Chapter 10
Mallory
“Who does this?”
I can tell from his reaction that Dash expects me to say something different. And maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m standing here with one hand over my heart like he scared me to death. Not so far from the truth.
When I heard a knock on my door, my stomach sank because I figured it might be Felix. The guy can’t take a hint—or a direct instruction, apparently.
When I fling the door open, ready to tell him to take a hike, I find a shocked-looking Dashiell Corbett who takes two steps back and nearly falls off my porch.
“If looks could kill…” he mutters, eyeing me warily.
“At least you know how to take a hint. More than I can say for my ex.”
Dash’s expression changes on a dime. Now he looks focused and territorial, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders as if readying for a fight. “He here?”
“No.”
“But he’s been bothering you after we had words the other night?”
I shake my head. “No, but I thought maybe you were him.”
Dash’s shoulders drop, and he lets out a long breath. “Oh. Well, I’m not.” He puts a hand on one of the painted posts that hold up the roof over my porch and leans against it casually. I wait for him to tell me why he’s here. Instead, his eyes trace me from head to toe and land back on my face.
“I can see that now,” I say.
“Glad you can tell the difference. And even more glad that he isn’t bothering you.” Dash’s gaze makes another trip over my form, and I feel it like he’s using his hands, not just his eyes. Weird. That’s never happened before.
Granted, I came to the door in a pink yoga bra and tights because the abrupt knock at six in the evening caught me in the middle of an online yoga class I do almost every night. There’s a yoga studio in town, but I never go. This works better for my schedule.
But now I’m regretting not throwing a sweatshirt over my top. It’s not because I dislike Dash looking at me. It’s because I do like it.
I need to stay objective about him, so I push the feelings away and cross my arms over my chest. “How can I help you?”
A slow smile spreads over Dash’s face as though I’ve just offered to give him a briefcase full of money and a blow job on my porch. “You can tell me when our date is. I’d like to put it in my calendar.”
“That’s why you came over here? There’s this thing called the cell phone. You can make calls on it and even text.” The irony hits me. “Oh right, I forgot you don’t know how to do that.”
“When are you going to let me off the hook for that?” The smile hasn’t dimmed and it’s distracting me.
“Never.”
“Even if I beg?”
The idea of that sends a shot of lust straight to my core.
“When you beg,” I correct.
“What makes you so sure I will?” His smirk tells me he definitely will.
“One of my superpowers.”
A dimple pops, and his smile tells me he’s not put off by my sass, and it’s refreshing. It makes me feel like I can peel back one more layer of the mask I normally wear. Part of me hates that he’s making me trust him. Trusting people hasn’t turned out well for me in the past. It makes me weak, which in turn leads to poor decision-making. I can’t have that, especially when my future business interests are at stake.
“Please, Mallory. Please allow me to take you out,” he begins. “I hope to learn about some of your other superpowers.”
“You’re bargaining now? I wasn’t offering anything up in exchange for dinner, just so we’re clear.”
“Oh we’re clear.” The smirk edges into dangerously sexy territory, and I wish it didn’t make my veins thrum. “Only thing that isn’t clear is the time and date. Can we settle on that, please?”
“You’re polite, at least.”
“I wasn’t raised in a barn,” he says. I laugh because I’ve seen the big brown barn that once housed the entire Corbett family, and he absolutely was raised in it, but I don’t bother to correct him.
Rufus comes bounding outside and gives Dash one throwaway bark before going to investigate a bush.
“That’s Rufus. Thinks he’s a lapdog.”
“Don’t change the subject. Our date,” he insists.
“Fine. When do you want to go?”
“Tonight.”
His quick response makes me laugh again. Twice in under a minute? That doesn’t happen unless I’m watching stand-up comedy and even then, it’s rare. What is it with this guy? How does he keep getting past my defenses?
“Not tonight,” I tell him, unsure whether he was serious anyway.
“Why not?”
“It’s already tonight. If we were going out tonight, we’d have needed to plan it before right now.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Oh, really? Is that a universal rule of dinner dates, or do you just make this shit up on the spot? What kind of advanced planning is required?”
“I’m fairly certain it’s a rule. There should be some planning. Or at least a shower.” I indicate my workout attire, and he looks me over with wolfish glee.
“Shower. Noted.” He grins. “Blow dryer too?”
“Stop,” I demand, even though I don’t really want him to stop. The way he makes my body hum with desire is not something I’m quick to part with, but I don’t want him to sense how much he affects me. I realize I do need some planning before I go anywhere with him so I can lock these urges down tight beforehand.
Sneaking a look at his still-smug grin, I puzzle over how this man—or any man—could stir this reaction from me. I should have the upper hand in this conversation. I should be able to tell him exactly when and where he can put his swagger and leave him feeling extremely grateful when I do agree to a date in the distant future.
Instead, I find myself wanting to jump in his car and take him up on his offer.
Dangerous territory. I need to stay in control because any interaction I have with Dash needs to be about business. Eyes on the prize.
The other prize.
“Fine. Tonight. But give me an hour.” I tilt my head and take him in, liking what I see. “Girl’s gotta make herself pretty if she’s going out to dinner.”
He shakes his head. “Honey, you don’t need to do a thing where that’s concerned.” My heart flutters at his endearment even though I know it doesn’t mean anything. “When we’re talking pretty, you don’t just rewrite the rules, you are the rules.”
My stomach bottoms out and I feel a hot blush flood my face. I will not survive dinner with this man if he keeps saying things like that, and the idea should unnerve me. Instead, it lights me up.
As he slowly turns away, his eyes stay locked on me, lingering, flaming the surface of my skin. It’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. An orgasm wrapped in satin and sealed with a hot kiss.
I turn back toward my house because my heart has just rammed into my throat and my blood’s turned to lava.
Flirting with Dashiell Corbett is the most dangerous game I’ve ever played. I should stop right now. Or I should sashay into my house to get ready for dinner.