Dirty (5 page)

“I’m sure you’re right,” I capitulated, tucking away my annoyance and the leverage I’d just gained for later use.
 
“Let’s not keep Mr. Dawson on pins and needles any longer.”

Hobbs hummed his agreement without looking up and didn’t appear to notice how easily I let the subject drop.
 
I’d learned a long time ago that this business required frequent compromise, give and take.
 
If you didn’t have the ammunition you needed, you usually got taken.
 
I preferred to remain armed and ready at all times.
 
Taking was a hell of a lot more fun than giving.

I walked over to my office door, summoned my most professional demeanor, opened it and stepped inside.
 
The future of my agency depended upon my ability to hire a good, solid investigator.
 
As independent as I was, I recognized that it took two to draw in the necessary cash flow.
 
I needed a partner I could count on.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Mr. Dawson.”
 
I strode to my desk and turned to face him.
 
“I’m Jackie Mercer.”
 
I offered my hand as he pushed out of his chair.

His gaze collided with mine and in that instant I froze like a fan who’d just ran headlong into her favorite big screen movie star.
 
To say he caught me by surprise would be like saying Gandhi was a nice guy.
 
Derrick Dawson put the
ooo
in
ooo
la la
.

He smiled—my knees went a little weak—and then he closed his hand around mine.
 
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Mercer.”

I’m forty-five years old.
 
I was married for fifteen years, been divorced for ten.
 
I have a son, probably not much younger than this guy, in college.
 
All of which is precisely why I refused to acknowledge the jolt that went through me as he gave my hand a firm squeeze before letting go.

Forcing myself to analyze rather than fantasize, I’d been right about his height.
 
Six one or two with broad shoulders.
 
The navy Ralph Lauren sports jacket looked good with the faded denim of his jeans.
 
The way that worn soft cotton hugged him had me starting to sweat all over again.
 
A plain white T-shirt that contoured to the terrain beneath and polished leather boots completed the look.
 
All he needed was a hat and a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate and he’d be ready to do a little shit kickin’ at the Ice House on Friday night.

I recovered some measure of my composure and spackled the smile back on my face.
 
“Have a seat, Mr. Dawson.”
 
I started around my desk.

“Most people just call me Dawson,” he said in that deep male voice that sent goosebumps frog leaping one over the other on my skin.

Wrestling aside my foolish adolescent reaction to the guy, I settled into my chair and pretended to review his application.
 
No wonder Hobbs had gotten all giddy.
 
Dawson was an absolute hunk.
 
Killer blue eyes and the kind of chiseled profile that would make a nun hard pressed to stick to her vows.
 
He was actor material all right.
 
Even in his heyday, Brad Pitt had nothing on this guy.
 
I mentally sighed and noted the third strike against my only candidate for the vacancy I needed desperately to fill—too sexy.

“Dawson,” I allowed, cramming all the businesslike tone I could into my voice, “what made you decide to leave New York and your work in homicide there?”
 
I opted not to ask about the acting sideline.
 
Though on second thought, the skill was actually more relevant than one would think in this business.
 
Assuming alternate identities and putting on an act comes second nature to a good PI.
 
I figured I should give him a break on strike two, which left him one last chance.

He shrugged, one of those nonchalant gestures that could mean anything or nothing at all but gorgeous guys like him had down to an exact science.
 
“The truth?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I don’t deal in anything else,” I let him know in no uncertain terms.
 
In fact, there wasn’t a female in Texas who disliked deceit and subterfuge more.
 
Well, unless it’s in the line of duty and I’m the one doing the dirty deed.
 
Whatever it took to get the job done didn’t count.

“I got pissed off at my lieutenant and I decked him.
 
I had two choices, resign or be arrested.
 
And here I am.”

The degree of indifference in his expression spiked my curiosity.
 
Hobbs hadn’t mentioned learning any information along those lines when he checked Dawson’s references.
 
As if he’d read my mind, he said, “In exchange for my resignation the incident was left out of my personnel file, but you asked for the truth.”

To offer a deal like that his superiors must have been eager to be rid of him.
 
I couldn’t help wondering if a bad attitude or a lack of respect for authority hovered just beneath that sexy as hell exterior.
 
“Why did you deck your lieutenant?”

A guard went up in those blue eyes, again prompting my desire to peel away all those delicious outer trappings and find out what made this guy tick.
 
I gave myself a mental shake.
 
I couldn’t recall ever having this much difficulty staying professionally focused.
 
Men were scum, remember?
 
Why was it I seemed to have trouble keeping that fact in front of me when I encountered a particularly handsome one?

“That’s personal,” Dawson replied without a lick of contrition.

I bit the inside of my jaw, glanced over his application again and tried to think of a polite way to tell him to get lost.
 
It wasn’t that I didn’t think people made mistakes; maybe he’d been provoked into punching his superior officer.
 
But he wasn’t being totally up front with me, final strike.
 
Quite honestly I was looking for a more mature investigator anyway.
 
Not some hunky young rebel who could model underwear on billboards in Times Square or have me squirming in my seat in his mere presence.

Bottom line, in my potential partner poll he’d already struck out like last season’s lowest ranked rookie.

Since that reason wasn’t PC, I had to come up with another excuse to brush him off. “Well.” I stood, his open file still in my hands. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Dawson. I’ll call you when I’ve made a decision. I’m considering several applicants.”
 
It was a flat out lie but what was a little fib after what I’d been through today?
 
Surely God would cut me some slack.
 

Dawson braced his hands on the chair arms and pushed up, that carefully shielded, yet analyzing gaze never leaving mine.
 
“I appreciate your time.”

That was easier than I’d anticipated.
 
Incredibly, disappointment at his abrupt surrender trickled through me.
 
Deep down I’d expected more from him.
 
It was the strangest thing.
 
I was definitely off my game today.
 
I felt sure they made drugs for this kind of neurosis.

Halfway to the door Dawson stopped.

I held my breath, part of me wishing he would just keep walking while another part, the foolish swooning female part, waited with bated breath for him to speak.

He turned and walked straight back to my desk without a second’s hesitation. “Look.” Something flashed in his eyes, something very basic, almost desperate. “I know a kiss off when I get one. You’re not going to call.” He lifted a shoulder in another of those sexy, negligible shrugs. “Whatever you think you don’t like about me, know this, I’m a damn good detective.
 
What’s more, I’ve done my research, Ms. Mercer, and you need me.”

His presumptuous disclosure left me speechless long enough to give him the advantage.
 
Before I could tell him that his too cocky attitude was exactly why he was getting a kiss off, he went on with his tirade.

“Your agency has an outstanding reputation but you need two investigators to carry a caseload sufficient for the requisite income.
 
Your downtown office space keeps your budget spread thin, but you need the exposure.
 
You need
me
,” he pressed.
 
“In spite of your
many
applicants.”

He flavored the last with the vaguest hint of sarcasm.
 
I might just kill Hobbs, I decided, regardless of the consequences.
 
He had to have opened his mouth about the lack of response to the help wanted ad.

Dawson flattened those long-fingered hands on my desk and leaned toward me.
 
My heart did one of those ridiculous little flip-flops.
 

“I want the job,” he reiterated just in case I hadn’t gotten that part already.
 
A trace of his aftershave, understated and innately male, caressed my senses, demanded my full attention.
 

I held my ground though every instinct I possessed urged me to take a step back.
 
To some extent I had to respect the guy’s fearless, take-no-prisoners attitude.
 
He was determined.
 
I would give him that.
 
But I knew from experience the other traits that went hand in hand with that one.
 
And there was that itty bitty detail of my bad luck when it came to men this tempting.

Standing in my office looking at Derrick Dawson, I knew without doubt that sex would be inevitable.

“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” I challenged, mentally scrambling for a way to end this now and put us both out of our misery even before it began.

“All I’m asking is that you give me a chance.”

Those blue eyes bored into mine.
 
The mesmerizing lines and angles of that handsome face looked even more fascinating this close.
 
Just something else I shouldn’t have zeroed in on.
 
Hobbs and I were going to have a really long talk about what kind of investigator I had pictured as assuming Hank’s role in the agency.

“You’re in my personal space, Mr. Dawson,” I warned sternly when he didn’t back off, though I felt fairly certain I’d just waved a white flag to his way of thinking.

He straightened, backed off marginally.
 
“Sorry,” he murmured but the word lacked any allusion of repentance.
 
“The Mercer Agency is small but highly respected,” he pressed.
 
“I want this opportunity.
 
If I don’t live up to your expectations, you can let me go.”
 
That relentless gaze dared me to argue that.
 
“You have nothing to lose.”

Despite my best efforts to remain unmoved, I shivered with undeniable awareness of his sex appeal...of his flat out charisma, however schoolgirl silly it might be.
 
This had to be one of those rebound things.
 
Though I couldn’t be sure my most recent involvement with a man, which lasted less than two weeks, counted as an actual relationship from which to rebound.
 
Whatever the case, this was not good.
 
I should be pissed that Dawson had assumed he could get away with blatant flirting.
 
And he’d definitely been flirting.
 
Yet, here I was, waffling about the only reasonable solution to this quandary.
 
I had to send him on his way.

“Why did you leave your birth date off your application?” I demanded, dragging the conversation back into more neutral territory.
 
I hated the way the question came out all husky and slightly breathless instead of PO’d.

One corner of that sexy mouth—I just noticed that dammit—lifted in a wry smile.
 
“Age is irrelevant, don’t you agree?”

Funny thing was, just then, with him looking at me that way and his voice all husky too, I actually did agree.
 
If I hadn’t been so caught up in the heat-inspiring resonance of that voice and the mischievous twinkle in those bedroom eyes I might have gotten annoyed all over again at his nerve.
 
I had no choice but to stage an aggressive coup here to regain some of the ground I’d lost.

“I tell you what, Mr. Dawson–”

“Dawson,” he reminded.

“Dawson,” I acquiesced.
 
This would never in a million years work.
 
This guy was way too self-assured for my taste.
 
Any respect I thought I’d experienced just moments ago for those very traits vanished in a puff of you-know-what-guys-like-him-are-good-for smoke.
 
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
 
He seemed exactly like the deal-making type.

That watchful gaze narrowed.
 
“A test?”

Ah, perceptive too.

“A test,” I confirmed.
 
I had to smile as the idea gained momentum.
 
A real test.
 
The kind that separated the men from the pretty boys—pretty being the operative word here.

Silence throbbed long enough that I considered perhaps I’d called his bluff.
 
Maybe he’d deem the whole idea as too much trouble and walk away.

“All right.”
 
He braced his hands on his lean hips drawing my gaze once more to the way the denim molded to his gorgeous frame.
 
My mouth parched and I cursed myself for the weakness.
 
“Name it,” he said, tossing out his own ultimatum.
 
“I can definitely get juiced for a little friendly competition.”