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“After everything I’ve been through, I can’t believe I’m arguing with a fake version of the previous owner.” I rolled my eyes. “At least, I imagined you as hot.” Really hot with his big body and how he oozed too much masculinity. Where the detective I’d lusted after today had the good looks of a preppy man, this guy had the kind of appearance that screamed: “Alpha male.”
The bandanna got tugged, releasing a shaggy mass of dark hair threaded with silver. “Holy fuck, lady. I don’t know what drugs you’re on, but let’s make one thing clear. I ain’t touching you, so you can cry rape later.”
I snorted. “Who says I want you to touch me, big man?” It occurred to me that my dream had me fully healed. Both my eyes were open and working. Rising from the bed and trying to ignore my sleeping body, I didn’t feel any aches or pains. It was only as I fully stood, and his gaze dropped to my body, that I recalled I’d gone to bed in only panties and a T-shirt that ended at my crotch.
My turn to snap my fingers. “Eyes here, big boy,” I crooned.
His gaze rose slowly, and his annoyance finally softened. “Maybe I should let you convince me to share my bed.”
“My bed. My dream. My subconscious playing games. Blame the detective for telling me about the ghost.”
“What detective? What have you been telling the cops?” He loomed suddenly, putting me in his shadow. I was impressed by the realism. I could smell him. He reminded me of Irish Spring soap. He also smelled of exhaust, as if he’d just come off a motorcycle.
“Worried about something?” I teased.
“You better not be telling lies to get me in trouble.” His grip on my upper arms was firm, and when he yanked me on tiptoe so he could glare closely at me, our faces were inches apart. I got to see red flecks in his eyes.
“Aren’t you a tough guy. Going to hit me next? Threaten to rape me?” I taunted him without fear. Don’t get me wrong. My heart raced. My blood pounded through my veins, but with awareness. My dream might be a bit fucked up, but I didn’t hate myself. I’d never let myself come to harm.
“I don’t force women.”
“Oh? Yet here you are, manhandling me.”
The grip didn’t loosen but raised me another half-inch—within striking distance of his mouth. “So what if I’m touching you? You’re not made of glass. Do you need to be reminded you are in my house? Sleeping in my bed.”
“Now you sound like Papa Bear.”
“Stop trying to turn this into a joke,” he grumbled.
“Fine, how about we turn this into a sex dream instead? Been a while since I had a good one.” I used my free hands to grab his head and yank him down for a kiss. Caught his inhale of surprise before I firmly mashed my mouth to his. Amazing how I could feel him. For a few seconds at least, before he thrust me from him, barking, “Why do I hear a dog?”
“Woof. Woof.” I blinked awake to find Blade standing on my bed, barking at the doorway to my bedroom. Instantly, I rolled and grabbed my baseball bat, ready to swing into action.
Only no one was there.
The moment I realized it, my dog did, too. With a mighty yawn, Blade lay down and went back to sleep.
As for me?
I pressed my fingers to lips that still tingled and wondered for a second if I’d just kissed Detective Walker’s ghost.
CHAPTER7
It tookme a while to fall back asleep. When I did eventually wake, I found myself in a full-on sweat. Not the menopause kind but rather my heating-blanket-of-a-dog kind.
“Get off me,” I grumbled, giving Blade a shove. He rolled over to his side of the bed—which was three-quarters of it compared to my sliver on the edge—and the furball went back to sleep under the comforter I’d kicked off.
Good morning to me. I ached all over. My body made sure I knew about every single bruise. More than I recalled having the day before. It also served as a reminder that crouching and bending over a motor for more than twelve hours didn’t agree with my forties body. I’d need a gallon of coffee, some Tylenol, Advil, and, hell, maybe even an aspirin. Then, I’d be good to go.
Once I managed to get out of bed.
It happened, eventually, with much groaning. Apparently, enough that my dog opened an eye to check on me. Saw I lived and went back to snoring.
My lips twisted. “I’m fine. Thanks for caring.” I shuffled to the bathroom, a thing of pink, black, and white tile that hadn’t been updated—ever. Honestly, I didn’t see the point as the damned shit had no cracks, and with a bit of grout cleaner, looked good as new. I just ignored the hideous color scheme and pretended I loved living in a retro paradise. Made me wonder about the previous owner and why he’d kept it intact.
A peek in the mirror over the sink showed me looking like something out of an abused women’s pamphlet. Purple cheekbone, the radiating bruise extending outward in green and yellow as well as wrapping around my eye. But in good news, the swelling had gone down enough that I could open it a slit. Not recommended, however, given it immediately teared. Maybe I should get myself an eye patch. Then I could have a cool junkyard nickname like One-Eyed Allie. Or That Pirate Bitch.
Making light didn’t take away from the fact that I wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants today. In positive news, I could pee without any pain and, yay, no blood! Praise be, I had escaped any internal injuries.
