But he hadn’t called his agent-in-charge, and she was fairly certain there were no agents en route to slap restraints on her. She might get lucky, and the worst she would have to deal with was a snarling Dawg.
Not that answering her own question in the middle of the night had been easy. Because Crista had known from that first night that Dawg wouldn’t arrest her, and he wouldn’t see her arrested. He knew she wasn’t involved.
So why was she letting him blackmail her?
She had to fight to keep from laying her palm against her abdomen as they drove from the houseboat to the store. That was why she was letting him blackmail her. Because nothing had been finished when she had left Somerset eight years before. But everything had been lost.
Her dreams. The man she had loved for what seemed most of her life. And the child she had carried from that night.
The miscarriage had destroyed something inside her, something she hadn’t been able to recapture after leaving town. And she had never forgotten Dawg: his touch, his kiss, or the pleasure that had filled every cell of her body.
“You’re making me look bad,” he snapped as he jerked the vehicle into park and turned his head to stare at her over the top of the dark glasses he wore. “I never open.”
“You never hire one of your lovers to work here, either.” She shrugged.
“For a woman who was supposed to stay locked in the office, you managed to filter through a lot of gossip.”
“I’m good at that.” She nodded benignly as she opened the truck door and stepped out of the vehicle, leaving him to snarl and curse behind her as she slammed the door closed.
She was moving around the edge of the building when he finally drew up beside her.
“You’re working on a spanking,” he warned her.
Unfortunately, the idea of that shouldn’t have been titillating.
“Am I?” she asked sweetly. “I hear you’re particularly good at that little disciplinary act. Before I left Somerset, all the girls were talking about it.”
She had to force those words past her lips. Just as she’d had to force back the jealousy at the time.
He grunted. An irritated sound of male displeasure.
Crista shrugged. “You and your cousins aren’t exactly good at hiding your lights under a barrel, so to speak,” she told him, casting him a disapproving glare. “Really, Dawg, it’s a little late to worry about gossip.”
She should have known better than to dare him. She really should have.
Before she could do more than gasp, he had pushed her against the chain-link fence and stole her lips in a kiss that had her system rioting with conflicting emotions.
They weren’t on the houseboat, in his bed. They were in full view, and she was very well aware of what he was doing. Marking her as his. As another woman in the very long line of women who had shared his bed.
“Stop, Dawg.” She tore her lips from his, panting with the effort it cost her.
His hands were on her back, holding her against him, the length of his erection pressing into her lower stomach, as his big body seemed to surround her.
“Don’t push me, Crista.” He stared down at her, his light green eyes practically glowing with an anger held closely in check. “I’ve never given a damn about gossip or others’ opinions of me, and I won’
t care about it now. Remember that when you’re twitching that tight little ass around me and trying to convince yourself what a good guy I might really be underneath it all. I’m a son of a bitch, darlin’, and one you really don’t want to cross.”
No, he was one she wanted to soothe, because she could see the pain in his eyes, in the mockery of his expression. She could see it in the anger he was holding back, despite his words.
“Are you going to hurt me, Dawg?” she asked him then, reaching up to touch his jaw before he jerked away from her.
“Get your ass in the store, goddamn it,” he cursed, stepping back and gripping her arm to lead her to the front doors where Layla was unlocking the employees’ entrance.
She cast them a curious glance, her dark hazel eyes concerned as Dawg approached.
“Good morning, Mr. Mackay. Crista,” she greeted them with an attempt at brightness, despite Dawg’s heavy scowl.
“If you can call me Mr. Mackay, then you can call her Miss Jansen,” Dawg told the manager brusquely as Crista sighed behind him.
“Call him Dawg, Layla. Maybe he’ll stop snarling at us because he had to come in so soon.”
Crista tugged at his grip. “And he’s really not dragging me along behind him like a recalcitrant child. I get off on dominance.”
Layla coughed as she turned her back on them quickly, and Dawg stopped and stared back at her in surprise.
She lifted one brow curiously. “What? I wasn’t supposed to tell?”
They both knew she hated being dragged around like a favorite puppy, and she was certain that was exactly why he made a habit of doing it.
Spanked. He mouthed back at her before turning back to Layla.
Crista smiled serenely back at the other woman as she finished unlocking the door.
“Layla, follow us to the office, I want to know what the hell is going on with the lumberyard. I thought Bedsford had a handle on that?”
“He was working out great, Mr…. uhh Dawg,” she stuttered as she relocked the door, then followed behind them. “He’s been with us ever since he was discharged from the service. I don’t know what happened.”
Crista glanced behind her at the manager, winking as Dawg continued to drag her behind him as he mounted the steps to the office.
“When did it start?”
“Last week.” They paused as Dawg dug the key to the office out of his jeans pocket, still holding onto Crista, and inserted it into lock, turned it, then stopped.
“Dawg?” Crista tried to stare around him. “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t lock up last night.” His voice was carefully restrained.
“Of course I locked the office before I left.” Crista frowned. “I know I did.”
“I also checked it before I left Mr., umm, Dawg.” Layla cleared her throat again. “I always check the office doors before I close up at night.”
Dawg stepped back, his keys still hanging in the lock.
“Crista, I want you and Layla to go back out front. Use your cell phone and call Natches. I programmed his and Rowdy’s numbers in last night.”