Crista watched Dawg as they finished the office arrangement, going through files, searching for a reason why his office had been breached.
He was silent, angry. Determination sharpened the lines and angles of his face, giving him a warrior
’s appearance, a savage aura that turned her on more than it had a right to. He made quick work of hefting the furniture and sliding it into place as Crista cleaned. He helped go through files, helped pack them to the new cabinets and load them, his celadon eyes sharp and intent as he went over every inch of the office to track anything that had been bothered or searched.
As he moved, the sunlight spearing through the wide office windows on the other side of the room worshipped his raven black hair and sun-kissed flesh. It slid over his broad shoulders and emphasized his muscular arms as the short sleeves of his black T-shirt stretched over them.
Jeans molded to his powerful h*ps and thighs, and those boots he wore made his legs even sexier.
Not to mention how the denim of his jeans lovingly cupped his muscular ass.
He was enough to steal a girl’s breath, and Crista admitted to having a lot of breathless moments.
And perhaps she had been wrong before when she thought he hadn’t matured from the self-centered determination he had possessed in those days.
Dawg had changed over the years after all. He was harder. Still just as sexy, but more dangerous than he had been before he joined the Marines and definitely more mature.
He had proven that today. Crista had watched as he moved through the office after the sheriff’s men had finished dusting for prints, and the state police had finished their questions.
They could find nothing moved, nothing bothered. The only proof there was that there might have been a break-in was the suspected tampering with the security cameras and the lock on the office door.
And Crista felt sorry for the culprit, because Dawg looked mad enough to draw blood hours later.
He had sent the employees home after the police left and locked up behind Layla before leading Crista back into the office.
She stared at him from the other end of the large room as she straightened the lamp on the table by the couch and he stored the last of the files. His eyes were narrowed, his expression brooding as he turned to her.
“Do you realize you just destroyed years of deliberate chaos?” Dawg asked as the last of the files were stored away and she gave the furniture a final buffing with the polish she used. Everything gleamed, even the hardwood floor beneath their feet.
She turned and looked around, realizing how large the office was. There was plenty of room for the other file cabinets she wanted as well as the extra desk Dawg had ordered one of the stock floor boys to put together for her in the morning. A nice miniature version of the huge walnut desk he was using himself.
Deliberate chaos he called it. A slap at the father that would have taken even this from him, if he could have managed to do it without looking like the monster he had been.
“Chaos doesn’t beat success.” She shrugged. “Organization can raise productivity and profits. The way it is, the chain lumber stores are still running ahead of you in profits and customers. We want to pull those customers to Mackay’s.”
He leaned against the file cabinet and regarded her quizzically. “It makes enough money. Even with the court battle Johnny and his mother waged against me those first years, I came out of it a very rich man, Crista.”
“And that’s enough for you?” She knew Dawg better than that.
“It’s more than most have.” That irritable frown was on his face again, the one that encouraged the person he was talking to, to go straight to hell.
Crista shook her head. “It’s not enough for you, Dawg.”
“Says who?” He threw himself in the large leather chair behind his desk and stared back at her broodingly.
Crista rolled her eyes as she stored the polish and rag in the bottom drawer of one of the file cabinets before straightening to face him.
The look on his face was sexy and scary at the same time. Intent, brooding, dominant, and aroused.
“Stop being an ass,” she chided him. “You know you love this store. You pretend you don’t. You want people to think you don’t. But I know better.”
He folded his fingers together over his tight abs as he leaned back and let his gaze rake over her.
“And how do you know so much about me?” he drawled with a hint of anger. “It’s not like you try to get close to me.”
And there he was wrong. Even in the past year, Crista had soaked up every hint of gossip she could about him. She had watched him, let others talk about him, and found herself looking for excuses to be in places where she knew he would be.
She knew the lawsuit that his aunt had brought against him just after he joined the Marines had ignited a fury of controversy through the town at the time.
All the cousins—Rowdy, Natches, and Dawg—had been in the service, leaving no one in Somerset to protect his interests other than his uncle Ray. Ray Mackay had held that front line like a bulldog holding onto a bone, though.
He had hired the best lawyers, paid them himself, and kept Dawg apprised of each step of the battle. He had managed to get court dates delayed until Dawg had leave, and had stood beside his nephew, against his sister, and shed a tear on the stand as he related the times he had been forced to protect Dawg as a young boy from the father who would have abused him.
Dawg’s bitterness went clear to his childhood, and it had created a man who, even at twenty-four, had been hard and shadowed with distrust. Four years in the Marines and four years working for whatever government agency he was a part of hadn’t helped.
“Getting close to you would have been hard, Dawg,” she finally answered him. “Your groupies stood layers deep and jealously hoarded that hard body of yours.”
It wasn’t far from the truth.
“Or you were just too scared to take what I was offering.” He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the desk as he stared back tauntingly.
And maybe he was right there, too.
Crista shrugged. “I was young. Ages younger than you in experience.”
“But not anymore, are you, Crista? Seven years in bed with two lovers at the same time? Your experience definitely matches mine now, wouldn’t you say?”
Crista felt her heart pause, then race viciously in her chest. She didn’t want this conversation with him now.
“My life after I left Somerset is none of your business, Dawg,” she finally said, aware of the defensive sound of her own voice. “I’ve already explained the distinction to you.”