Chapter 19
19
DAX
Okay, maybe that was a dumb thing to say based on the way Fiona looked like she wanted to kill me with her bare hands. Knowing the way she handled a gun, even after a brain tumor, it wouldn’t be a surprise if she had ninja-like skills and could do it with a Vulcan death grip or something.
It was also dumb because Dottie, the mysterious and perky older woman who walked in the house as if she lived here, had a huge smile on her face. The kind that said she liked to see everyone partnered up in love.
As if.
I didn’t even like Fiona, and I was very confident, even after sharing cheesy rice, she hated my guts. Especially when she was riding my dick .
I didn’t do girlfriends and now I gave myself one. I was an idiot, but Fiona made me fucking crazy. From the first time I laid eyes on her in the convenience store, she made me lose my mind.
She had a brain tumor. She worked for the FBI. She wanted to talk with Hannah. All of that told me she wasn’t an emotionless robot. When she let her guard down–and took her panties off–I got a glimpse of a different side of her. One I wanted to see again and again.
If I didn’t stake my claim somehow, she might bolt once more.
“I know you said you were hoping to meet someone…” Dottie looked to Fiona and let her words trail off as she set another covered dish on the counter. I had a strong feeling she was the source of the addictive rice leftovers and whatever was under the foil was going to be equally tasty.
Obviously, I hadn’t been part of that conversation. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of her coming to Coal Springs on vacation to pick up a guy.
Although, that was exactly what she did with me. Practically flung herself at me in the bookstore. I’d barely defended myself from her attentions. Then I’d been left, dick out, on the floor.
“I guess it’s a good thing Scott has his head turned by Cammie Shoemaker,” she added.
I curled my hands into fists at my sides. “Who the hell is Scott?” I snapped.
Fiona leaned a hip against the counter and ignored me. “ I came to town to meet Hannah Highcliff and um, met Dax at the bookstore.”
Yeah, we met, and she’d left me on the floor with my dick out.
And that dick had brought me to her house for more. Besides the fact that she was the fucking FBI.
God, I’d had sex with an FBI agent. Jack would laugh so fucking hard.
Telling Dottie I was Fiona’s boyfriend might have been hazardous to my health, but it meant Fiona wasn’t going to be jumping any other men in stores around town. Like whoever Scott was. It also meant I could stick close to her. Yes, for sex, but anyone who worked for the FBI who came into my sphere, or the sphere of my friends–which meant Jack and Hannah–needed close supervision. Even if it was for the exact reason she said, to meet Hannah because of their shared past illnesses.
I highly, highly doubted Fiona would fake a fucking brain tumor as a way to get close to Hannah for something shady.
One thing I learned from my dad, Big Mike, was that if there was a threat or a danger, you kept an eye on that person. Keep them close. Fiona raised more red flags than a sailor doing semaphore for communication.
But she’d only shared after I broke into her house.
I was sticking to Fiona. A lifetime of not trusting anyone but Jack was exactly what had me telling Dottie I was Fiona’s boyfriend. I didn’t trust her.
Okay, so maybe I’d also dropped that little dating bomb less because of Fiona being a possible threat to Hannah–since she was safely in Hawaii having lots of sex–but because I was obsessed with her. Her sass. Her aloof cat-like attitude. Her magical pussy. I wasn’t done with her. No fucking way.
Dottie eyed me once more. “You’re the man who ran the Happily Ever After earlier. My sister’s hairdresser heard from a client who took a yoga class this afternoon and got an earful. I have to say, you’re more handsome than they mentioned.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “I’m filling in.”
“Yes, Elise had surgery. Aren’t you kind?” She came over, patted my bicep, then gave it a squeeze. “Oh my.”
Flicking my gaze to Fiona, I watched as she bit her lip. It was the second time today I felt like a… a piece of meat.
“Are you friends with Hannah? Such a sweet thing, she is.”
She was sweet, except with Jack. I had a feeling she didn’t let him get away with murder. Literally and figuratively.
“I’m friends with her man Jack. I’m cat sitting while they’re away and Mrs. Metcalf roped me into covering the place.”
“Mrs. Metcalf’s my sister.”
That explained a lot. I had a feeling Dottie could also get people to fall in line the same way as her sister had trapped me. A smile.
She looked to Fiona. “She worked with Hannah at the library.” Then me. “If you’re filling in, aren’t you supposed to be at the store?”
A sly grin spread across her face as she glanced between the two of us.
Her gaze was filled with interest, eagerness, and kindness. Fiona looked murderous, especially when she crossed her arms over her chest.
“I closed early,” I told her. “It’ll be okay for a day, I’m sure.” I wasn’t sure, but it was a bookstore, not an asshole cat who acted like he was starving but was fed this morning. Both Pancake and the store would be fine until morning.
“What is it you do when you’re not working at a romance bookstore?” she asked.
Fiona arched a brow and cocked her head. She seemed to want to know as well.
Not a chance, lady.
“Dottie, what did you bring for us to eat? It smells so good.” I lifted a corner of the foil and peeked beneath. The scent of garlic and zesty spices made my mouth water. “We’ve been finishing off the rice you brought over, and I have to say, it’s the best I ever tasted.” I winked at her.
“They’re my famous burritos. Veggie and bean.” She leaned in and stage whispered. “She’s a vegetarian.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“They’re smothered in green chile sauce,” she added. “Hope you like it spicy.”
I looked directly at Fiona when I responded. “I love it spicy. ”
“Thank you so much for thinking of me, again,” Fiona gushed, taking hold of Dottie’s shoulders and aiming her toward the front door. “I’m sure you don’t want to miss any of your granddaughter’s T-ball game.”
Dottie glanced at her watch. “Ah, yes. I’ve got the orange slices for the seventh inning stretch. Can’t be late or there will be hell.” With a little wave, she scampered out as quickly as she came. “I’ll call you tomorrow about craft night,” she called.
I frowned as the front door closed behind her. “Craft night?”
Fiona shook her head and went to the burritos. “No idea.”
She pulled off the foil. Fuck, they looked good. Little footballs of veggie goodness covered in green chile sauce, melted cheese, chopped tomatoes, and even slivers of green onion.
“What’s this about boyfriend ?” she asked. “Are you insane? That’ll be spread around T-ball faster than head lice.”
I shrugged, not too concerned. “No Scotts for you.”
“I’m not interested in Scott.” The plate of rice–which was almost gone–was abandoned when Fiona grabbed her fork and pulled the dish of burritos toward her.
“Good.” If she wanted dick, I had one. “Who the hell is Scott?”
“Pops’ grandson.”
“Who’s Pops? ”
She cocked her head. “You don’t live here in Coal Springs, do you?”
“No. You really don’t eat meat?”
She shook her head.
I grinned. “You love my meat.”
Her mouth fell open and I wanted those lips wrapped around my dick. Right now. All this arguing made me hard.
“I can’t believe you said that.”
I shrugged, went for the button on my jeans. “It’s the truth.”
She didn’t deny it and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. Her gaze followed my hand. “What are you doing?”
“Round two.”
She wasn’t saying no. She wasn’t shooting me. I took that as consent.
I slid my hand into my loosened jeans, gripped my dick, which was really fucking hard. “You hungry?”
She eyed me up and down, just as Dottie had, but I really liked the interested gleam in her eye. Her gaze also stopped at my hand tucked into my pants. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Like that gun you carry?” she asked, circling back to probing into my life.
“You want to fuck, I’m right here. No Scotts. I’m your fake boyfriend now.”
Dropping the fork, she came around the counter to me. She wanted me more than homemade burritos. That said a lot. Or she was going to kick me in the nuts .
“You know this is fucked up.” She pointed to herself, then to me, her gaze focused squarely on my hand and how I was working myself from root to tip. A bead of pre-cum beaded at the top and I used my thumb to smear it into my skin.
I nodded. “I do.”
She licked her lower lip.
Fuck. More pre-cum.
“I’m not looking for a relationship or a boyfriend, even though the entire town will think that by morning.”
I nodded. “Good. Fake boyfriend works for me. I’m not looking for anything real either,” I countered. I just knew I wanted more with Fiona. More sex. More riling her up. More… just more.
She took a step toward me. “You know I have questions. Like where you’re from. Why you’re here, because you’re the worst bookstore employee ever. How–”
“Sweetheart, I’ve got my hand on my dick that you rode so well earlier and your mind’s all over the place.”
She frowned. “It is not.”
“Your mind’s got more tabs open than a computer.”
She looked steamed, especially when she set her hands on her hips. “May I remind you that you broke into my place?”
“You’re still talking. Get on your knees and I’ll give you something to quiet that mouth and that brain of yours.”
That glare. Fuck, it was hot. Based on the way she gave as good as she got, she wasn’t used to someone arguing with her. Neither was I .
She was wet. She had to be. She was into this… hate fucking as much as me.
She could say no. Could sit right back down and eat a veggie burrito. She didn’t do either.
She was wound tight and seemed to need to be in control of everything. It made sense as an FBI agent. It also made sense if she had a surprise brain tumor.
I’d seen her wind down. A little finger bang and her mind went completely blank. And when she was riding my dick? Fucking perfect.
I wanted that version of Fiona again and I had a feeling I might be the only one to get her that way. And probably the only person she allowed to do so.
She didn’t seem to bend for anyone. Or anything. Even a fucking tumor.
Except me.
We had a stare off. I’d wait her out. This wasn’t a love match. Hell, no. But it was something and it was explosive. Intense.
Standing right before me, our eyes held. Then, holy shit, she lowered herself right down to her fucking knees. It was possible I was going to nut right there in my jeans at the sight of her. It was also possible that she might bite my dick off.
It was a risk I was willing to take.
“That’s my good fucking girl,” I said, stroking her hair.