Beside him, Crista clipped her seat belt, moving almost hesitantly, glancing at him every few seconds with silent wariness.

She knew she was fucked. She might not know just how well she was going to be fucked, but she was definitely fucked.

“Let’s play a game,” he finally drawled in amusement as he glanced over at her.

“We’ve been playing one for a year,” she retorted. “You just keep forgetting to forward the rules to me.”

He grinned at that. That was Crista. Never without a snappy little comeback.

“This is an easy game,” he promised her. “A guessing game. Tell me, if you will, exactly what the hell you were doing in the goddamned warehouse.”

He had to snap his teeth together as anger flamed with each word, overriding the amusement he had previously felt. Once again, he saw her, staring up at that damned terrorist, her eyes wide, her face pale, that gun rising steadily to her face.

She flinched.

“My things,” she answered then, her voice haunted. “Mark had the rest of my belongings shipped from Virginia. I have a note. The delivery company said they were at the warehouse in one of the lockers. I have the key here.” She was digging in her purse, her voice shaking. “See. I have the key.”

She held a key out to him.

Dawg took it slowly, glanced at it, then handed it back to her. It was indeed a locker key with the initials SIY, for Store It Yourself, stamped on it.

“Where’s the note?”

She didn’t go digging in her purse. Her teeth were biting nervously at her lower lip instead.

“Where’s the note, Crista Ann?” he asked her again.

Crista flinched. “I left it in the Rodeo, my car. Back at the warehouse.”

Dawg shook his head. “Didn’t stick it in your pocketbook, huh?” He glanced at her suspiciously.

“It’s there. In the passenger seat.” She was gripping her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting together.

She used to do that every damned time she got around him. From the time she was sixteen until just a few months before she left town a little over eight years ago.

“We’ll see,” he grunted.

“Is this game over now?” she asked him irritably. “I’d like to go back home.”

At that point, Dawg grinned.

“Dawg, you are going to take me home, aren’t you?”

He heard it in her voice. She was getting a clue.

“Not yet.” He flashed her a quick grin, anticipation beginning to build along with the heated lust at the knowledge he saw in her eyes.

“Where are you taking me then?”

“Your new home.”

“And that’s where?” She pushed the question through gritted teeth. Dawg almost chuckled. Oh yeah, things were changing now.

“We’ll play your question and answer game later,” he retorted, refusing to answer her for the time being. “For now, let me ask you this: Do you have any clue what the hell was going on in that warehouse?”

She breathed out wearily, leaned her head back against the seat, and said, “Drugs?” It was said with such an air of resignation that he was inclined to believe that maybe she wasn’t involved with terrorists.

With her background, it was damned difficult to believe she was. Her brother, Alex, was one of the finest Special Forces soldiers Dawg had ever known, his reputation was solid, and Dawg knew for a fact it had been Alex who had raised Crista.

“Know how much trouble you’re in?”

He glanced over in time to see her lashes drift closed, feathering over her cheeks like dark shadows.

“Are you taking me to jail?”

Was he?

Hell no, he wasn’t. If he was going to turn her over to the authorities, he would have done so in the warehouse. He was damned stupid was what he was. A horny fool.

“Not yet.” He tightened his lips before moving his hand from his cheek and letting his forefinger brush over his lips, remembering her kiss as he watched the road thoughtfully, his elbow still propped on the window frame.

Damn if he wasn’t stepping into a mess this time.

“What are you going to do, Dawg?” she asked him quietly.

The sound of her voice made him harder. Not just hard, hell, his dick had been hard since the day he glimpsed her walking down Main Street a year ago and knew she was back, even before he caught sight of her face. No, he was harder. Painfully hard.

A vision of her head lowering to his cock suddenly had his entire body clenching painfully. Wide, innocent chocolate eyes staring up at him as his cock head disappeared into her mouth almost had a groan ripping from his chest.

That vision haunted him; that one and several others. The sight of her pussy, dark curls saturated with her juices as he parted the tender folds with his thick erection. The sound of her cries as he tucked the hungry crest at her rear and took her there, hearing her shock, her pleasure. Dreams that had haunted him for years. Dreams he intended to make reality now that he had her.

“To the boat.” His houseboat. The Nauti Dawg. His home.

He heard the hard breath she took.

“No.”

He glanced at her, seeing the revulsion on her face, and a flare of anger pierced his mind again.

She hadn’t been good enough to step foot into his home eight years ago, and she still thought she was too good for it.

“You prefer jail?” He eased up on the gas, glancing around as though looking for a place to turn around.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” she argued desperately then. “You know I wasn’t, Dawg. It was a coincidence—”

“I don’t believe in coincidence, Crista.”

“A mistake then,” she cried out as he began easing to the wide shoulder just ahead. “God, Dawg, you know I don’t do drugs.”

He pulled over and came to a stop. Draping his arms over the steering wheel, he stared back at her silently.

“You can’t take me to jail, Dawg. Alex will be home soon, he’ll tell you. This is all a mistake.”

“Alex can’t fix this one, Crista,” he told her softly, meaning it. “You’re stuck with me.” He gave her a minute to process that. “Or jail. Your choice.”

She was breathing hard, erratically. If it were only fear that he had glimpsed in her eyes, he would have let her off the hook right then. God knew Alex could definitely deal with this when he got home. But it wasn’t just fear; he saw heat there, and something more. Something elusive, a knowledge, a certainty that something was getting ready to rock her little world.

She licked her lips. A quick little flick of her tongue that had his guts tightening in hunger. He wanted that tongue, and he wanted it bad enough to do something so despicable, so dirty it almost, just almost, made him cringe.

He smiled instead, because it was going to be good. So damned good.

“Do I turn around, or do we continue to the marina?” he asked her then. “Your choice, sweetheart.”

And if she chose turning around, what the hell would he would do then? He waited, staring back at her, his expression bland, his gaze, he knew, hot and hungry. She knew what he wanted. She knew the price he was exacting for pulling her out of this one.

Her lips trembled before she licked them again. Her gaze flickered with indecision. And he wasn’t going to help her. He’d be damned if he would go back to chasing after her like a dog after a bitch in heat and being turned away every time. Not this time. This time, it was his game. His way or jail. Or at least, that was the impression he was intent on giving her.

“Don’t turn around,” she finally whispered, her gaze dropping, her head turning back to stare stiffly through the windshield once again.

“We go to the Nauti Dawg, then?” he asked her.

“If that’s my only choice.” Her voice was tense, angry.

Fine, let her be angry. He’d been damned mad himself eight years ago, and he could still remember the fury when he realized she had left town with another man. Realized, nothing, he had seen her in the car with the bastard as they drove out of town.

He still remembered that one. Hell, he had nightmares about that one when he least expected them.

“It’s not your only choice, Crista Ann,” he said softly. “You can go explain to the authorities what you were doing there. That one’s real easy.”

Of course, he’d have to explain why she wasn’t arrested with the rest of the crew, but he was hoping she wouldn’t realize that.

“Yeah. I could do that,” she snapped back mockingly. “And of course, you would deny to hell and back pulling me out of there. Right?”

He grinned. God love her, he had to give her credit.

Dawg shrugged. “What can I do? I didn’t check my backseat until I heard someone move around in it. I can be a bit absentminded when I’m in a hurry.”

“And the reason Natches is driving my Rodeo rather than riding with you?”

Dawg widened his eyes. “You and Natches are friends, Crista. You loaned him the Rodeo.”

Okay, he wasn’t really that damned dirty. Hell, if she chose jail, he’d take her home and figure something else out. But she should have known that. If she didn’t know that, well, that was just her mistake, not his.

“That’s dirty, Dawg,” she retorted, disgust thickening her voice.

“Sure it is.” He nodded in agreement. “But I have a reputation for being dirty. Don’t I?” His grin was pure innocence. One of the kind that normally had Natches looking for the nearest escape route.

She rubbed her hands over her face before pushing her fingers through the hair she had pulled back tightly into a long ponytail.

Hair he was dying to loosen, to spread out behind her as he laid her back on his bed. Hair he longed to grip while he rode her hard and deep.

She shook her head before staring straight ahead once again.

“So, we head to the marina, right?”

She nodded slowly. “Fine.”

Dawg let off the brake and eased back onto the road before adding speed and heading down the dark highway.

“You act like you’re heading to the gallows.” He grinned.

She didn’t reply.

Dawg glanced at her again, watching as she rubbed at her bare arms and stared out the window, her expression bleak, disheartening.

Damn her. It wasn’t as though he intended to rape her. Blackmail her a little bit, definitely. But sex would be only under certain conditions. He’d make damned sure she wanted it as badly as he did, first.

He wasn’t a complete bastard.

But he was a horny bastard. And a mad bastard.

Eight fucking years she had lived in his dreams, and he couldn’t figure out why. She had changed him at a time when he needed to retain that edge of careless unconcern. She had pricked his emotions, filled his head, and he couldn’t make sense of it.

She tormented him. It was that damned simple, and it was time the torment eased.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. It won’t be so bad,” he assured her, reaching over to pat her knee in a totally false gesture of comfort. “We used to get along good once, remember?”

Once.

Crista turned her head slowly and stared at his profile. Once, she had loved him with all the passion and innocence of a young girl who revered the town’s baddest bad boy. But she wasn’t a girl anymore; she was a grown woman. She was well aware of just how easily he could destroy her life again.

“I remember how stupid I was,” she finally answered him with a measure of self-disgust at the memory. “And I remember learning my lesson. I don’t really remember much other than that, Dawg.

Perhaps you could remind me of a time that we actually got along.”

He didn’t remember that night. Crista knew he didn’t. And she knew Alex would have never told him what happened. He had promised her.