Page 31 of Disavowed

“I may be overstepping the employer-employee boundary, but I don’t care,” Jack said, a sudden and intense look in his eyes. “I’d like to ask you out on a date Friday night. Dinner.”

She opened her mouth, preparing to say no, but he held up his hand. His dark brows drew together, and for a moment he actually appeared angry.

“I know what you’re thinking. I work for you and this could get complicated. Right?”

That and I can’t stop thinking about another man.

“It’s just dinner,” he went on. “We eat lunch together at the shop all the time. We can take it slow. I like you; you like me. We don’t have to jump into anything. We’ll just see if it works. Sound good?”

It did sound good. Give the guy a chance.

“Okay. Dinner.”

Jack smiled, and she actually felt good about accepting his invitation. It was time to shove her memories of Dom into the garbage can and take out the trash.

Thirty minutes later, after they’d made small talk about where they’d grown up and how their career paths had led them to New York City, Daisy led Jack to the door. When he leaned down to kiss her, she stiffened. She couldn’t help it.

When his lips touched hers, the pressure was light, respectful of the fact that they barely knew each other, and the fact she was his boss, Daisy suspected. His lips were warm, and she returned his kiss and waited for that spark. That fiery ignition she’d felt the first time Dom had kissed her. It didn’t come. No ignition. No flame. Not even a glowing ember that could perhaps one day be fanned to life. The kiss was nice, and that about summed it up.

He lifted his head, said good night, and left. After she turned the deadbolt, she leaned back against the door, breathed a sigh of relief, and shut her eyes. Rather than feeling energized by her time with Jack, she was exhausted. And no matter how hard she tried, exorcising one hunky detective from her brain was proving to be a colossal undertaking.

Outside, she heard the rumble of the truck as Jack started the engine and drove off. She pushed from the door and headed for her bedroom, flipping on the light switch when she entered. Uttering another sigh, she sat on the queen-size wrought-iron bed and kicked off her shoes. As she untied her blouse and began popping the buttons open, she wondered if maybe she and Jack could be friends. Maybe all she needed was to get back in the game and have a nice relationship. It didn’t have to be the forever kind of thing.

“Ugh.” She fell back onto the soft, downy white quilt and flung one arm over her eyes. The idea of having a relationship she had to categorize as nice was too depressing to stomach.

Pounding at the front door had her bolting upright. It must be Jack. Had he forgotten something?

Please don’t let him be back for another good-night kiss.

She wasn’t in the mood for more nice kisses.

She remained seated on the bed. If necessary, she could tell Jack in the morning that she’d fallen asleep the minute her head hit the pillow or that she’d gotten into the shower and hadn’t heard his knock. Although, she had to admit, the knocking really had been more of an urgent pounding.

When the pounding continued, she pushed from the bed and tiptoed to the door. Leaning in, she peered through the peephole. Eyes wide, she jerked back. Her heartbeat fluttered wildly at her throat. Exhaustion fled, and she was wide-awake.

Dom stood outside her door, and from the firm set of his jaw it was obvious he was royally pissed about something.

What the hell?

“Open the door, Daisy.”

She quivered with indignation. What right did he have to come barging into her building, demanding to see her?

“No,” she said loudly enough for him to hear, but not so loud that she’d annoy her neighbors.

“Daisy,” his deep voice warned, “if you don’t open the door right now I’ll kick it in.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, then turned the deadbolt and flung open the door. She raised her hand, preparing to smack him in the kisser, but he gently pushed her backward.

He closed the door behind them, then switched off the overhead chandelier. Light from her bedroom bathed his face in an eerie light. He glanced down at her open shirt and his eyes narrowed, but not in a lustful way. He was angry. About what she didn’t know and didn’t care. She was the only one who had any right to be angry.

“How dare you?” she sputtered.

Ignoring her, he stormed over to the windows, limping, and yanked the curtains closed. Next he took her gently by the arm and drew her toward the sofa. She resisted, tugging backward because the last time they’d sat on that sofa they’d wound up in bed. She didn’t think she’d have the mental or physical fortitude to resist his fiery kisses, or the tender touch of his rough hands on her bare skin, or—dammit.

As soon as they reached the edge of the sofa, Dom’s arms came around her waist and his lips crushed hers.

She shoved at his chest, feeling the steely hardness and strength of his pectorals beneath her fingers, but he only held her tighter, pressing his erection more firmly against her belly. Despite her mind screaming at her not to respond, her body didn’t listen. Heat shot to her core, and she writhed against his hard length. Her fingers uncurled, her hands flattening against his chest, not to push him away but to dig her nails into all that steely muscle. And before she could finish the thought—don’t kiss him back—she was doing just that.