"Where were you going?" he repeated, with all of the enthusiasm of a man who wasn't fond of having to do so.
Was she being kidnapped, was that it? Marissa wondered. What exactly was this man's game? And where was he taking her? She was so wrapped up in trying to understand what he was doing that she answered him without much thought, "To Sophie's house."
That earned her a short but hard, appraising glance from her mode of transportation.
"Keys are in the ignition," was all he said once he'd deposited her, with surprising care. And only after he'd scraped away as much snow as he could with his booted foot – in front of the driver's side door of his big vehicle, then turned to trudge back to her car while giving her slow, deliberate instructions as if she was a bit tetched. "Follow me, then, slowly. When you want to stop, pump the breaks slowly, and start long before you might if it the road was clear. If you get into a skid –"
"I know how to drive in the snow!" she almost yelled, wishing she could recall it when her pronouncement stopped him in his tracks. "I grew up here, for crying out loud!"
He turned and gave her a look that had her bottom cringing and her genitals dancing, even from that distance.
"Then you have even less of an excuse not to have everything you may need in your car, don't you?"
Marissa's legs clenched together unconsciously at his tone and she desperately wanted to hurl a searing protest back at him, but since he was continuing his deeply annoying habit of being right, the only thing she could come up with was a childish, "Oh, yeah?" that she wisely kept to herself.
And she'd finally decided, especially after that not so subtle scolding and a look that said she should stop whatever she's doing in her tracks if she ever meant to sit comfortably again, not to taunt her savior. Or the man who had apparently decided that it was his duty to make sure that she made it to Sophie's in one piece.
But she did take an inordinate amount of pleasure watching him try to shoehorn his way behind the wheel of her tiny car. He shrugged out of his voluminous coat, affording her a wonderful view of the sheer breadth of his shoulders, which obviously owed no debt to his coat whatsoever, and another tantalizing glimpse of what she considered a nearly perfect ass.
Just right for grabbing onto when she'd already tugged the corners off the fitted sheet during a particularly steamy session in bed, she thought. Her randy mind conjured thoroughly x-rated pictures to go with the words. Herself laid out on his bed, naked, waiting for him to ravish her, the unbearably pleasurable, intimate feeling of the first time he took her fully, climaxing – loudly, which was the only way she knew how, while his mouth did unspeakable things to that most sensitive area between her legs…
Marissa shook her head, hoping to clear it of the sensual cobwebs that seemed determined to get her into all sorts of trouble, but still managed to enjoy thoroughly the sight of him folding, spindling, and mutilating himself into the driver's seat.
But once there, he didn't waste any time, and she realized that she – in her slim miniskirt – was well behind in the curve. After several attempts at a more modest approach – since she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his eyes were on her every movement – she scrambled up into the seat with more enthusiasm than grace, she was quite sure. But it got the job done with a minimum of flashing him…she hoped.
Soon, they were wending their way towards her sister's house. Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. It was a thirty-five mile an hour zone, and they were doing twenty, if she was lucky. Although Rissa did her best to pay attention to the road – heaven forbid, she should rear end her own car, for crying out loud – but also found herself soaking up the almost frighteningly masculine ambiance in his truck.
It didn't smell like smoke, she was glad to realize, but instead like a heady combination of man and leather. And coffee; she spied a large Dunkin' Donuts cup still steaming in its holder, knowing that was the source of his disturbingly pleasant breath It was a Spartan cockpit with barely an AM radio and no air conditioning, she noted. This man was a true native Maine-ahh and this was a work truck, she'd be willing to bet, although she'd have been very surprised to find out that he owned any other vehicle. There was some form of electronic communications unit attached to the dash, but it looked more like a CB to her than anything else, although she couldn't imagine why he'd have one of those any more. No one did.
But then she'd bet he didn't follow anyone else's trends or customs, either. That kind of thing would just never be on his radar. She'd also have been willing to bet that he'd been in his job for years, had a wife and at least two kids. The distinct absence of a ring was no proof that he was unattached; especially if he had the kind of physical job she'd pegged him for.
Lucky wife, Marissa thought, almost licking her lips. That man exuded sex but was perfectly content not to dwell on the matter in any way, shape or form. He'd been nothing but gentlemanly to her – if a bit autocratic and closed mouthed, but then that was the Yankee way.
The closed mouth part, if not the autocratic, exactly.
When she wasn't covertly snooping about his truck, Rissa was watching him handle the little Miata, which purred right along under his firm, steady hand like it never had under hers. Not one slip, skid or even sliding stop. He handled that car as she imagined he'd handle a woman – confidently, slowly, and with excruciating attention to detail.
They drove by the boarded up mansions of the super-rich who eschewed the harsh island winters in favor of invading it at will from Memorial to Labor Day, down in the small working – if still quite picturesque – harbor. Then up a slight incline to a house that would be considered quite good sized anywhere else but when measured against the estates they'd passed was unprepossessing at best.
Her sister burst out of the front door as if she'd been staring furtively out of it all morning, which Marissa knew she probably had. Soph was the worrier of the two of them, just like their mom. Rissa figured that probably came with the big sister territory. She didn't tend to worry anywhere near as much as she should.
"Marissa, are you all right?" Her gaze went from the big man who was slowly unbending his legs as he extracted himself carefully from her car to Rissa, who slid out from behind the driver's seat of the big SUV with very little care for her modesty. Until she realized that her moleskin skirt had clung to the fabric of his bench seat, dragging the back of her already short skirt up to somewhere in the neighborhood of her nape.
"Sorry for the peep show," Marissa said, blushing still, again, as she reached behind her to wrestle her skirt into some form of submission.
Which no one had yet been able to do for her, she thought with a quirky smile.
The least and most likely candidate for the position ambled over to them, as the sisters hugged and kissed. "I was so worried! You're late!"
"I know. I managed to get myself stuck, and this wonderful gentleman expended his time and energy to unstick me, and then he insisted on me following him here."
Dodge leaned a hip against his truck, then proceeded to scold her again, by proxy, as he told her sister how woefully unprepared she was to be driving in this weather. "She was just damned lucky that I happened along, Sophie. With the rate it's snowing and having no emergency equipment in her car whatsoever," he stated with a long glare at Rissa. "She could have had carbon monoxide poisoning in a matter of minutes."
Rissa had forgotten that danger, but just as quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. "Do you two know each other?"
Sophie smiled. "Of course we do. Did you not introduce yourselves, at least?"
Both of them shook their heads. The thought hadn't occurred to either of them.
"Well, allow me to do the honors. Dodge Perkins, this is my sister, Marissa Hamilton. Marissa, this is Dodge Perkins. He's Sonny's boss and –"
"The town sheriff," Marissa finished for her, extending her hand to the man in question. "No wonder you wouldn't take the money. Thank you again for rescuing me." She'd heard Sophie talk about Dodge. He was her husba
nd, the town deputy's boss, and she'd never heard anything but glowing reports about him.
It seemed she couldn't put a foot right with the man, though, whose face had opened considerably at the sight of Sophie, but then shut down cold again when she mentioned the money.
He nodded in acknowledgement and shook her hand politely, but with little enthusiasm, having already moved to open the door to his truck, not so subtly edging her out of his way as he did so. When he'd already gotten behind the wheel, he rolled down his window and said, "If you're going to be staying here any length of time, Ms. Hamilton, you'll want to get a different vehicle and equip it with all of the items you were lacking today. I don't need to be spending my time rescuing fool hardy women."
Rissa's mouth hung open and he was well down the lane before she stomped her foot in the slush – which she instantly regretted, of course – and looked around for something to punch.
Her sister, who knew her, had already made herself scarce, taking several giant steps to the left. "He's right, you know," she teased as they made their way into her house.
That earned her a swat on the shoulder as soon as Marissa caught up with her. "Shut up! Men are never, ever right."
Chapter 2
She had the paddle in her hand.
He'd requested the newest one he'd bought for her, made of Lexan or some such other God awful, blistery material. So she'd tromped up the stairs, not having very much success at hiding her reluctance or her attitude towards the entire situation – coming up just short of rolling her eyes, in fact, when she knew she should have known much, much better.
Her steps back down were even slower than the ones she'd taken going up. Although they reflected much less of an attitude, since she was going to have to face him at the end of them, if that was even possible, despite the fact that she knew from personal experience that he hated to be kept waiting. Yesterday was late, as far as he was concerned, once he'd issued an order.
Now, she just stood there, looking at him from under hooded eyes, as if she expected that Dodge was going to change his mind.
Like that had ever – or would ever – happen. She was quite certain that it would take an act of God herself – and even then, she knew he'd go down arguing – to get him to grant mercy.
He'd certainly never shown her any, once he determined that she needed correcting, which was – according to him – the moment they'd met, not that she'd ever wanted to shame herself enough to ask, despite the rhythmic smack, smack, smacking of the impetus he delivered to do just that.
How had she gotten herself into this situation? Rissa wondered, with him looking across at her with those dark eyes at half-mast, waiting for her to finish her perp walk to him, knowing what was waiting for her on the other end of the paddle she knew she had to deliver into his strong, capable hands.
Eventually.
Although she knew that making him wait, even a short time, was going to add up. There was no telling when his patience – or rather, lack thereof – with her deliberate dawdling was going to have him taking it from her, with that depressingly long reach and those lightning reflexes of his, to deliver a good dose of "reminder" before the main event.
How could she possibly have thought she wanted this? She must've been full-blown crazy!
Apparently, that was an accurate diagnosis, and it was all his fault, of course, for being so damned sexy and naturally dominant. He'd had her practically orgasming in her pants before she'd even known his name.
It wasn't as if Sophie hadn't warned her. She had. Loud and clear. It was as if all of the good things Rissa had been told from the horse's mouth about Dodge over the past few years had dissolved as soon as she evinced any interest in him.
Which was, she was horrified to realize, not ten minutes after he'd dropped her off from rescuing her, as she cradled an extremely welcome cup of hot coffee between her hands, using its warmth to revitalize her frozen fingers.
"No gloves?" she heard him ask in that "you're going to pay for it later" tone of his. She shivered, despite the help from Sophie's Keurig.
Her sister was prattling on about something that Rissa was only half-listening to, waiting for a break in her sister's monologue so that she could ask some questions about her knight.
"Have you heard a single word I've said, Marissa?" Sophie asked in exasperation, recognizing that far away look in her sister's eyes.
"No," Rissa replied unapologetically. "I've been waiting for you to shut up, finally, so that I can ask you a question."
The slap she received on her shoulder was half-hearted, at best. "What question?"
But when the moment of truth came, somehow, she couldn't quite spit out what was really on her mind and settled instead for the lame query, "Can I borrow some of your clothes? I'm freezing to death, here." Her outfit, while smart and trendy, was woefully inadequate in the Maine winter, as someone had already pointed out to her today.
"That's your question?" Sophie looked suspicious. "Since when have you ever asked to raid my closet, hmm? Don't tell me you're turning over a new leaf, because I won't believe it, I tells ya'. I've heard it all before…" She launched into her usual diatribe about what a horrible little sister she was, but Rissa was never going to have any of that kind of crap.
Besides, she had her own soliloquy about how put upon she was by her older sister. It was a family tradition, even. Mom had had one about Dad, and Dad about Mom. It was right up there with telling a family member who was about to depart on a long drive, to drive fast and take chances.
Rissa's, "Bite me, Soph," was half hearted at best. They were both already on their way up the stairs of the center hall colonial, making a right at the top to enter Sophie's bedroom, which occupied the entire right side of the upstairs, creating a luxurious suite for herself and her husband. Rissa made a beeline for the walk-in closet, of course, while Sophie puttered about the room, straightening things that didn't need straightening, as was her habit.
As she shed her city clothes for more appropriate – and much warmer – country fare, Rissa asked, as casually as she could manage, "So, Dodge is married, right? With two point five kids?"
No response.
If she'd managed to insult her sister by her question, somehow, it was in record time.
When Sophie appeared at the entrance to the closet, it was with her sister's mug of coffee in her hand as she leaned against the doorjamb. "Why do you ask?"
Rissa gave her a surprised look as she stepped into a pair of black jeans. "I know you've been married for a long time, Soph, but surely you have some vague memories of what sex was like?"
Sophie didn't take the bait of that particular gambit. "You can't possibly be thinking of going after Dodge – you just barely broke up with Dean!"
Marissa sighed. "And Dean and I haven't had sex for months, you know that. My walking out was long overdue."
"You can say that again."
Once she'd tugged a loose red turtleneck over her head and donned a pretty cream, red and black patterned sweater, Rissa reached up to take the pins out of her hair, letting its corn silk length flow down over her back as she walked past her sister and out of the closet.
"And I want to thank you for your invitation to come up here, too, in case I've forgotten to say it." She sank onto the end of the big bed.
"Of course. You're always welcome here, brat. You know that."
Rissa nodded, taking a deep breath. "So now I'm both unattached and unemployed. Note to self—do not get involved with the boss, especially one who is a lying, cheating, putz, like Dean."
"I agree. But I think throwing yourself at Dodge will be jumping from the frying pan, etc, etc, etc."
And into the hellfire, if the vibe she was getting from him was anywhere near right. But Marissa had never been one to be afraid of fire. "Why?" She was very interested in her sister's take on Dodge, since she knew him so much better.
Sophie lay back on the bed, pulling a pillow down for under her head. "He's…well, if you wan
t the truth, I don't think he likes women."
Rissa replied, "Another closet homosexual? Lovely. Some track record I have…"
"No, no, no," her sister corrected, aiming a throw pillow at her sister and using it for its stated purpose.
Rissa easily dodged the incoming missile, having had decades of practice.
"It's just, in all the time I've known him, I've never seen him with a woman – never heard of him having a girlfriend. And he's so…"
"Bossy? Autocratic? Monosyllabic?"
Sophie pinned her with her gaze. "You're listing off his faults – are you sure you're interested in him?"
"Chauvinistic, Neanderthal…did I mention thoroughly annoying?" she asked, all sweet and innocent-like, which her sister knew was a dead lie.
"I rest my case. You can't be all that attracted to him if all you can come up with are insults."
Rissa snorted. "Of course I can. He has a gorgeous butt, shoulders that go on forever, a full head of hair and then some – which is saying something at his age – but most of all, he was very interested the entire time he was digging me out. Very interested, if you get what I mean."
Her deeply frowning – and blushing – sister replied, "I know what you're saying!"
"Well, you're so sheltered and vanilla I never like to assume…"
That earned her an even better aimed, harder thrown, pillow.
"It was tough to miss in those worn jeans he was wearing – I thought he was going to bust right through them, and that's another bazillion points in his favor, as far as I'm concerned."
Sophie sighed. "If you'll let me finish what I had started to say originally, he just seems like he doesn't much need or want the emotional entanglements that being in a relationship with a woman brings. And he makes me feel…uncomfortable, somehow, although he's never said anything untoward to me at all."
Rissa could completely understand what she was saying. Dodge was a high-powered man – not job wise, but his demeanor. He was one of the most blatantly Dommish people she had ever met, and that was hard for some people to deal with. "Well, that's good, because I don't know if I want any of the entanglements involved in a relationship, either. I just want him to fuck my brains out." And spank me, she thought to herself. But she'd never let Sophie know about that part of her. It just wasn't something they talked about.
Her Knight In Faded Denim Page 2
