The Shy Dominant (9 page)

“Luke gives me constant rubs. Everywhere!” A gleam lit Sian’s eyes, clueing Dharma into the fact that Sian enjoyed rubbing…
everywhere.
“He’s worn to a frazzle, poor man.”

“He’s still not sleeping?”

Sian shook her head. “I don’t sleep so he doesn’t sleep. And I think he’s nervous, he wants this baby so much. Luke didn’t have the best family life.”

Dharma sighed. “So you aren’t all judgy about what I did with Fred…and Taz?” She’d told herself she’d shrug it off if Sian disapproved. Then she’d told herself that her best friend wouldn’t disapprove, but the truth was…she was just telling herself that. It
would
hurt if Sian thought she was nuts.

It would bring home her recklessness.

Sian shrugged. “You’ve always been adventurous, but you’re also smart. Besides… Taz has a certain, ah, rough charm.”

Dharma grinned. “Very rough. I’ve seen him at work a couple of times since that night, but he just goes about his business, one cool customer. I just wish…”

“What?”

“I haven’t seen Fred in a
week.
Just a couple of quick texts since he and the girls were roped into his ex-wife’s wedding plans. He hasn’t even been to work.”

“You know he’s doing it to watch over his family. He’s very protective of them.”

“Yeah, I know. That protectiveness melted me when I first met him. I wouldn’t have expected a single dad to try to relate so much to two daughters. It’s just…we left so much unsaid and I feel—” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Vulnerable, like you left yourself open to getting hurt?” Sian asked quietly.

Dharma nodded.

“You really care about him.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Sian bit her lip. “He’s a lot older than you are. You’re very different.”

“I know, but we are both adrenaline junkies. We like taking action, even when it might be disastrous. Otherwise he wouldn’t run towards a fire and I wouldn’t paint something, put it in a show and risk being torn apart by critics.”

And right now she hated that she was missing her sparkle, dragging around. She was not behaving like the woman she had always thought she was.

“You need to do some of that painting,” Sian suggested, admiring her finished toes. “And something outrageous.”

Dharma’s lips quirked. “Something
outrageous
?”

“Come on, you’re ‘La Dharma’. I’ve lived vicariously on your experiences for years. Are you going to get all mopey and let me down now?”

What about letting
herself
down? Dharma thought.

“No, I’m not.” As the words popped out, a wicked image lighted Dharma’s imagination and she started laughing. “Hang on and let those toes dry. I have to text a gorgeous male. Or, a couple of gorgeous males.”

* * * *

Fred was having a Bad Day. Bad Day should be spelled with all caps, italicised and bold, he thought as he limped out of his SUV towards the front door of Dharma’s weirdly charming apartment building—he noticed she had acquired a glowing pink flamingo lawn ornament which wore a T-shirt saying ‘
Mardi Gras Mondays’!

His Bad Day had begun when Stacy had pitched a fit about the dress her mother had chosen for her to wear as a bridesmaid at her wedding. It was blue and Stacy wanted purple. In fact, she wanted a purple tutu and black boots, thank you very much. What the hell was that? Except Fred thought he knew what the weird fashion statement signified.

Stacy didn’t want to go.

Mattie was fine with her dress, but she wasn’t happy over the timing. The wedding was set for the same day as a school play where Mattie had helped carefully design the set and she didn’t want to miss out. His youngest daughter had asked him what was the big deal anyway? She hadn’t seen her mother in years, so what was one more night?

The hell of it was, he agreed with both of his daughters. Why should they go? To top it off, he’d spent a torturously boring and God-awful family dinner with Marilyn, her fiancé Ryan, and Mattie and Stacy.

He hadn’t seen Dharma in days.

Had he made her pregnant?

The question was like a refrain from a song that kept playing in his head over and over again.

He rubbed his leg, yanking out the cane he was forced to use for one more day and loathing every minute of it. He already felt too old for Dharma. Now he had to use a cane, giving her a great visual.

Had he made her pregnant?

Christ, the things they’d done, the things she’d
let
him do…

It was like as soon as they were together some kind of chemical reaction occurred, and he was a primitive man with his mate. All he wanted was her head under his hand while he had her on her knees, her legs open when he needed to mount her. And he wanted to do it over and over again.

Was she all right? He hadn’t had any time to talk to her properly after they’d had unprotected sex because Taz had arrived right after they’d made love and Dharma’d had an early shift…

Did she regret letting him fill her with his seed? But God damn, it had felt so good.

He hardened thinking about it.

He told himself he’d driven over here tonight to talk, to make sure she was all right, but the truth was he needed her, needed to renew the bond of the flesh. He wanted his hands cupping her ass, her teeth in his shoulder, her legs around his waist while he fucked her.

* * * *

Dharma froze, hot chocolate sauce dripping from her spoon onto her flokati rug. Andrew frowned, his mouth still open to receive the tasty goodness. His twin brother, the delectable Anton was scratching irritably at dried patches of chocolate on his muscled chest. Maybe he had an allergy. Damn, why hadn’t she thought of that before she’d used chocolate?

Both men were completely nude, their beautifully proportioned bodies surrounded by everything she could find in her apartment that was pink. It was the perfect frame of all that maleness, the perfect statement for her next piece…

“What the
fuck
is this?”

She whirled, almost hitting Andrew with the spoon.

Her old fashioned Fred had his hands on his hips, staring at her from the entrance of her living room, the spare key she’d given him ages ago when she kept losing hers dangling from one fist.

Anton noticed Fred and nudged his twin with a smirk. “Hey, do we get the white chocolate now? Mmmm.”

“White chocolate,” Fred repeated hoarsely. With an exaggerated movement, he placed her keys on her mango painted coffee table. The gesture had such finality that for a second Dharma’s mind went completely blank.

“Art,” she said. “It’s art.”

“Of-fucking-course it is.” Fred turned his back, limping towards her front door because he was using…a cane?

What the hell, when had he hurt himself? He hadn’t texted her about this!

But then she was running because she’d come alive as soon as she’d seen him. “
Wait!
”

He was already outside when she huffed out the door, tripping on the scarlet skirt of her kimono.

“Fred, will you wait!”

He knocked her hand off his arm, giving her a look so full of hatred she gasped. “Free spirit. Just like my wife, right? I have a family and I had to put them first this week—”

“Wait, I know that—”

“And while I do that,” he gave a jerky nod to her apartment, “you’re already partying with boy toys?”

“Boy toys.” She laughed. “Oh, they’d love that.” She reached out when he opened the door of his SUV. “Please, stop. You’re being an ass—”

“Yeah, we old-fashioned guys who like our women to be faithful can be real asses.”

“I am faithful.”

“I can fucking see that.”

“I
am
,” she growled. “I am so faithful. I can’t sleep. I can’t use my vibrator. You
wrecked
me with your stupid blushing and the way you just took me sometimes and the way it felt when I let you—” Her voice died. She kicked his tyre, riled that her stupid voice would break just when she was telling Fred off. How unfair was that?

He glared at her apartment and the two naked men she could see peering out her front window at them. “So what do you call that?”

“I told you,
art
.”

“Right.”

His voice was a slap, but she heard the hurt under it.

She swallowed, staring at him, seeing him staring back at her with the same misery. She backed off, raising her hands. “Okay, you either trust me or you don’t.”

“Dharma.”

“I’m done.” She wrapped her kimono tighter around herself because suddenly she felt very cold as she retraced her steps back to her apartment.

She felt Fred watching her. Then she heard him kick something—his truck? She didn’t turn around to look because she was crying.

“Fuck!” Fred growled.

She heard him fire up his SUV then she didn’t hear him anymore because she was back in the womb of her apartment.

“Okay, guys,” she announced. “Let’s forget the chocolate and the photography session and cut to the bourbon. Who’s with me?”

Chapter Eight

The banging on the coffee house door resounded in Dharma’s head. She opened one eye, glaring at the tall figure through the glass. The massive shape had to belong to one of the fire fighters from Station 57. This was their favourite coffee house, even before one of them had got engaged to the owner.

Great, just what she needed on top of the hangover of all hangovers, a visit from a testosterone driven caffeine-junkie.

“We’re not open,” she croaked before putting her head back down onto her hands.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“What part of we’re not open do you not understand?”

She got up and the room swam. Swallowing, she made it to the front door with the ‘Closed’ sign prominently displayed, along with their hours—they didn’t open for another thirty minutes. Every step in her sandals lit off pain in her tender skull.

She met determined and all-too-familiar blue eyes through the glass.

“Forget it.” She reversed her course.

“Dharma. Dharma! Open this door.
Now.”

“Open this door?” she repeated, glaring over her shoulder at Fred’s intimidating bulk. His hair was plastered to his skull, dripping with sweat from what looked like a recent run. His eyes burned her through the glass. “I’ll open this door.” She unlocked it and faced him, channelling all the crappiness factor of her early morning into her sizzling look.

“Good girl.” He brushed past her but then stood in the centre of the darkened coffee shop, hands on his hips, suddenly looking awkward, as if now he was in here, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Ignoring him, Dharma crept past, hoping that tiptoeing would keep her head from exploding.

“I’m sorry.”

She froze. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Don’t
shout!
”

He suddenly loomed over her, placing big hands on her temples, rubbing gently. She wanted to moan… She slapped his hands off.

“You don’t get to go there!”

He cocked his head, as if considering her. “I was an idiot.”

“You can say that again.” She frowned. “Why
are
you saying it?”

“Because I’m crazed with jealousy—did they both have to be naked, Dharma, really?” He sighed. “But then I remembered all the other peculiar things you do for your, ah, art. I remembered how you make me laugh when you talk about your projects here in the coffee shop and I…”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t sleep with them?” he burst out.

She turned on her heel but got no farther since he lifted her up by her waist and plunked her on the counter, stepping between her legs.

Her hands went up automatically to hold him off.

He leaned his forehead against hers. If he’d been a big cat, the sound he made would have been purring.

“Tell me you didn’t do anything with them.”

“I thought you said you knew it was just an art thing!”

“Up here.” He tapped his skull. “But…” He swallowed and she saw his eyes were bloodshot. She saw the fine white squint lines fanning out from them and his pallor under his tan. “They were a lot younger than I am.”

“Oh, Fred.”

“But not as well endowed.”

She rolled her eyes, trying not to let him make her laugh. She could still feel tension humming from him like electricity through a wire.

“But they also weren’t using a cane.”

She frowned. “An old injury from work?”

His eyes widened. “Yeah. It acts up sometimes like a bitch.”

“Okay, I’m supposed to find the fact you’re a seasoned man”—she put emphasis on the word ‘man’—“not sexy?”

He was blushing. “When you put it that way…”

“Anton and Andrew are neighbours of mine, fellow art students. I’ve painted, photographed and practically photocopied their asses a hundred times. I had a school project and they helped me out.”

“Am I allowed to be uncomfortable about them helping you out without wearing clothes?”

“No.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t remember asking.”

He huffed out an exasperated noise. “Do you have to be so inflexible, woman?”

“
I’m
inflexible?”

“I’m jealous.”

“I get that.”

He rubbed his forehead against hers. “Do you like them more than me? Do you like their bodies, did they get you hot—?”

“What? No!”

“Did they kiss you, touch you?”

“You’re really crazed.”

“Just answer the question. Be specific.”

She let out a long drawn out sigh. He took her hand, meshing their fingers. Why was she allowing that when she was still so hurt and angry?

“Specifically no.”

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “I want to be there the next time you hold a photo shoot in the nude.”

“Hey,
I
wasn’t. Nude, that is.”

He blinked. “I guess not.”

“Are you done? Because I need to open soon.”

“You look like hell.”

“I feel like it.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know what a woman like you would see in me.”

“That’s our problem, isn’t it?”

“Can I hold you?”

“What good will that do?” She was suddenly so tired.