somehow feel more exposed than if they’d been completely removed.

His absorbed gaze moved all over her. “Damn, I love it that you’re so small. It makes everything easier to reach.” Leaning forward, he licked her nipple while his fingers returned to playing between her legs, parting her, teasing back and forth in her slick moisture, then slowly pressing two fingers deep.

She couldn’t help but react, stepping back from the intense pleasure.

“No, none of that,” Dash whispered. Opening his other hand on her behind, he kept her close and pulled his fingers free, now glistening wet, to touch them to her nipple. “You want this, so don’t fight me.”

His breath brushed her skin seconds before he drew her nipple in, sucking gently but insistently. At the same time, he wedged his hand back between her thighs, then twisted his fingers deep again.

She was already so ripe with need that, between his mouth on her breast and his stroking fingers rasping her sensitive flesh, she felt the start of a climax building. She tightened, her body clamping down on his slippery fingers. “Dash...” she groaned.

“So soon?” Dash asked with sympathy and a bit of awe. “I guess I’d better get right to it, then.”

Margo didn’t know for sure what that meant until he began kissing his way down her body. Expectation held her breath; she knew he’d use his mouth on her and she was so very anxious for it she almost couldn’t stand it.

“You are so soft,” he said between open-mouth love bites down her ribs, over her belly, her hip bones. Sliding one arm around her waist, the other splayed over her backside, he held her still—and nuzzled between her legs.

Crying out, Margo locked her knees and held on to him. His hot, rough tongue stroked repeatedly over her, in her, then came up to curl around her clitoris with a hungry growl.

He gave only the slightest tug and she lost it, the orgasm crashing through her, stealing her breath and strength with an explosion of scorching sensation. She cried, and didn’t care. She clutched at him, and didn’t care. She pressed closer to his mouth, begging, and didn’t even realize it.

Seconds, maybe minutes later, she became aware of Dash lowering her boneless body into his lap, cuddling her close and kissing her hair, rubbing her back. Beneath her hip she felt the very solid rise of his impressive boner.

Astounding. Almost shocking. And so wonderful. She would have laughed if she’d had the strength.

Instead all she could say was “God.”

“Yeah,” Dash murmured, lust keeping his voice rough. “You’re fucking amazing.” He continued kissing her, his touch both affectionate and tender and hot.

Trying to catch her breath, she said, “That was...”

“I know.” He curved a big rough hand around her breast, his palm to her galloping heartbeat. He kissed her again, leaving his mouth pressed to her temple as he hugged her close.

“It was even better than before.”

“Good.” He kissed her neck, her shoulder.

“And to think I expected sex with you to be boring.”

Dash froze.

Margo realized what she’d said, knew she owed him an explanation, but at the moment she still struggled for air.

Levering her back a little, Dash studied her. “Boring?”

Damn her postcoital babbling. “Not boring exactly.” Her brain had a hard time catching up. “I didn’t mean that.” But never, not at any other time, had a sexual encounter left her so limp or affected her so strongly. She leaned in, but Dash turned his head.

“What did you mean?”

Putting a hand to his jaw, she brought his face back so she could kiss him—and tasted herself. She tucked her face into his throat, overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth. “I... You realize...”

“Tell me.” He scooted to sit up a little higher against the door, Margo held secure in his lap. “You thought I was a two-minute man? You thought I was a selfish pig? What?”

“No, none of that.” She tried to keep hidden against him but Dash didn’t let her.

Holding her shoulder, his expression enigmatic, his tone devoid of emotion, he said again, “Tell me.”

“I assumed you would be...competent—”

He laughed without humor.

“—but conventional, and maybe not up to my...preferences.” Preferences that she now realized didn’t matter, not with Dash. He could go for plain-old missionary and she thought she’d probably go wild with enjoyment.

He seemed to be considering that while studying her breasts. With one fingertip, he circled her nipple, then, still in that flat way, asked, “Your arm is okay?”

“Yes.” The change of subject felt evasive, but she wanted to stay on track, to reassure him, to... What? Keep him interested? Was she really that insecure? That pathetic?

The possibility annoyed her enough that she scowled. “Stop asking already. I’m a big girl. If something hurts, I’ll take care of it.”

As if her acerbic attitude didn’t faze him, he looked at her quivering belly, then down between her damp legs. “Your body is still flushed.”

She didn’t understand him at all. “Like I said, it was an amazing climax.”

“So you feel better now? Less wired? More relaxed?”

Damn him and his impersonal interrogation. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Good.” Suddenly he rearranged her, moving her off his lap and onto the floor as he stood. “I need to check our dinner.”

Her jaw loosening, Margo stared up at him. “Now?” He was still hard. And though she’d found release, she was far from done.

He touched his hand to the top of her head. “Yes—now. Get dressed and then come to the kitchen.”

Margo gasped. How dare he give her an order?

How dare he leave her sitting naked on the damned floor!

She had to scoot out of the way when he opened the door and walked out of the bedroom.

At first she felt hurt—and then her temper ignited.

Enough already. No way would she let him get away with this.

Why did he have the ability to leave her so befuddled?

Shoving to her feet, she snatched up the quilt from the bed and stalked after him. Voice raised and mean, she spoke to his retreating back. “What is wrong with you?”

Several feet ahead of her, without haste, Dash entered the kitchen and used a pot holder to remove the chicken from the oven.

Brows drawn, she stared at him. “Damn it, Dash.” She wanted him to react. She wanted to get a rise out of him.

“Stay back,” he told her as he set the heavy cast-iron skillet on the stove top. “I don’t want you to get burned.”

Because her legs were still shaky and weak, she dropped back to the wall. “You’re being impossible.”

Nothing.

She watched him turn the chicken and return it to the oven, then put on vegetables to steam. “Chicken is one of my favorites.”

“I know.”

Vaguely she remembered him questioning her during his routine check of her concussion. And now, knowing her preferences, he’d been considerate enough to cook for her.

She felt like the bitch others often called her. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He turned to her. “Dinner will be ready in ten.” His gaze went over her. “You going to eat in that?”

Would it bother him? Unlike her, he hadn’t yet gotten his jollies. “Why not?” He might be pissed, but still her body kept drawing his notice. She liked that enough that she even let the quilt droop lower on one side until a nipple almost showed. “With this stupid splint it’s difficult to get a shirt on.”

When Dash pushed away from the stove, his own expression unreadable, a new thrill danced up her spine. Even now, with him obviously disappointed in her early perceptions of him, she knew he was determined to make her hot.

As he approached, she resisted the urge to back up. “What are you doing?”

He stopped in front of her and his big hands took hold of the quilt near her breasts. “If you want to turn me on, it’s working.” The way he curled his fingers over the material meant his knuckles brushed her skin. “But you know what would work better?”

She shook her head.

With a small smile, he slowly pulled away the quilt, leaving her naked. “God, you have a kickin’ body.”

The way he looked at her made her feel sexier than she’d ever imagined.

His hands went over her, stroking her breasts again, caressing down her belly. One hand moved over her ass and then up between her legs. He bent and kissed her, a slow, thorough kiss with plenty of tongue that made her legs weak all over again.

He kissed her until she clung to him, her breath rushing, her skin hot.

Gently he pulled away. “Let’s see how we’re progressing here.” He stared into her eyes while the fingers between her legs examined her, then his eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Nice. It seems we’re both in the same shape again.”

“What...”

“I’m still rock-hard. It only seems right for you to be bothered a little, too, right?” Pulling off his shirt, he dropped it over her head, easily working her splinted arm through first, then her other arm.

It smelled of him, hot and delicious, and cocooned her in his scent.

So unfair. Now she was covered, but she had the view of his solid shoulders and wide chest.

He pulled out her chair as if he expected her to sit. “I hope you’re hungry, honey. I made plenty.”

Margo didn’t know what to do. He just stood there, waiting oh-so-patiently, his gaze unwavering, so damn hot that she wanted to jump him.

He was right. Carnal need again racked her body.

“Trust me,” Dash whispered as he held out a hand to her, and the gesture was so sweet, a way to help her give in, that she blew out a breath and did as he asked.

Gratified, he bent and kissed her forehead—then went back to cooking as if the standoff hadn’t happened at all. And damn it, that turned her on, too.

It seemed Dashiel Riske had her completely figured out. The man had the most diabolical way of turning her inside out, making her nearly frantic to have him. Margo didn’t know if that was a good thing, or very, very dangerous...for her heart.