Dash of Peril

CHAPTER FIVE

ON HIS BACK, his hands stacked behind his head, Dash stared at the ceiling. After scrounging for food in Margo’s kitchen he’d taken a quick shower and changed into clean boxers and the borrowed athletic pants that Logan had brought him. Typical of Ohio weather, the day brought a big turnaround. Snow and ice gave into a slow melt beneath a blazing sun and milder breezes. The forecast claimed they’d be in the sixties tomorrow.

He’d awakened Margo twice now. An equal number of times Ollie had come to check on her. He wasn’t the type of cat that Dash could play with. Older, slower, set in his ways, Ollie enjoyed a little petting, edible treats and plenty of time for napping in the sunshine.

Oliver was a sweet old guy...taken in by a very tenderhearted lieutenant.

She was such a fraud, charmingly so.

Who’d have ever thought it? He’d bet his last nickel that neither Logan nor Reese knew Margo owned an ancient blind cat who missed the cat box.

They also didn’t know that, when her defenses were down, she was as soft and vulnerable as a woman could be.

The conflicts in her personality left him in turmoil.

He wanted to fuck her. Bad.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, all starchy and buttoned-up and in command, he’d wanted to break through her defenses with a good old-fashioned lay.

But he also wanted to make love to her. Endlessly.

He wanted to kiss her from head to toes, lingering at warm, damp places in between. He wanted to show her that she didn’t have to be strong, not with him.

She could lean on him when necessary, and he’d support her, always.

He wanted their relationship to matter.

He wanted to leave an impact in ways both physical and emotional.

Locking his hands to keep from turning to her, touching her, he stared at that damned ceiling and planned his next move. It was going on five o’clock, and in a few more minutes he’d need to check her again.

She was so complex.

While drugged and exhausted, she’d tried to seduce him. He had a feeling that, now better rested, she’d wake with new determination to send him packing.

He was just as determined to stay, to pamper her. To have her.

I don’t know his name.

How could she not know the name of a man she’d slept with? Delirium from her concussion? Forgetfulness because the encounter had happened so long ago? Or lack of caring, because sexual involvement didn’t matter that much to her?

Or...had Margo indulged a one-night stand with a complete stranger? Dangerous, except that she wasn’t a helpless woman. Far from it.

Did she often hang in bars looking to hook up?

He could accept that; she was a beautiful, smart, independent woman, and hey, he understood sexual urges—and the lack of interest in commitment. But his back teeth locked when he thought of her admiration for Rowdy. At least that was one interlude he knew would never happen. Rowdy Yates was many things—a good friend, a dangerous rebel, a terrific business owner.

And a loyal family guy. He would never cheat on Avery.

Dash was still sorting through his thoughts when he heard the soft moan.

He went still at first, then turned his head to look at Margo. Was she dreaming?

In a sensual, lithe movement, she arched her neck a little.

Fascinated, alert, Dash went up on his elbow to better see her.

She made a soft sound, and her lips parted.

“Margo?”

She shifted, gave another throaty moan....

A knock sounded on her front door.

Damning the interruption and determined not to wake her, Dash moved silently from her bed and out of her bedroom. He quietly closed the door behind him. Whatever Margo was dreaming, she’d have to continue on without his absorbed attention until he got rid of her company.

A BIG, ROUGH HAND touched her face, her ear, down her throat and to her shoulder. “Wake up, honey.”

No, she didn’t want to leave the dream. But even as she fought it, the sensation of Dash’s mouth on her belly, her thighs, began to recede. She tried to hold on, and whispered, “Please.” She needed a conclusion.

She needed release.

As if from far away, Dash’s voice called to her. “C’mon, baby, open your eyes.”

His voice was so compelling, so husky and warm.... “Dash?”

“I hope all those soft hungry sounds were for me.”

Oh, God. His amusement cut through the last remnants of the dream. She cracked one eye open—and knew the pain meds had worn off. “You turned me down.” Sunlight sliced through her brain and her arm felt like throbbing lead. She bit her bottom lip to stifle any wimpy sounds.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He helped her to sit up, put a pill to her lips and tilted a water glass until she swallowed.

Discomfort engulfed her.

Dash caressed her shoulder. “How about you proposition me when you’re not hurt?”

“Snooze you lose.” But speaking of hurt... “Was I run over?”

“Close.” He tipped up her chin. “And let’s be clear here. I wasn’t snoozing. I just want to know that it’s you coming on to me, and not the drugs.”

Margo dismissed everything he said when she saw his face. She knew immediately that something was wrong. She straightened, flinched as she readjusted her arm and asked, “What’s the matter? Did I snore?”

“Yes, but I didn’t mind.” He gave her a grim yet sympathetic stare. “Actually, your relatives have come to visit.”

Unfair. She barely had her eyes open. Before facing her folks she needed a little time—like twenty-four hours—to get it together. “You let them in?”

“Should I not have?”

Right. Like Dash could have kept them out. “Of course.” She chewed her lower lip. “Oliver?”

“When he heard the knock, he ducked into the kitchen under the table. I checked on him. He’s okay, just laying low.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t trust her father alone with her cat. Actually, she didn’t entirely trust her mother, either.

Curious, Dash watched her. “You’re welcome.”

She cast about for an idea on what to do next, but couldn’t seem to get beyond the fact of Dash sitting there, shirtless, barefoot, loose drawstring pants hanging low on his lean hips, looking so...delicious. Especially after that stirring dream.

Her splitting head and the thump, thump, thump of her arm, coupled with a visit from her mom and dad should have obliterated any and all carnal urges. Nonetheless, with Dash so close, smelling so incredibly good and watching her intently, she felt the burn of need.

What disturbed her most was that it wasn’t all sexual need.

She’d been asleep for hours, but he had stayed with her, gently caring for her.

Caring for her cat.

Who did that? She should have been outraged because really, she didn’t need anyone.

But some dormant female trait told her that it was nice to have the attention anyway. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken care of her.

She didn’t know if anyone ever had.

Before Dash, before this particular moment, she wouldn’t have let anyone.

Dash glanced at her closed bedroom door, then back to her. “Not that I don’t enjoy a little banter with a sexy woman still in bed, but don’t you think we should get a move on? Your father struck me as the type who wouldn’t mind intruding.”

“Perceptive.”

“I am, but he’s also as obvious as the hair on an ape.” As if he hadn’t just insulted her father, Dash reached an arm around her waist. “Let me help you up so you can at least get into your panties.”

The realization that she was bare-bottomed almost leveled her. Lieutenant Margaret Peterson—naked except for a man’s shirt. With her parents only a room away.

“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.