Property Of (15 page)

“Why did you pin me against the wall yesterday and kiss me on Friday?”

Dallas was chewing on crispy chips they’d placed on the table when I asked, but that didn’t stop him from smiling. Reaching out, he grabbed his water and took a drink, then placed it back on the table. Well out of my reach, I might add.

“To prove a point,” he chuckled.

“What point would that be?”

“That when I see something I want, I go after it.”

“And you assumed you were so irresistible that I’d swoon on the spot?” I responded, miffed again at his arrogance.

“Sweetheart, I’m a cop. I don’t take anything at face value, nor do I assume. I’d been thinkin’ about the taste of your lips since the first time you spilled coffee on me. Since an opportunity presented itself, I took it,” he answered with a shrug. “As for yesterday, I decided I was done thinkin’ about the taste of your lips and was putting you on notice.”

I didn’t know what to do with all that, but something he said caught my attention more than his thinking he could put me on notice—whatever that meant. And since I clearly liked to embarrass myself, and he was willing to answer, I decided to go for the gusto. Drawing in a deep breath for courage, I leaned forward and asked, “Um, how exactly did I taste?”

I
really
needed to know the answer to this. I’ve written this scene a hundred times, the one where the hero talks about a woman tasting sweet like honey, and I had to know if it was true.

Dallas’ eyes seemed to turn from a rich honey to a darker amber color, and the air around us hummed with energy as he stared back at me. My heart started beating rapidly when he leaned forward, so only I could hear, and whispered, “Like apple pie and sex.”

“Really?” I whispered back as my gaze moved to his lips, wondering if he would ever kiss me again.

“Nicola.”

“Yeah?” I answered as I thought about nipping his lower lip, then sucking it into my mouth.

“If you don’t stop starin’ at my lips I’m gonna haul you out of that chair and kiss you until your legs give out. Then I’ll carry you to my car and everyone in this place will know exactly what we’re doin’.”

“Does that really happen?” I breathed out as my eyes shot to his.

Clearly, something about this guy brought out my inner hussy since the thought of sex in his car wasn’t exactly the deterrent he thought it was. I was honestly considering testing the truthfulness of his statement.

“Does what really happen?”

“Being kissed so thoroughly your legs go weak.”

“Babe,” was his only reply, as if I’d insulted his ability to kiss me senseless.

“Oh, wow.” I sighed.

His response . . . “You better fuckin’ believe it!”

Nine

Have you ever watched a movie or a TV show where the bad guy got away by running down a crowded street, and the people just watched him run past and they did nothing? In addition, the whole time you thought, “I would so stick my foot out” which would trip the criminal and he’d crash to the ground, giving the cop enough time to nab the bad guy . . .

I used a door.

Picture it . . .

After a delicious lunch, the golden-eyed warlord guided the fair-haired maiden to his car. But not by hand this time. Nay, he’d thrown his arm around her shoulder after her old friend, and owner of the restaurant, came forward for a hello hug. She introduced the warlord to her most handsome friend, who, by the way, was married, and hid a smile when he seemed to grow taller and wider as he shook the man’s hand. She’d bit her lip to keep from smiling when a possessive arm was slung across her shoulders, and felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of his jealousy. After the introductions, he guided her to his car, never once removing his arm. It was then she was sure he would kiss her and she was right. He backed her into the door, placing both hands on the roof, boxing her in. She then watched as his eyes grew heavy as he gazed upon her countenance, and mentally shouted at the warlord to kiss her already. Finally, his tongue swept across his lips as he lowered his head, bit, by agonizing bit. Just as his lips brushed gently across her own, and a pleasant warmth rushed to her loins, the crackle of his police radio broke the magical spell. You see, a murder suspect had just been spotted, one that the warlord had been hunting for his dastardly deed. So, they jumped into his car to catch the man.

He lectured the fair-haired maiden the whole way about how she was to remain in the car until help arrived. She, of course, listened, for she wasn’t a stupid bubbleheaded Miss. That is until an evil looking man came running down the street with his eyes bugged out like he was running from a ghost. He, of course, was being chased by the warlord who was at least a half a block behind him. So, she reacted. The evil doer was headed straight for her, and naturally, after watching so many criminals get away without intervention on TV, she grabbed the handle of her door and used it to stop him in his tracks. Down he went when his face collided with the window and out she jumped shouting, “You have the right to be a douche bag. Anything you say, can, and will be used against you, ‘cause you’re a douche bag.” This is when the warlord arrived, hauled the stunned bad guy off the ground, cuffed him, and then turned to the fair-haired maiden and breathed fire like the devil himself.

“I told you to stay in the fuckin’ car,” Dallas roared as he threw the bad guy on the hood of his car.

“He was gonna get away,” I defended.

“He was on foot and I was in pursuit. He had nowhere to go and backup was one minute out,” he growled.

“Oh . . . Well, carry on then,” I replied.

Normally, I don’t take kindly to being yelled at, but he was beyond pissed at that moment so I let it go.
He was also amused. I could tell that as well. His bro
w was furrowed in concentration, but every so often, his lips would twitch when he scowled at me. That being said, and considering he was wrestling with a criminal who was kicking out with his legs, trying to break free, I decided to give him one less thing to worry about and got my ass in the car until the cavalry arrived.

Three patrol cars came to a screeching halt with sirens blaring, as if the suspect hadn’t already been apprehended by, well, me. I watched Dallas shove him into the back of one, then turn to the three officers smiling. There was a discussion of sorts and several grinned, looking my direction. Eventually, Dallas was surrounded by five more policemen, and I could hear laughing. Not long after, the officer who was driving the suspect downtown turned and saluted me right before he got into his car. I smiled, and waved back, but when I looked toward Dallas, he shook his head and scowled.

Guess he wasn’t done being pissed.

Five minutes later, he climbed in the car and off we went back to the station. Dallas drove with his head braced in his left hand that was supported by the door. He kept rubbing his forehead, deep in thought it seemed, then he’d look at me and glared.

I liked him, a lot, but he’d better learn quickly I’m a doer not a watcher. I get involved when something goes wrong and I won’t apologize for it. Therefore, instead of apologizing, which I’m sure he was waiting for me to do, I just smiled.

“I don’t know whether to kiss you or put you over my knee,” he finally replied with a sigh.

Pfft, I knew which one I’d choose.

“I plead the Fifth.”

“You can’t plead the Fifth Amendment to get out of admitting you should have stayed in the car and not put yourself at risk,” Dallas argued.

“You don’t know me well enough to know this, but I can’t sit idly by and watch stuff happen. It’s a flaw in my personality, I like to help.”

“That’s not a flaw, disobeying an order is a flaw for Christ sake.”

Disobeying an order? What am I, a solider?

“Dallas . . . by the way, who named you Dallas, it’s an unusual name,” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot before we’d even started, but his thinking that he could order me around was making my eye twitch.

“My mother, she’s from Dallas,” he answered, but his raised eyebrows, and the glint in his eyes, told me he knew what I was doing.

“Is your sister your only sibling?”

Dallas rolled his lips between his teeth to keep from yelling, or laughing, which one, I wasn’t sure. He then closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slowly, as if he were dealing with an errant child. When he opened them, I could tell he was expending effort to keep from yelling by the color of his face (a pale shade of rage).

“Erin is my only sibling,” he answered abruptly.

“Are your parents here in town, are you close to them?”

“You know avoiding the topic won’t make it go away, Nicola.”

“I’m not avoiding it. I admit I didn’t listen to your suggestion to stay in the car and took a risk. But what’s done is done, Dallas, and I won’t apologize for doing what I thought at the time was helping. So let’s move on and you can tell me about yourself,” I urged.

“All right,” Dallas agreed surprisingly, “since you seem to want the long and short of it, here it is. My Mom and Dad retired to Florida about two years ago. Erin and I are close. I went to OU on a football scholarship, but didn’t get much game time. I’ve been on the police force since I was twenty-two. I worked my way up to homicide by the time I was twenty-seven. I was married for three years, but it ended two years ago because I worked too damn much for her liking and she became involved with another man. I don’t have any kids, though I’d like two or three, and if you
ever
,” his voice became growly at this point and his brows pulled together as his honey-colored eyes burned into mine, “take a risk like that again, I’ll put you over my knee. Are we clear?”

I was too stuck on the fact he’d been married to be outraged over the threat of being spanked. I wasn’t sure if I was scared or just jealous he had an ex-wife. Therefore, I rushed out in a slightly louder tone, “You were married?” before I could stop myself.

Dallas must have heard the surprise in my voice because he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his body seemed to tighten infinitesimally as the hand that held the steering wheel gripped it tighter, turning his knuckles white.

“Is that a problem for you?” he asked cautiously, keeping his eyes on the road.

“No, why would that be a problem?” I outright lied. I had visions of some supermodel ex-wife, one I could never live up to, dancing around in my head. Why would he think that was a problem? Men can be so dense sometimes.

Dallas turned and looked at me as we sat at a red light, studying my face for a moment. I guess I pulled off the air of “Your ex-wife is no big deal” I’d been attempting to convey because he loosened his hold on the wheel, relaxed back into the seat, then called me on my lie.

“You blurted that out like it pissed you off.”

Ok, so maybe
he
wasn’t dense.

“What? Why, why would I be pissed off?” I answered truthfully, as I schooled my face. I wasn’t pissed; he’d missed interpreting my emotions by a mile, I was scared of being inferior. Not measuring up to what he lost to another man.

“All right, if you aren’t pissed then is it a deal breaker?”

It may have been a few years since my last relationship, which ended badly because he couldn’t handle that I wrote explicit sex scenes and spent way too many hours trying to recreate them. However, even though I was a novice at relationships, I knew we’d been moving toward this moment all day. What with all the talk about why he’d kissed me and then the almost kiss at El Rancho Grande. Nevertheless, I still wasn’t sure if Dallas had been flirting, was interested in a possible relationship, or just wanted a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Therefore, I wanted to know what kind of deal he was talking about before answering.

“A deal breaker for what, exactly?”

“A deal breaker that says six months or a year down the road you decide you don’t want to be with a man who has an ex-wife. An ex-wife that I never talk to because she remarried over a year ago, thank Christ. An ex-wife that I was too young at the time to see was selfish when I married her or I’d never have put my ring on her finger. An ex-wife, I didn’t miss all the fuckin’ much when she left.”

He’d pulled into the underground parking lot while he explained more than thoroughly that his ex-wife had no hold over him, and we were now sitting next to my Beetle as he finished. “An ex-wife that pales in comparison to the woman who spilled coffee on me, shoved her ass in my face, and took out a criminal because she wanted to help rather than worryin’ about breakin’ her fuckin’ nails. I have no doubt you’ve got friends that deal with exes fuckin’ up their lives, but that’s not the case with me. She left, I let her, and we don’t talk. Ever.”

Well, then . . .

“First off, I didn’t shove my ass in your face, and secondly, I don’t judge a person for having been married. I was just surprised and admittedly a tad jealous that you’d been in love once, not to mention the whole “she’s probably a supermodel that I can’t live up to” insecurity rolling around in my head. That being said, even if you did have to deal with her daily I think after growing up with the twins I’d be up for the challenge. If, like you said, in six months or a year we’re still seeing each other, of course.” Then I added, “You should probably know that I’ve never been married, and what few relationships I’ve had have been short-lived. Not because I’m afraid of commitment, it’s because the men weren’t men, they were . . . Well, I don’t know what they were, eunuchs I’m guessing.”

Dallas was smiling at this point which I thought was a good sign, then he made me flat out swoon when he said, “I already knew you hadn’t been married since there’s no way a real man would let someone like you go.”

Oh, man. Is it too early to say I love you? Yes? How about shagging him in the car?

“Would it be alright if I ripped your clothes?” I breathed out, obviously not thinking about what I was saying or caring in the least.

“Cameras,” was all he replied.