Eight
My breath caught as I eyed the Highland warlord on his great beast. Perched on an emerald hilltop with mist floating low on the horizon, he looked almost mythical. His Herculean size showed no softening around the middle, nay; he was fit from daily training for a warlord would die on a field of battle if he didn’t keep his best weapon, his body, honed and ready. His long dark hair was tied at the nape of his neck, his body covered in his clan’s green and gold plaid. God’s truth, he looked like Zeus surveying the land from atop Mount Olympus. When his head turned slowly toward me, he looked like Lucifer himself as he began to undress me with his honey-colored eyes. His slow grin told me my maiden’s sensibilities were in danger so I picked up the hem of my skirts and started running back down the hill. Aye, I ran all right, but the brute’s mighty beast roared to life and he flew down the hill cutting me off as he came to a screeching halt in front of me.
“The next time you feel the need to get drunk with thoughts of getting laid, you call me, and no one else, understand?” the honey-eyed archangel whispered as he reached out his large calloused hand . . .
Waking with a start, I listened as a motorcycle roared down the street mixing with my fantasy. I could still see warlord Dallas from my dream reaching out to me, so I closed my eyes again to soak in the memory.
It was Monday morning and in a few short hours, I was supposed to meet Dallas for a ride-along to see firsthand how detectives conducted interviews. I was still in shock that he’d shown up like some kind of White Knight saving my brothers from possible prosecution. And when he’d pressed me against the wall and made my head spin with his warm breath and hard body as he made it clear where he stood about wanting me, I couldn’t speak. The whole day was like a crazy mixed-up dream starting when that asshole had cornered me in the bathroom.
He’d come up behind me as I washed my hands, rubbing his crotch on my ass while grabbing hold of my boobs. I’d been pissed, not scared, because I knew the girls were in the house with me. I’d also thought I could handle the dickhead. Sadly, I’d been mistaken. He was stronger and more determined than I thought he’d be when I elbowed him in the gut. He’d only grinned at me disdainfully as if my saying “let go” meant nothing. His callous behavior told me I needed help, so I’d screamed bloody murder to bring the girls running since my brothers had left the house.
Luckily, the door hadn’t locked when he shut it (another item to add to my growing to-do list for the house) and the girls came busting in about the time I was reaching for a crescent wrench. When they burst in, they’d distracted him long enough for me to whack him across the nose so he’d let go. Cursing had ensued as he grabbed a towel to staunch the flow of blood running down his face, but that didn’t stop the girls from attacking. While he was busy warding off the attack of the BFF’s, I grabbed my phone and the card Bill Reed had handed me because I was sure a homicide was about to be committed by one of the girls, but most assuredly one of my brothers when they got back from Lowes.
Why Detective Reed? Well, I’d had just enough alcohol in my system that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Therefore, calling Reed instead of 911 made complete sense to me at the time. He was, after all, an expert in all things murder. Of course, unbeknownst to me, Dallas was at his house when I called. While I was talking to Reed, Finn and Bo had arrived home and of course, the ass kicking had commenced. Dallas had shown up ten minutes later gunning his bike as he sprinted up the street, jumping off agilely as he took in the scene.
Lord, it was like watching Sir Lancelot meets Jax Teller the way he rode in on that silver Harley. Then he’d taken control, calmed my brothers, and called me “Babe” forcing every idea I’d had about him being arrogant, and not worth my time, to fly right out the window. In fact, it flew so far out the window it detoured south and was taking an extended vacation in the South of France because I hear the summers there are quite mild.
After taking control, he arrested the creep, marched up my steps, and then pinned me against a wall while I’d tried to remain standing on noodle legs.
All my life I’d waited for a man like him, a man who was strong, protective, and above all a man’s man. One who acted like a man not a watered-down version of what the male’s species should be like. I knew some women thought it makes our gender weak to relay on a man for anything, that as women we should strive to stand on our own two feet, to live our lives with or without a man. However, I’m of the opinion that it’s in our genetic makeup to rely on men, that as women we seek out the strongest, most virile men for a reason. Take for instance my books. My heroes are the biggest bunch of macho men that has ever graced the pages of a book, and my readers beg for bigger, bolder Neanderthals every time I complete one. As women, we’re attracted to men that we know will protect us because our DNA is programmed that way. Who among us wants to be the one who gets up when there is a bump in the night? Equal pay and equal rights is one thing, but when it comes to choosing someone who will protect you and your children, do you want Peewee Herman or Conan the Barbarian?
Please, the Barbarian would win by a landslide.
“Oh, my God, what should I wear?” I asked the wall as I contemplated my upcoming day and close quarters with Dallas. I glanced at my clock and knew I had to decide quickly, and then jump in the shower. With no time to spare, I grabbed my cell off my nightstand and called the Fashionista of our sisterhood—Angela.
“Comfy jeans, a tight tee, and leave your hair down so he wants to touch it,” she answered like a woman who’d known me half my life and lived inside my head.
“You don’t think I should dress professionally?”
“Do you, or do you not, wear sweats when you write and forget to shower for a few days?”
“Well, yeah, I get on a roll—”
“Then your professional attire will not give him ideas about the two of you, they’ll send him running for the hills,” she broke in, then mumbled, “Shit, gotta go. See you at Gypsy’s after work. I can’t wait to dissect your day.”
Okay, rude, but she had a point. Jeans it is then.
One hour later I was scrubbed, buffed, landscaped (precautionary), and ready to drive downtown to the police station. I fed Snape and Simi, who were eyeing me as if they could tell I was strung tight with anticipation, grabbed my notebook, jumped into my beetle and left.
The whole drive I told myself to act naturally, be professional, you’re there to watch and learn, not rip his clothes off. Today, he’s doing you a favor and nothing more. You’re two professionals spending a day together mano a mano or mano a womano. Just play it cool, Nicola, don’t read too much into the lip bite, or the wall press.
Yeah, right!
Twenty minutes later, I walked around the corner to the offices led by the receptionist to find Dallas talking on the phone, dressed in tight jeans, a black tee, and his black boots. Upon seeing all that was Dallas, my mouth dried up, my heart started pounding, and all thoughts flew from my brain. When he looked up and saw me walking toward him, he winked, causing me to stop dead in my tracks and gape.
Clearly, his winks were some sort of superpower, because I swear that if he asked me to jump from the roof of a tall building and then winked, I’d jump.
Okay, enough is enough, time to pull on my big girl panties and be a professional. He cannot make me melt like butter if I don’t allow it.
So, with a deep breath, I pushed my shoulders back and off I went to walk the remaining ten feet separating us. He watched me cross the distance and the closer I got, the twitchier his mouth became. By the time I was standing in front of him, he was biting his lower lip in an attempt to keep from grinning. I said attempt, once I was standing in front of him, he let go of that lush bottom lip and it pulled into a sexy grin.
Right, apparently I wasn’t as successful as I thought showing I was unaffected.
I ducked my head quickly before my eyes glazed over, and became fascinated with the notes I’d taken from my earlier conversation with Bill. Thinking I needed to look serious, I pulled out a pen and underlined words in an attempt to look as if I wasn’t affected by the man. While attempting this ridiculous charade, a sheet of paper was pushed into my line of sight and wiggled to capture my attention. I grabbed the sheet without looking up and saw it was an “Exempt from Liability” form. Scribbling my signature, I handed it back just as Dallas hung up his phone.
There was a moment of silence between us as if he was waiting for me to say something, so I raised my eyes to his and that’s when the grin pulled into a full-blown smile.
Man, he had a great smile.
My own lips were twitching as I tried to hold back a stupid grin when he finally said, “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” I replied back, but it came out breathy like an asthmatic.
“You ready to get out of here?” he kinda rumbled low in his throat.
“Ready, willing, and able,” I answered in return before I realized what I was saying. Which, of course, earned me an even bigger smile and a chuckled to boot.
Hell’s bells kill me now!
Still grinning, Dallas opened his desk drawer and pulled out his weapon, shoving it into his shoulder holster. He looked around the room when he was finished and his eyes stopped on a woman with a badge on her hip.
“I’m heading out with Ms. Royse. Tell Reed I’ll be back in this afternoon,” he called out.
Without warning, he then reached down, grabbed my hand, and started heading for the door.
My breath caught when he grabbed my hand, but I acted as if he held it every day. He let go of my hand before entering the elevator and we rode down to the parking garage in silence since there were other people in it with us. Once in the underground garage, he took my hand again and walked us to a standard police issue, black Crown Victoria. I stood back as he opened the door, but when he turned around to let me in the car, he stopped in front of me and looked down.
“Before we leave, I wanna make it clear you’re to follow my instructions to the letter today,” he dictated. “You’re to observe only and if I tell you to stay in the car I expect you to do it, are we clear?”
“I’m not stupid, Dallas. I don’t plan on getting in your way. But I’ll warn you now, when I conduct research for a book I tend to ask a lot of questions.”
“I’ll answer your questions if you’ll answer mine.”
“What kind of questions?”
“We’ll get to those questions later; right now I need to get to an interview.” Nodding, I got in the car and watched as Dallas rounded the back and climbed in. He ordered, “Buckle up,” and watched while I did, then explained where we were going. “Our first stop is in connection with the murder of a young woman. I have to go to her place of employment and interview her boss and coworkers. I’m allowing you to sit in on the interviews under freedom of the press, but everything you see and hear is off the record, understand?”
“I understand. Just so you know, I’m not looking for plot material, just an understanding of how interviews are conducted, you needn’t worry I’ll repeat anything.”
“Needn’t worry?” he chuckled.
“What?”
“That’s kind of an outdated word.”
“I write historical romance for a living,” I shrugged, “it slips out. Sometimes antiquated words work better.”
Smiling, Dallas turned toward me and his right arm came up and lay across the back of my seat. He seemed to be studying me for some reason. His eyes suddenly softened as he oddly said, “Jesus, you really are Sandra Dee.”
“What?”
“You’re apple pie and baseball.”
“Um, are you saying I’m the-girl-next-door?” I blurted out.
“Sweetheart, if you were any more the-girl-next-door you’d be married with two point five kids. Lucky for me, most men like tits, ass, and attitude.”
Looking down at my chest, I supposed it wasn’t the first thing men saw when they looked at me, but I asked him to clarify anyway. “Did you just say I don’t have tits and ass?”
“No,” Dallas grinned, leaning in closer, “I said, lucky me."
“Oh,” was my highly intelligent reply as he leaned in further, close enough that if I had a mind to, I could have lean forward and capture his lips with mine. I don’t know if he was testing my resolve, but he didn’t close the distance as I expected and, if I was truthful, wanted more than my next breath. He just held my eyes as a slow sexy grin pulled across his mouth. As if he read my mind about kissing me, he mumbled, “Jesus, I don’t wanna know what you’re thinking or we’ll never leave this spot.” I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from telling him exactly what I had been thinking (I’d moved from kissing to foreplay) as he leaned back and started the car.
We drove in silence while I got my hormones under control. I didn’t trust myself not to open my mouth and ask him to take me home and ravage me until we both were spent. Looking out the window so he couldn’t interpret my wicked thoughts, I noticed he’d driven further into downtown instead of away. I expected him to take one of the roads that led to the interstate, but instead, he turned right into the bank parking lot where Angela worked. He parked, but I didn’t move when he got out since I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to follow. When he rounded the car to open my door, I grabbed my bag, stepping out of the car.
Angela’s office faced the parking lot, so she must have seen us get out, because she was waiting in the lobby grinning from ear to ear. Dallas had interviewed all my friends the day before, so he recognized Angela immediately.
“You work here?” he asked.
“I’m the manager. Is there something I can help you with or has she driven you nuts already and you’re dropping her off?”
“Not yet,” Dallas mumbled with a grin, “but it’s early so I’ll let you know. Actually, I need to talk to you in private about a case if you have a minute?”
“Oh, intrigue on a Monday morning, sweet. Do either of you want some coffee; I can grab some from—”
“No,” Dallas jumped in looking back at me, “no coffee. I’d like to get through one day without wearing it.”
Rolling our eyes in unison, Angela chuckled while motioning us down a long hall toward the back of the bank. She entered a boardroom with a large mahogany table set with pens, a pitcher of water, and matching glasses. I could have used a drink of water, but figured Dallas would object so I ignored it and pulled out my notebook. I sat a few chairs away to give them space so wouldn’t intrude. I was curious as to what Dallas would say, but I certainly wasn’t prepared and neither was Angela for the news, because we both reacted with a gasp.
“I’m sorry to inform you of this, but Melissa Webster was murdered Friday evening.”
“What? Are . . . are you serious? Oh, my God,” Angela responded as her hands flew to her mouth.
“Friday? After we had lunch with her?” I blurted out.
“You know the victim?” Dallas asked surprised.
“No, I mean, yes, kind of. I met her on Friday. We all ate lunch together at Gypsy’s.”
“What time did she leave?”
“I don’t know it was after I spilled coffee on you and the girls and I had to discuss the book, I’d say we left close to one. But she didn’t leave with us, she stayed behind.”
“Did she come back from lunch?” Dallas asked Angela.
Shaking her head no, Angela explained about her trip.
“She was going out of town. She took the rest of the day off to pack.”
“Did she ever mention having a boyfriend or a man who might be angry with her, someone who’d have an axe to grind?”
“No, no, she wasn’t, she wasn’t seeing anyone. Her last boyfriend moved to California, but they remained friends. She was a nice person, Dallas. Nobody hated her. I can’t believe this,” she whispered as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Reaching out his hand, Dallas covered hers to give comfort and then in a soft voice he said, “I need you to round up everyone who worked closely with Melissa or anyone you think might know anything about her personal life and send them in one at a time. Can you do that for me?”
Angela was quiet for a moment, nodding in answer to his request. She took a deep breath, looked at me, then stood, and headed out of the room as I sat in utter disbelief. I’d never known someone personally who’d been murdered. It was an odd feeling knowing that we may have been the last people to see her alive.
“I didn’t hear anything about this on the news,” I muttered, still thinking about the vibrant blonde and her red silk blouse. “When I met her I immediately wanted her in my book. She was going to be the prosecuting attorney, I mean she will be.”
“Is that how you come up with characters?” he asked, obviously trying to distract me.
Before I could answer, however, Angela walked back into the room with an older woman, both of them with red eyes. I stood when the woman sat down and headed toward Angela, determined to do something that would help when she left the room without looking back.
“You okay?” Dallas asked me with concern in his voice before I left the room.
“No,” I answered truthfully, “can I get a rain check? Angela needs me right now.” When he nodded, I went in search of my friend.
I found Angela in her office sitting at her desk with her hands to her forehead. I closed the door, sat down across from her, and waited.
“She was so smart and loved to laugh,” Angela finally said when she looked up at me.
I didn’t know what to say to her so I just listened.
“She wanted a family, a big one. She said if she could only find the right man she would get pregnant immediately and have a house full of kids.”
“Are you sure she wasn’t seeing anyone?”
“Yes,” Angela replied, “she was still looking.”
“Dallas will find who did this, I’m sure of it,” I told her, realizing I meant what I’d said and they weren’t just words to comfort my friend. I may not know him very well, but something told me he was dedicated to justice and would stop at nothing to find Melissa’s killer.
We settled in to wait while Dallas finished interviewing those who worked with Melissa. After an hour of crying that left us both with a headache, he emerged from the closing room and knocked on her door.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked me, but didn’t take his eyes off of Angela. Probably using his cop instincts to assess her state of mind.
I turned to Angela to see if she still needed me, but she nodded that she was fine and then reminded me, “Gypsy’s after work.”
Dallas took my hand and led me back to his car without saying a word. We drove in silence again, but when he headed away from downtown and pulled onto Eleventh Street, I looked at him in confusion. He told me, “Lunch first, then I’ll take you back to the station.”
A few minutes later, he pulled into El Rancho Grande, a Tex-Mex restaurant owned by an old school friend of mine and I smiled. They had the best margaritas in town and I loved their chicken fajita salad. In the same location since the 1950, the old red brick building still had the original neon sign out front beckoning in its customers.
Since we arrived before the lunch crowd, we were instantly shown to a table near the windows. We ordered quickly then were left alone to stare at each other. For once in my life, I didn’t know what to say. I racked my brain, but the only thoughts in my head at that moment I couldn’t ask because it was case related. So, of course, I went with the most embarrassing thing imaginable.
“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!”