Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

He couldn’t help pushing despite the fact his fucking curiosity had led him into landmines before. However, her reaction seemed to exceed the normal bitterness from a divorce. And, he plain wanted to know… “Did you love them?”

Her muscles tensed as if she’d jump up again. Too bad for her she’d run out of culinary excuses. He put his hand over hers, a physical restraint, and pushed with his voice. “Lindsey, did you love them? Simple question.”

She slumped, gaze on her plate. “I thought I did,” she whispered.

“They didn’t?”

She shook her head. When her hand trembled under his, he wanted to take her in his arms.

No. She wasn’t ready for that kind of comfort. Not from him. By being an asshole, he’d destroyed the trust he’d earned the first night. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, releasing his hand and his dominance.

She pulled in a breath harsh enough to hear. Her shoulders straightened. “So, what’s going on with the security system at the shelter?” she asked lightly.

Damn, he fucking admired her spirit. “I’ll make sure they get top-of-the-line equipment.” He cut a bite of his steak. Sampled. He hadn’t lost his touch. “You’ve got a decent grill out there.”

“It’s Abby’s.” She looked around. “I really love this place already.”

“Good.” He damned well planned to get her to cook for him again. “No rodents here?”

Her laugh was light, cheerful, back to the Lindsey he knew and had avoided before because she was so damn appealing. “I miss Francois. He was good company.”

Now that was pitiful, a fucking field mouse for companionship. Jesus, she was something. Rather than screaming when seeing a rodent, she’d named it Francois. She’d faced down a gang with pepper spray. Despite her big eyes and gentle heart, she was a strong woman. Fucking strong. “I’ll keep you company tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He grinned. “Because I like you?”

***

In the kitchen, Lindsey glanced into the sink. Empty. The Enforcer had actually loaded the dishwasher and put the condiments away. Helping out was sure more than either of her husbands had done. Of course, Miguel had helped in the kitchen before they’d married. Not after he’d obtained his green card. Obviously, premarriage behavior wasn’t an index of reality. Don’t get carried away, girl.

Carrying the plate of sweets into the living room, she found him on the couch, flipping through the channels.

“Looking for a game?”

His dimple showed. “Nothing good on. Got any movies?”

With one arm propped on a plush red pillow, he looked right at home on her overstuffed white sofa. She’d chosen comfortable, practical furniture. It sure wasn’t delicate—but neither was she. Good sturdy Texas stock, that was her. “Movies are in the bottom of the stand.”

Grabbing a cookie as he walked past, he gave her a firm kiss and squatted down in front of the TV. Startled, she could only stare at him, then, okay, stare a little longer because the man had a really fine ass.

With a shake of her head, she set the cookies on the distressed white coffee table and snuggled into a corner of the couch. Was he seriously planning to stay and watch TV? Wasn’t it a tad domestic for him?

But he inserted a DVD and joined her, dragging her over his body so she lay sprawled on top of him. Resigning herself to watch a gory movie, she blinked in surprise. “You like Jurassic Park?” Jeez, it had a romance and children and—

“Yeah.” His dimple flashed for a second. “Not for girly love shit. I’d just rather watch dinosaurs than war.”

“Oh.” She frowned. DeVries’s bearing, his ability to snap out orders, the careful assessment he did of his surroundings, all screamed soldier. “Were you in the military?”

“Mmmhmm.” After adjusting her so her cheek rested on his shoulder, he took another cookie, eyes on the screen. “You’re a great cook.”

“Grandma’s recipe.” She lifted up to look at him. Melissa’s husband had been in the Air Force. “What branch?”

His foggy-green eyes flicked down to her. “Navy SEAL.” With a firm hand, he pushed her head back down.

Ooookay, guess the military wasn’t going to be a topic of conversation. What the heck, she’d always enjoyed this movie, and lying on top of a muscular guy wasn’t a problem. In fact, he was a pretty comfortable mattress and wonderfully warm.

“That why you took a fake name?” he asked. “A divorce?”

She stiffened and had to force herself to relax. He kept tossing unexpected questions at her. Butthead. So she used his answer, “Mmmhmm,” and had to smother a snicker when his jaw tightened. But he turned back to watch the show.

As they watched, she deliberately commented on the romance which made him chuckle. In turn, he critiqued the actors’ idiotic combat maneuvers. Bet he was something in the field.

WITH HER HEAD on his shoulder, the little Texan was half-asleep, draped over him like a limp kitten. He usually went for larger women, but this one was just plain cute. And when she was happy, she revved right up to totally beautiful.

His curiosity nagged at him. He still didn’t know why she used a fake name. Might be a divorce. Might be scandal. Might be related to breaking the law. Or maybe she was running from someone. If some asshole was threatening her, he needed to know.

As Jurassic Park ended and the credits scrolled up the screen, deVries turned off the television. How sleepy was the girl? Steady, even breathing. One hand curled around the side of his neck.

“What’s your name, pet?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Lindsey R—” Her mouth snapped shut as her eyes opened, and her body turned rigid. Color rushed into her face. “You bastard.”

“Just wanted to know,” he said mildly, eyeing her warily. Good thing the knife he gave her was still in the kitchen.

As she shoved to her feet, one hand came dangerously close to unmanning him. “I think it’s time for you to head home, deVries. Thanks for the steak and all that.”

“Fuck, you got a temper. I only asked your name.”

“And you got that if I wanted you to know it, I would’ve told you. Hit the road.”

“Are you in trouble?” He rose and stepped into her personal space.

Letting her understand he’d touch her even if she were furious, he pushed her hair over her shoulder. The purple colors gleamed under the brown locks. He liked that quirk of hers. “Can I help?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously and retreated out of his reach. Refusing his help. Refusing his touch. “My business is none of yours.”

“Lindsey—”

“God, just go home. It was fun. We’re done.”

Oh no, we’re not. All the same, he backed off. For now. After all, a submissive had the power to say no…until she gave it into his hands. And she would.

***

After deVries left, Lindsey finished cleaning up, even to the extent of running the dishwasher only half-full. She needed to eradicate his presence from her home.

She’d sure been fooled by his terse, tough-guy persona. Who’d think the Enforcer would be so clever and so snoopy.

But duh. She’d seen him in action at the club. A Dom who could play a submissive like deVries did was past intelligent. He was one of Simon’s best investigators—and even worse, from the glint in his eyes, he was more intrigued than put off by her answers.

She wrapped her arms around herself and dropped down on the couch—then caught a hint of his scent on the pillow. Not aftershave. He used one of those woodsy guy soaps like Axe. With a huff of exasperation, she moved to the other side of the couch.

“Can I help?” His straightforward offer in his low sandpaper voice kept echoing in her head.

She’d so, so wanted to jump into his arms, blurt out everything, and let him fix her world.

Only no one could.

Trying, he could get killed—like Craig. It hadn’t been her fault Parnell had ordered the young police officer killed. She still felt responsible.

If they hurt deVries, she’d never, ever forgive herself.

On Saturday night, the dance floor at Dark Haven was butt-to-butt crowded, but Lindsey didn’t care. She’d needed to dance and work off frustrations.

She’d firmly decided to avoid deVries…and spent her entire desk shift hoping he’d come in. Every time the door to the club had opened, her pulse had sent up fireworks. Sheesh.

Scowling, she spun around, trying to dislodge her foolish thoughts. “Go, sweet cheeks!” Dancing beside her, Dixon waggled his ass and gave her a hip-bump. “Shake them boobies.”

Her handmade leather halter-top matched her butter-soft leather skirt—and made the most of her small breasts. “As you command.” She tossed her hair back and shimmied.

Around her came whistles from men—and a couple of women.

Copying her moves, Dixon urged her on, getting himself a nice accumulation of cheers as well.

By the time the music died, she was panting and laughing and thoroughly warmed up.

Dixon laced his fingers with hers. “After our nice show, we should have Doms lined up, begging to scene.”

She snorted. “You might, Mr. Prettier-than-a-girl. Not me. But hey, aren’t you dating someone?”

“Not seriously. He only wants to fuck.”

“Huh, I know the type.”

Dixon pursed his lips. “Not that I mind the sex, but I want a Dom. He’s not—was putting on a show to get laid.”

“Oh.” Not like deVries, who wore his authority in every cell of his muscled…gorgeous…snoopy body. She squeezed Dixon’s fingers. “You know, honeybunches, you’re going to find someone who is perfect for you. Don’t give up.” Why did Dixon attract guys like that? “Hmmm.”

“What?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so cute.” She frowned. “My mama would say when you flirt too much, you attract men who only want what you’re…silently promising.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “Are you giving me advice from your mother?”

“Hey, she had some pretty good advice.” As long as it wasn’t about actual sex. Then it was like getting guidance from a nun. How had the woman ever managed to conceive?

“Uh-huh.” Shaking his head, Dixon led the way across the room to a table filled with Doms and subs. On one side of the table was the blond masochist named HurtMe. Jacqueline, a newer submissive, sat beside him. She was older than Lindsey, maybe in her late thirties, and tended to safeword out of anything intense. Abby was near one end; Sir Ethan at the other.

“Hey, y’all.” Lindsey dropped into an empty chair.

Dixon detoured to sit beside a gorgeous gay Dom. After giving the guy a completely flirtatious look and getting one back, Dixon winked at Lindsey.

So much for Mama’s advice. Lindsey smothered a smile.

The conversation wandered from subject to subject as people watched a depersonalization scene on the raised left stage where a collared slave was being treated like a disobedient dog.

Lindsey heard the scrape of a chair, and she glanced to her right.

Clad in his usual worn leather pants and black T-shirt, deVries set his toy bag under the chair beside her and sat down.

She sighed. There were lots of other empty chairs, dammit. And she sure didn’t need him setting her hormones to doing a Texas two-step.

His eyes, the color of a winter sea, swept over her. “Evening, girl.”

Without even nodding, she turned away. Maybe Mr. Pushy-Pants would get the hint.

The rasp of his deep voice as he spoke to the other Doms sent goose bumps up her arms. Should she leave? What if he followed her? One on one. That would be worse. Because, if he really did push, she’d cave.

Why couldn’t she have met him…before? Before marrying Victor. Before all the blood and death and horror? I can’t do this, deVries. Can’t.

Tucking her head down, she studied her bottle of water, turning it between her palms. If he’d only see reason. Or get bored and give up.

As the conversation turned to depersonalization and degradation scenes, she stayed unnaturally silent.

Rather than leaving, deVries put his arm along the back of her chair. She stiffened.

Near one end of the table, HurtMe gave her a narrow-eyed look. What was up with that?

Uneasy, she checked her friends. Abby’s face held no expression. Dixon, of course, was grinning.

Lindsey could feel the heat of deVries’s arm behind her shoulders. Just the brush of his skin sent tingles through her. Wanting to cuddle into him, instead, Lindsey leaned forward.