Dawg frowned at that. He was thirty-two years old, yet he had never had a steady lover, a woman he wanted in his bed for more than a night or two. And he couldn’t figure out why.

Oh, he had considered it once. Eight fucking years ago. When he had been trying to get Crista into his bed, he had known then that he wanted more than a few nights with her. A few weeks, a few months, maybe.

Something tightened in his chest at the thought, something akin to regret, a knowledge that even a few months might not be enough.

One step at a time, he thought tiredly. Tonight, he’d just sleep with her. Just hold her. See how that went. That was something else he had never done, just held a woman through the night and felt the warmth of her against him.

Rowdy swore that some nights, it was better than sex, just having Kelly next to him, soft and sweet.

Would it be like that with Crista?

He glanced back at the stairs, his mind filling with the memory of her sweet scent, the warmth of her delicate body. Maybe, for one fucking night in his life, he could sleep without dreaming, if he were holding her.

He pushed himself to his feet and moved through the houseboat. He checked the windows, the back deck door, and the security alarms before moving up the stairs. When he stepped into the bedroom, he stopped in surprise.

He expected her to be awake and ready to shoot him. She had been madder than hell when she flew up that metal staircase. Instead, she was curled beneath the blankets of his king-sized bed, the covers pulled up to her nose, sleeping like a baby.

And she wasn’t just on the edge of the bed. She was in the middle, where he slept. A slow smile curled his lips as he stripped silently, leaving the small, dim light, which sat on the corner table on the far end of the room, turned on. He moved around the bed, slid beneath the blankets, and carefully, very cautiously, he eased in beside her.

She muttered something not so nice. A drowsy little comment about cold feet, but she settled back to sleep as his arm came over her and he drew her against him.

She didn’t awaken.

His frown deepened. A woman who slept alone was always aware when a man slid into bed beside her.

Crista was used to sleeping with someone.

Had that someone held her through the night and kept dreams of Dawg at bay? The bastard. He gritted his teeth at the thought of any other man holding her like this.

She belonged here, curled against his chest, snuggled into his body, keeping him warm.

It was…interesting.

He was still harder than hell. Hornier than he could remember being in years, but there was no need to hurry. No race to satisfaction so he could be alone.

His eyes closed as she muttered something again. Something about Alex and the electric bill, and he grinned. Female fluff stuff that Rowdy always teased Kelly about.

Hell, this was nice.

His eyes drifted closed, his arousal pounded between his thighs, but the edge was tempered with exhaustion and a slow easing of the tight sense of cold anger that had gripped him for years.

He buried his face in Crista’s hair, breathed out slowly, and let the darkness have him, for a few hours at least.

FIVE

Some days, it just didn’t pay to wake up. Waking up in Dawg’s bed had been bad enough, but thankfully he had been gone. She’d been able to steal a shirt and someone’s smaller-sized sweatpants, call a cab, rush back to her brother’s house to shower and change, and arrive to work on time.

Only to be fired.

Fired from a crappy waitress job in a diner that obviously didn’t have enough help to begin with.

And it had been more than clear that the owner was reluctant to fire her, which led Crista to only one conclusion. Dawg had influenced the owner.

He had her fired.

He wasn’t even decent enough to stop at just blackmailing her when she knew he had to know she was innocent. But now she was out of a job so he could have his little plaything close by.

She stood by the register as the manager wrote out her final paycheck and sighed wearily.

“Thanks, Madge,” she said quietly when the other woman, concerned and clearly upset with the orders to fire her, handed over the check.

“I’m sure sorry ’bout this, Crista.” Madge sighed, her hazel eyes compassionate. “Owner just called and said do it. Nothing I could do.”

Crista shrugged. The owner was friends with Dawg, she knew that, she knew how it happened.

Turning from the register, she tucked the check in her purse and made her way across the floor.

There were few customers at this time of the morning. Some coffee drinkers, an early rising tourist, and Johnny Grace, her next-door neighbor and Dawg’s cousin. Though Dawg admitted to the relationship only when he was forced.

He sat at the back table, a heavy frown on his brow as she moved toward him.

“Crista.” He stopped her before she could make it to the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” She gave him a stiff smile. “Cutbacks, I guess.”

She liked Johnny. He ran a bakery from his house beside hers and often brought her over fresh bread and sweets on baking days, free of charge, just because, he said, they were neighbors.

His gaze flicked to the manager, the frown still darkening his amazingly clear, soft brow. Dark blond curls framed his face, giving him an almost feminine appearance.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Anything he could do? She had a feeling there wasn’t a damned thing anyone could do. She shook her head, forcing a stiff smile to her face.

“I’ll be fine, Johnny. I have to go now, though. I’ll catch you later.”

Johnny was a good neighbor, but not a confidant. Right now, she couldn’t handle discussing this with anyone.

Her hand tightened on her purse as she stepped from the diner, her gaze swinging unerringly to the big black pickup across the street.

How the hell had she known he would be there? What instinct possessed her that she could feel him watching her, wanting her?

He was a dark shadow behind the tinted windows, until the passenger side window rolled smoothly down, revealing his unsmiling countenance and the dark glasses shielding his eyes.

His overlong black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, revealing the strong line of his jaw and the arrogance that permeated his expression.

His hand lifted from where his long arm was stretched along the backseat, and his fingers beckoned her to him with regal confidence that she would come. Like a damned pet.

Her eyes narrowed on him as she turned and stalked down the sidewalk to the side of the diner where her Rodeo was parked. She had packed a suitcase that morning before heading to the job she didn’t have anymore. She had actually given Dawg the benefit of the doubt that he would at least trust her to work while he was playing the high-and-mighty blackmailer from hell.

But could he do that? Hell no. He had to have it all.

She jerked her keys from her purse as she heard the powerful motor moving behind her. She threw a glare over her shoulder before striding furiously across the parking lot.

She had bills to pay, a college loan to honor, not that she was using the damned degree at present, but there was always the potential of getting a decent job. Now she was going to go job hunting again and pray there was someone willing to laugh in his face when he ordered her fired.

God, he hadn’t changed. In eight years, most people managed to mature a little bit, but Dawg was still Dawg. Just a little darker, a little more dangerous, but still determined to have everything his own way.

“I don’t think so.” His big hand shackled her wrist as she moved to shove the key into the lock of the Rodeo.

Crista stood still, freezing as anger threatened to overwhelm her.

“I can’t believe you.” She tried to jerk her arm back, then stared at his fingers as he refused to release her.

They were shackled on her wrist like irons, snug enough to hold her in place, to remind her that he was bigger, stronger, harder than she was.

“What can’t you believe about me?” he asked, drawing her along with him to the truck where it sat, driver’s side door still standing open, a few feet behind him.

“Let me go, Dawg! I have to go job hunting,” she sneered with false sweetness. “Someone cost me this job.”

Mocking disbelief filled his face. “No! Someone got you fired? Shame on them.”

Wicked amusement filled his eyes, almost playful, inviting her to share in the fun when he had just taken her only means of support.

When she jerked her wrist back this time, he let her go.

“Tell me, Dawg, how do you expect me to support myself? To pay my bills? To keep my car? I don’t have a job now because of you.”

“You have a job.” The playful amusement left his expression.

“I have a job?” she jeered bitterly. “Let me guess, you’re going to pay me to play your whore?”

His expression stilled then. “Get in the truck.”

She should have been nervous. She had seen that expression on her brother’s face before, and it was one that was best avoided. One she would have avoided if she weren’t so damned mad.

She knew what he expected, and it enraged her.

“Not on your egotistical little life!” Her hand slapped against his chest as she felt anger engulf her.

“I have a job to—”

The breath rushed from her chest as he jerked her to him, her breasts flush against his broad chest, the fingers of one broad hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her head back, his gaze imprisoning hers as she stared back at him in shock.

“We made a deal.” His voice rasped with something akin to anger, and yet it went deeper than anger.

Crista trembled as she stared into the light green eyes and the determination that glowed inside them.

“That deal didn’t include stealing my job and my life. You had no right to do this.”

“My bed, or jail. My terms. And my terms say that while you’re sharing my bed, then by God you

’ll share when I want you there, not when you have time for me.”

Shock filled her, and not for the first time. This wasn’t the Dawg she had known eight years before, but he was the man who had taken her that night so long ago.

The veneer of teasing charm had been stripped away, and in its place was a man she wasn’t certain she could handle.

“You won’t arrest me.” Her voice trembled. “You know I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“We have a deal,” he repeated. “Now get your ass in that truck. We’ll discuss the terms of it back at the houseboat, but we will not discuss them here, in the middle of a goddamned parking lot.”

He didn’t give her time to argue. He picked her up by her waist, turned, and pushed her into the vehicle.

“My clothes…” She tried to scramble back out, only to come face-to-face with eyes that began to become turbulent in their color. Light greens, sparks of darker color, a swirl of chaotic shades that had her suddenly stilling.

His jaw bunched with tension, the muscle in his cheek twitching twice before he managed to control it.

The keys were plucked from her fingers.

“Don’t move. So help me God, you come out of that truck, Crista, and you’ll regret it. Because I’

ll turn you over my knee and paddle your ass here and now. Do you understand me?”

She stared back at him warily.

He stomped, literally stomped the short distance to her Rodeo, unlocked it, and dragged her suitcase from the front seat.

“My flowers.” Her voice gained strength. If all she was risking was a spanking, then he could damned well get everything she had packed. “And the box in the back.”

The suitcase thumped on the ground as he turned and stared back at her broodingly.

“Surely I can at least have the few things I need.” She smiled back at him tightly. “Even condemned prisoners get a few personal articles, Dawg.”

His eyes narrowed before he locked the driver’s side door and slammed it closed. He paced to the back of the vehicle, unlocked the hatchback, and jerked it open. The box of extra clothes, makeup, and personal items was set out, then the miniature rosebush and flowering cactus that sat in the corner.