Merciless

Dawson understood my reason for keeping Sophie on the payroll, but he refused to let her do his laundry. I understood where he was coming from. It’d taken me a couple of months after I’d returned from Iraq to hand over my dirty clothes to her.

I figured he’d cave in. He hadn’t. So it made no sense to me why Dawson was perfectly content to let Sophie cook for us. Probably because she kept him well supplied with his favorite cookies.

But according to the note, she had to leave early to take her daughter Penny to the doctor, so no tasty supper awaited me. If Dawson didn’t show up, I’d probably just eat yogurt.

I changed, rolled out my mat, and practiced yoga until sweat stuck my clothes to my skin.

As I stood under the tepid shower spray, I wondered how my life had become so mundane. I went to work. Came home and played with the dogs. Worked out. Showered. Ate supper. Watched TV, looking at the clock every ten minutes and wondering when Dawson would show up. Then I’d hit the hay.

I’d always been fairly solitary, but tonight it almost seemed… forced. By the time I’d dried off, combed out my wet hair, and slipped on a robe, I’d decided to partake of a little nightlife at Clementine’s. I wandered into the kitchen for a pregame beer when the dogs started barking. Dawson’s deep voice soothed them, and I could practically hear their tails thumping against the boards on the porch.

God, I knew the feeling. I was tempted to give a little yip of excitement myself.

The door opened. Dawson didn’t notice me at first, as he was too busy taking off his butt-ugly hat, hanging up his coat, and toeing off his boots. When he lifted his head and looked at me, my belly jumped like I was a teenage girl with a crush.

Dawson smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” I took a sip of beer. “You done for the night? Or just stopping to get something to eat before you head back out?”

“I’m done.” His gaze started at my forehead and leisurely traveled the length of my body, down to my bare toes, and then back up.

By the time his eyes met mine, they held that look. The look I’d been missing for the last week.

Then he stalked me until my spine hit the counter. “Whatcha got on under that robe, Sergeant Major?”

“Just my skin, Sheriff.”

Dawson made a noise that resembled a growl before his mouth covered mine. I fell into him, fell into the kiss, blanking my mind to everything except the happy fact that he was here.

His hands cradled my face then slid down my neck to the gap in my robe. Then his hands were on my bare skin, cruising down my chest over my rib cage to circle my waist. The way the ragged pads of his fingertips stroked my breasts made me arch into him harder. Kiss him harder.

Then he dropped to his knees.

He chuckled against my lower belly at my moan of delight. Then his hard-skinned hands were on the inside of my thighs, pushing them apart so he could settle his mouth on the damp flesh within.

I held on to his head with one hand, the edge of the counter with the other, and gave myself over to his intimate kiss. He had me panting, begging, and quivering in record time-a feat that might’ve been embarrassing for me if I hadn’t already known this man took tremendous pride in turning me inside out as fast as possible.

As I regained my sanity, Mason treated me to sweet, lingering kisses everywhere on my body, letting his mouth roam. Once he was back on his feet, he murmured, “Jump up,” in my ear, as his hands clamped onto my butt.

Then I was on the counter, my robe was on the floor, and Dawson was unbuckling his belt. The moment his body powered into mine, my world became him: his taste, his scent, his heat.

After he rocked me so hard I swear he rocked the cabinet off the floor, he yanked up his pants and carried me to bed.

Looked like we were making up for lost time.

Not a single complaint from me.

I’d never sexually clicked with any man the way I did with Dawson. Living together hadn’t cooled our passion one iota. In fact, being in close quarters and able to act on impulse whenever we wanted had ramped it up a notch or twenty.

Later, as I was spent and sprawled on my stomach, he’d propped himself on his side, letting his fingers follow the curve of my spine.

“Guess what I got today?”

“A qualified applicant for the deputy’s position?”

“Funny. Try again.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. “You really want to play twenty questions?”

Dawson sighed. “Sometimes your cut-to-the-chase attitude is annoying. Indulge me. One more guess.”

“Fine. You got a commendation from the governor.”

“Nope. I got our hunting licenses.” He toyed with my hair. “I applied for both of us when you were busy at Quantico.”

“What we get?”

“Antelope. Bucks. I thought we could go hunting on Saturday.”

I grinned. “Really? You did that for me?”

“Yep. I reckoned a box of bullets would mean more to you than a box of chocolates.”