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Molly crouches but sucks her teeth, and I know she bashed something. She pats him and brings him into her arms.
“I’m so sorry I brought you here, boy.”
He licks her face.
I grab my headlamp. “Follow me. Fortunately, there’s an easier way up than the one you took down.” I offer her my hand, and her touch ignites my arm all over again.
This woman… what the hell am I going to do with her?
I lead her up the path, gripping her tightly, so when she slips, I catch her. Her hand is surprisingly warm. It’s feminine, fine and soft, apart from one small callous that reminds me she loves the same things I do.
She’s favoring one of her legs, hobbling. I keep my hand around her waist until we reach the cars parked in lay-by on the road, where not so long ago, Molly discovered my secret spot. I wonder how many times she thought about me before coming here. Can’t be as many times as I’ve thought about her.
I point to my truck. “Hop in mine. We’ll leave your car here and get it tomorrow.” I open the passenger door and hold her hand until she’s safe inside.
The ride home is silent, nothing but the odd bark from Memphis when he sees something we can’t through the darkness. Something I wonder if I’ll ever see.
ChapterEighteen
MOLLY
When we getto the apartment, I fear what will happen, what might be said, when we turn the lights back on. What will I see in Dash’s face when every manly feature from his cheekbones to his strong, stubbled jawline and his green eyes are on display? With full knowledge of my betrayal?
Not only did I betray his trust, and one of only two rules, but I kissed him. Or did he kiss me? No… it was probably me. Let’s face it, I’ve been nuts for this guy for a while now, and the moment was so… emotional. Yes, that’s what I’ll say. Emotions got the better of me. Of us.
But why, Molly, why did you have to go and put your hand down his pants?
“You okay?” He startles me out of my deep, spiraling thoughts.
I wonder how long I’ve been standing here staring at the closed door of our apartment.
“Of course. Just still a little frazzled.”
He opens the door, takes off his coat, and puts it on the hook, then leans his shoulder on the wall. His tight Henley has those same buttons open, exposing the slightest bit of his chest. Whenever he has a button-down shirt on he has a couple open. Because Dash is a real man who gets hot with life. A man who gets his hands dirty… working hard. My breasts loved being in that delicate dip between his pecs. I wish I could bottle that feeling and drink it whenever I’m down. Or trying to have a really quick orgasm. But I’ll have to wade through the public shame before getting to my private fantasy.
“Take off your coat.” He turns and walks toward the kitchen. “And the pants…”
Oh my God. Take off my pants? Why… I look down and see my jeans are bloodstained over the knee of one leg. Between the shock of the fall and our kiss, the adrenaline kept the sting at bay, and I didn’t even notice.
Dash has already found a first-aid kit and brings it into the living room, sits on a couch, and opens it on the coffee table, poking his finger around, sifting through the various bandages.
I still haven’t moved.
“You got something there that needs tending to,” he says, all businesslike.
Even though I was ready to give Dash a hell of a hand job in Mustang Valley and let him do absolutely anything he wanted to my body, getting naked now, here, with lights on, even if they are dim, has me crumpling in on myself.
“Lose the pants, woman. Come.” He pats the cushion next to him. “Sit.”
Memphis goes to his papa’s side and sits obediently. Seeing as I don’t have any bandages of my own in the apartment, keeping mine in the manager’s office, I have no choice but to use his. So, I stand behind the couch and wiggle down my jeans, and when the fabric hits my injured knee, I know it’s deep. I suck my teeth.
Dash glances up. His eyebrows are pinched together, and he almost looks… worried.
I’m not going to make him ask me again to sit down, I definitely need piecing back together, and he’s just trying to help. He probably won’t be inspecting my underwear, that are so not the cutest pair I own, and I really regret not having something besides cotton on.
I sit beside him, and he takes my leg, raises it onto his lap to examine me. “Mmm. I don’t think you need stitches, but I’ll use some Steri-Strips.”
I try to think of Dash like some ER doctor instead of my sexy rescuer, but with him this close to me, my body is zinging. He leans over my hips to grab the supplies from the coffee table in front of him. When he reaches, his torso grazes my hip bone, and I wonder if there is a less compromising position we could do this. A position that doesn’t feel so much like foreplay.
