Dash of Peril. Lori Foster

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.”

      Oh, how he said that... “Understand what?”

      His tone changed. “I’ve decided you do need a bath.”

      “You decided?”

      His jaw flexed and his gaze bored into hers. He held out a hand. “Come along, Margo.”

      His autocratic manner had her taking one step toward him before she faltered. Sudden nervousness—and excitement—held her in place. “Why the change of heart?”

      He watched her just long enough to get her pulse tripping. “I’ve decided that you’ll be easier to deal with after you’re more relaxed.”

      Easier to deal with? “I thought you were worried about me getting the splint wet.”

      At her continued hesitation, his dark eyes glittered and a slight knowing smile curved his mouth. “You won’t hurt yourself because I’m going to take care of everything.”

      A tsunami of heat rushed through her. “Everything?”

      “Everything you need.”

      “Oh.” She actually backed up a step. Surely he didn’t mean what she hoped he meant. “I’m not sure...”

      His eyes narrowed sensually. “You’re only making this more difficult than it has to be.” He kept his hand outstretched. “Now, come along.”

      Dark, hidden desire sparked into full-blown lust. She swallowed hard and meekly accepted his hand.

      “Good decision,” he praised, still in that firm voice. He gently led her down the hall and into the larger bathroom.

      With every step, her heart beat harder.

      Once inside, he told her, “Wait here while I get the bath ready.”

      That sounded entirely too close to an order, but Margo stood there just the same, watching him, trying to contain her rioting emotions as he filled the tub with warm water, and got out two big towels and a washcloth. He put one towel on the side of the tub, presumably for her to rest her arm.

      When he was satisfied with the arrangements, he turned to her. “Your arm isn’t hurting?”

      She shook her head.

      “Is that a yes or no?”

      “No.”

      “Good. Your head?”

      “It’s fine.” Right now the only ache she had was sexual.

      “I’m glad.” He coasted his fingertips over her jaw, down her throat. “Stand still while I undress you.” Slowly, with his lower body angled close to hers, Dash unbuttoned the flannel shirt. It was like a reverse striptease, and very effective. She tingled all over by the time he got all the buttons undone.

      He opened it to expose her breasts.

      For the longest time he stood there studying her in such minute detail that she almost couldn’t take it. “Dash?” You’d think the man had never seen breasts before, he looked so intent.

      “Shh.” He brushed the flannel shirt over her shoulders and it dropped down to catch on her splint on one side, her elbow on the other. “I’m going to touch you now.”

      Thank God. The anticipation was killing her.

      “I don’t want you to move. Do you understand me, honey?”

      She didn’t, not really.

      “Tell me you understand.”

      If that’s what it took to get his hands on her... “I understand.”

      “Good.” He cupped both breasts, lifting as if to measure their weight while letting his thumbs brush just under her nipples.

      Margo locked her knees and tried not to gasp as her nipples stiffened.

      With a dark look of satisfaction, Dash caught each nipple with his fingertips and lightly tugged. “You like that?”

      “Yes.” Her lips parted, her eyes grew heavy—and she leaned toward him.

      “Ah, no, honey. Remember? You’re to stand still.” He pressed her nipples a little more tightly until she froze with a gasp. He searched her face with no discernible emotion. “Does that hurt?”

      It felt too wonderful to bear. “No.”

      “Feel good?”

      She managed a nod.