Falling For A Redneck (11 page)

Beyond the fact he was a powerful and potent lover, she’d seen a side of him that showed a man she could grow to respect and
—gasp—even love. A part of her wanted him, to keep forever, while her cynical side screamed,
He’ll betray you.

Where had the idea of love come from
? She snorted. A few good fucks and suddenly the “L” word came to mind? Turned out she harbored girly feelings she hadn’t believed herself capable of. What had happened to not depending on anyone? Not letting anyone get near or hurt her.

And hurt her he would, if she allowed him to stay close to her.
Unacceptable, even if he made her feel like a woman.

First thing
s first. She needed a shower then a nap. Her body felt sticky—pleasantly so—and tired—again in a nice way. After her nap, she’d work on her “we can’t see each other anymore” speech.

Even if all she wanted to do was make love to him
until they both passed out from exhaustion.

U
sing the tow truck, its bumper padded to prevent further damage, Andy pushed Marissa’s car onto the lift in the garage.

Arms crossed,
Dirk stared at the car, a frown on his face.

A
ndy got out of the truck and whistled as he eyed the wrecked Beretta. “And you say she did this bumping into her garage door? How fast was she going? Jeez, look at the front end.”

The car would
need some serious bodywork. The bumper—what was left of it—hung brokenly. The grill and lights were cracked and smashed. The hood had buckled up, enough that straightening it was not an option.

When Andy would have started stripping off the damaged pieces,
Dirk shooed him away from Marissa’s car, sending him to work on a Volkswagen that had come in that morning. He wanted to look at it himself. Needed to look at it himself. Something didn’t seem right about the accident. Marissa’s car, while old, had appeared to be in perfect condition. Like the rest of her possessions, it appeared pristine on the outside, and knowing what he did of her, he’d wager she kept its inner workings superbly maintained too.

The first thing he did
, after placing it in the air on a hoist, was pull off all the wheels and check the brakes. Everything looked in working condition, actually better than working—the pads still thick, the rotors miraculously rust free. When he ran his finger along the first brake line, his finger came away greasy with fluid. Frowning, he checked the other three brake lines and, to his disbelief, on each of the lines he felt the slickness indicating a leak. Upon further inspection, he found tiny pinprick holes on all four lines. Un-freaking-believable. This was no accident!

Dirk brought the car down and
perused the bent hood. He wanted a closer peek at the engine compartment, but first he’d have to take the hood off. After much grunting, swearing, and a hand from Andy, they pulled the piece of humped metal off. Grabbing a rag, Dirk then twisted off the brake line reservoir and confirmed its empty state. Dirk bet he’d find most of it pooled on Marissa’s driveway. When she’d pulled out initially, there had probably been just enough fluid in the brakes for her to stop and pull back in. But trying to stop again, the brake lines now empty, forget it. Yet, that alone should have just put her into the garage with a bump, but she’d hit the garage hard.

He remembered her mentioning the engine surging,
as if she had her foot on the gas even though she’d been braking at the time. Dirk opened the little spring door on the side of the car, unscrewed the gas cap, and found traces of a white powder. It actually looked like flour, not that he’d taste it. With a sneaky suspicion, Dirk quickly found the needed tools and proceeded to pull out the fuel filter. As he’d already begun to suspect, he found it partially clogged with a sticky matter—the white flour or powder he’d found. A partially clogged filter explained the surge. The car’s electronic computer would have tried to overcompensate for the narrowed filter, pumping more gas through, creating the surge. That combined with the brakes spelled one thing in his mind. Someone wanted Marissa hurt—or dead.

But why?
Sure, his ice princess could act like a class-one bitch; however, that didn’t explain the level of hatred someone must have felt to do something like this. What secrets did she hide? Dirk cursed himself also for not getting the license plate of the car he’d seen watching her house. Had the culprit sat out there waiting to see the results of their actions?

One thing was for sure, when he finished work, he’d hav
e a talk with his ice princess. He intended to get some answers—and some nookie. No matter what she was involved in, intentionally or not, it didn’t affect the strong feelings he had for her. Feelings that surprised him. Attraction he could understand, but this protective feeling he felt inside when he realized someone wanted to hurt her? It made him want to hit something or somebody.

Enough mushy thoughts
, though; he still had work to do. Walking around the car, looking for more signs of tampering, he saw the trunk sat partially ajar. Lifting it up, he looked inside and noticed a large hockey bag.
What the hell does she need a hockey bag for
?
She doesn’t look like the sporty type.
He knew he shouldn’t look in the bag, she had a right to her privacy, but the same curiosity that killed the cat and a need to know more about her had him pulling the bag out and undoing the zipper.

What he saw inside made his eyes go round
, and he let out a whistle.

Secrets indeed!

T
hanks to a couple of extra-strength Tylenols, Marissa felt a little lightheaded, but her head no longer hurt. Now if she could just avoid mirrors. That nasty bruise on her forehead made her wince whenever she saw it. Accident? Or the blackmailer making good on their threat?

That question
had run through her mind a thousand times since she’d regained consciousness. Surely the blackmailer wouldn’t try to kill her? Faulty mechanics seemed more like the culprit. Maybe something had let loose. Her car, after all, was past its prime, and good maintenance or not, things broke. But Marissa couldn’t stop the nagging fear that this wasn’t an accident.

And if it had been someone out to hurt her or
—gulp—kill her, what then?

A knock at the door
made her jump, her frayed nerves making her skittish. Marissa ignored it. She’d called in sick this morning, and she was already thinking of taking the rest of the week off. She had no interest in seeing anybody or answering their questions.

But the person at the door persisted, the knocks turning into a pounding that had her getting up off her couch and stalking to the door.

Flinging it open, she couldn’t exactly claim surprise when she saw Dirk.

To her irritation, her heart fluttered.
“What do you want?” she asked crossly.

“We need to talk,” he said, brushing past her and coming inside.

Make yourself at home
, she thought, watching his big male body, moving through her pristine white space into the living room. A yummy male body that she longed to strip naked and taste again.

She followed him and stood in the archway
, arms crossed over her chest, glowering at him. Like a wild animal, he paced her white retreat, his muscles taut, his face serious, his usual grin and mischievous twinkle absent. “I was looking at your car today.”

Marissa felt her heart speed up. “Why were you doing that? I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said, halting his pacing to face her. “But I wanted to check some things out.”

“And?” she asked
, suddenly nervous.

“What happened wasn’t an accident,” he stated grimly
, making her stomach plummet and her breath stop.

Panic fluttered within her.
Oh my God
,
someone does want to hurt me.
And the ironic part of it all? They wanted to hurt her because she got paid to hurt someone involved with the blackmailer.

Not fair
, though. She’d stopped. Well okay, she hadn’t technically notified her clients yet, but since her session the other night, she’d come to a decision. She was done pro-domming. She’d lost her enjoyment in it, and given everything happening in her life, it was time to quit.

How to let her assailant know
, though?

“You don’t seem to
o surprised,” he said suspiciously, moving closer to her to stare at her with intent eyes and knitted brows.

“I
… um…” she stuttered.
What do I tell him?
He’ll never understand. Just like I can’t take this to the police. The questions and humiliation would be too much. But I’m scared.

Dirk grabbed both her arms and shook her lightly. “What is it you’re hiding? Why does someone want to hurt you?”

“I have no idea,” she lied, dropping her eyes to stare at her floor. She couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t bear to see the look of disgust in his eyes.

“You’re lying to me. Does this have to do with what I found in the trunk of your car?”

Marissa gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing, gasping for air like a fish on land.
Oh my God, he knows.
Flustered and not liking it one bit, she attacked
. “
What the hell were you doing snooping in my trunk? You had no right to do that. My personal life is my business.”

“No
, princess, when you became involved with me, and thus my boys, it became my business. What the hell is all that shit for anyway? Are you some kind of kinky hooker?”

Hooker?
He thought she was some kind of slut selling her sexual favors. Shaking off his hands, she moved away from him and adopted her icy persona, the one that always sheltered her.

“I am not a
whore,” she said disdainfully. “I would never sell my body for money.”

“Then how do you explain all that leather, whips
, and shit? What, do you like to play sex games for fun, then?”

“
Aside from you, I haven’t had sex since my husband walked out on me. Actually, even before that. And that was almost seven years ago.”

“Princess
.” Dirk came close to her again, invading her personal space. His voice lowered. “You’re avoiding my questions. The stuff in your trunk, it has to do with why someone wants to hurt you, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” she hedged. Then
, steeling herself for his response, she looked him straight in the eye. “I’m a professional dominatrix.”

Dirk stared back, absorbing her words
. Then he laughed. When she didn’t join him in his laughter, he howled even louder. “You mean you like wear leather and shit and go around giving guys orders and whipping them. So you are a hooker?”

“
The only thing a hooker and I have in common is we’re both paid for our service by idiotic men. As stated previously, I do not indulge in sexual escapades of any kind—with anyone. Or at least I didn’t until you,” she corrected with a glare.

“I don’t see the difference. You’re getting guys off
. They’re just not touching you.”

Marissa didn’t quite have a reply to that. While she didn’t allow her slaves to gratify themselves sexually, she knew that many of them found pleasure in what she did.
Oh God, I am no better than a prostitute,
she thought, sitting down hard, close to tears.

“I never let them touch me,” she whispered.
“That was part of the deal. I was just so angry, all the time. Punishing men gave me an outlet for it. I know it sounds messed up, but it’s the only thing that kept me sane,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wiped at them with her hand, appalled that she’d allowed him to reduce her to this state. And angry too. “Are you happy now?” Marissa snapped. “You know my dark, dirty secret. So why don’t you just leave now. I know you want to.”

“Oh princess, hey there
, don’t cry,” he said, sitting beside her and putting his arm around her.

Marissa stiffened. He pitied her
, which really pissed her off. She shrugged off his arm. “I don’t need your pity. I did what I needed to do. But if it makes you happy, I’ve decided to stop. For some reason, I’m not as angry as I used to be. Now go away and leave me alone.” Yes, leave her alone to weep in misery for having pushed away the only man who made her feel alive since she became barren.

But he just wouldn’t
go. Again, he put an arm around her, hugging her. “Listen, we all do things for money. Some we’re not proud of. Trust me, I’ve done a few of those, more than a few in my lifetime.”

I don’t
understand him.
He should be pushing her away, not offering understanding. She jumped up off the couch, moving away from him and her confusion.

“Princess, get back over here,” he ordered.

Marissa shook her head. “I think you’d better leave,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head and stalked her
. Given the determined glint in his eye, she knew she should dodge him, but a part of her wanted to feel his arms around her again. Wanted to believe she was worthy of being cared about. Worthy of being loved.

So she let him catch her, wondering if perhaps she was making the biggest mistake of all. One that would cost her what was left of her fragile heart.