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From the pronounced muscle in his jaw, he’s clenching his teeth painfully hard. But he nods, and I stifle a sigh of relief.
Our strange party moves into Dash’s sparse bedroom. I’m excited to get a better glimpse into his personal space, which I missed out on during my mad rush to the bathroom last time I was here. However, if I thought Dash was tense before, he turns into granite when Delaney begins pulling open his dresser drawers.
Suddenly, I’m not so interested in looking around. The search seems like an invasion of privacy, which I guess is the point. Dash gave up his right to privacy when he broke the law. Still, I don’t want to learn about him like this.
Instead of watching the woman pull out each of his belongings, I turn my head into Dash’s firm chest and try to lose myself in the tart fresh scent of clean laundry that clings to his shirt. The pressure of his hand gently cups the back on my neck, as if encouraging me to keep hiding my face.
The sounds of rummaging and items being shifted around fade away as I focus solely on my hands playing over the slope of his back. The cotton of his T-shirt holds the warmth of his skin and adds a layer of softness to him. I wonder how different the texture of his skin would feel. My fingers fiddle with the edge of his shirt, at first just tracing along the seam, then twisting the fabric experimentally around the tip of my pointer finger. I tease myself, brushing against the stiff belt loop of his jeans, envisioning the small separation between my curious touch and his bare skin.
Then, with a deep breath, Dash’s back seems to expand, pushing backward just enough to give me what I want.
Something like a static shock emphasizes the contact. I revel in how hot he is against the tip of my thumb. My finger plays back and forth, claiming that small inch of skin resting just above his waistband.
“Seems to be clear. She can wait here.” Delaney’s curt voice breaks the spell Dash’s skin held over me.
I step out of his embrace, crossing my arms over my chest to keep my searching hands to myself. I can’t believe I just did that. Dash was in the midst of having his life manhandled, and I couldn’t keep from fondling him.
What is wrong with me?
“You don’t have to stay, Paige. You can head home if you want.” Dash’s soft voice has me jerking my head up toward him. Wrinkles mar the normally smooth area between his brows, and a pinched quality lingers on his lips.
I can’t tell if he actually wants me to leave, or if he’s just being polite. But, at this point, I’m not ready to walk out. If Dash is done with me, he’s going to have to come out and say it.
“I’ll wait here.” I straighten the sheets on his bed before sitting down, wondering if the fabric was untidy because Dash doesn’t bother to make his bed, or because the parole officer expected to find something hidden there.
“Fine. The bathroom next.” The woman strides out of the room. Cole follows after her with an insolent slouch curving his shoulders. Dash hesitates a moment, throwing me a look full of regret.
“This shouldn’t take long.”
I nod, and he leaves. Then I’m alone.
In his room.
There’s not much to the place. Simple furnishings, bare walls. It could be anyone’s room. Except that when I lie down, the pillow holds Dash’s clean scent. For a moment, I strain to hear if the group is approaching. Nothing. Good, I don’t have to feel self-conscious when I flip over and breathe in a lusty breath of the pillow.
Letting my body relax into the mattress, I trail my arm over the side of the bed. Absentmindedly, I trace the wood patterns in the floorboards.
How often does Dash have to put up with these visits?
She obviously never finds anything, seeing as how both guys are still out of jail and employed.
My finger catches on something. A corner. Nothing sharp. I lean farther over the edge of the mattress and realize the corner belongs to a magazine poking out from under the bed. If this magazine was anything illegal Dash would be in cuffs by now.
Still, that doesn’t mean it’s exactly innocent.
I’m torn by curiosity and shame at the fact that I’m following in the parole officer’s footsteps. It’s his private stuff. I should leave it alone.
Leave it alone, Paige.
But if he was really worried about the magazine, wouldn’t he have hidden it somewhere harder to stumble upon? In reality, he probably just tossed it here when he was done reading it. Really, this magazine is trash. I’d be doing him a favor by picking it up off the ground. Just imagine if Dash were to step out of bed and slip on it. He could fall and break his neck!
Picking up this magazine could be saving his life.
I reflect on how well I might have done as a lawyer while I tug the curious reading material out from under the bed. I expect to get an eyeful of glorious fake tits barely covered by some artfully placed wording.
But those are not the parts I see strewn across the cover.
“She’s done her search. You’re good to…” Dash’s words trail off as he comes to a stop at the foot of his bed. I don’t even bother to try stashing the magazine back where I found it. I’m caught, so I might as well ask my questions.
