Fight For Me (3 page)

~*~

Cassidy scrambled to her
home office and collapsed into her chair. She'd almost blurted that
she most certainly needed him to be doing something else—her! She
smacked herself in the forehead. She had to stop this.
S
he wanted to take him apart and put him
back together again, she wanted to find out what made up this dark,
brooding man who could melt her with a look. It wasn't her place to
figure him out, or jump him, or do anything but help him recover.
She needed to get him well, get him out of her house, get him back
home to the other side of Aylesford in the woods.

S
he balanced her head in
her hands. God, what had possessed her to bring him home with her?
She was slowly going insane with sexual frustration with him under
her roof day and night, existing in all his muscled gorgeousness.
She knew he would be happy to help her work out her frustrations
and that made it worse. He wanted her, he'd proven that—he'd kissed
the living hell out of her—and all she had to do was ask for it.
She closed the door on that thought. No. She wasn't going down that
road. Therapy, physical therapy, that was the only thing physical
she was doing with him.

A
n old Olivia Newton John
song popped in her head and she laughed at herself. No, she swore
she wasn't getting physical with him, not in reality, at least. In
her dreams she could do anything, and he wasn't in pain. She held
back a moan at the thoughts tumbling through her mind. Good Lord,
how was she going to handle this for another month or more? She had
given her word and offered her home, and she was a woman of her
word. She just hoped that word wouldn't kill her.

~
*~

“
You're doing well, Mr.
Black. A little more.” She put him through a series of exercises
meant to tone and elongate the muscles. “Just one more, sir, and
then you're done,” the small woman coaxed.

“
Call me Dylan. I figure
if you can torture me three times a week, you should call me by
name,” he said through a thready laugh.

H
aleigh Carlisle looked
up, almost meeting his eyes with her dark blue ones. “It's not
torture, Mr... Dylan.” She looked away, a blush creeping up her
pale throat. “It's therapy.”

T
here was that word again.
“Let's call it anything beside therapy. I'm not tellin' you my
innermost thoughts here, and it hurts like a,” he stopped himself
from saying what he wanted to, instead letting the sentence hang
awkwardly.

H
aleigh gave him a small
smile. “It's supposed to hurt. We just need to teach your arm how
to work correctly again.”

I
f only it were that easy.
He needed to get back into fighting shape in order to protect
Cassidy, and he knew he would have to protect Cassidy. “Doctor
Everett said six weeks of PT?”

S
he nodded, her ponytail
flopping with the movement. “Yes, sir.”

T
his woman was the most
demure little thing he'd ever encountered. “Do you think it will
take that long?”

H
er blonde tail flew as
she shook her head. “No, sir.”

O
kay then. “Enough with
the yes sir, no sir, Haleigh,” he said quietly and watched her eyes
widen and her cheeks pale. “It's just Dylan, or yes and
no.”

“
Yes, sir. I mean,
yes.”

S
atisfied for the moment,
he asked again, “How long until I am able to, say, write? Or
correctly use a fork?” Or a gun? he added silently.

“
I expect it to be at
least three weeks, maybe four.” She looked at the floor, never
meeting his eyes. “It could take the full six weeks, it depends on
how well your therapy,” she noticed she said the wrong word and
shot a glance at Dylan before stumbling over the rest of her
sentence, “I mean, your PT goes.”

“
Haleigh, look at me,”
Dylan commanded. She lifted her face, her eyes focusing on his left
cheekbone. “Does he hurt you?”

A
practiced look swept her
face. “Who?”

“
Your boyfriend? Your
husband? Your father?”

S
he dropped her gaze to
the tiled floor. “Not anymore.”

“
I will not hurt you,” he
promised. “Even when you put me through torture three times a
week.”

“
I know,” she
acknowledged. “You're a hero.”

“
I'm just a man.” He
paused, waited for her to look at him again. “Anyone who hurts
women is not a man. Remember that.”

“
I know.”

“
Believe it, Haleigh
Carlisle.”

~
*~

“
Detective Davis offered
personal police protection,” Cassidy told Dylan over pizza. She had
opted for hand held fare after last night's attempt at casserole
ended with a frustrated Dylan and a very dirty table. She hoped he
and silverware would get along sooner than later—a woman could only
eat so many sandwiches, pizzas, and chicken before needing a new
wardrobe.

“
Refuse it,” Dylan
growled.

S
he already had, but was
interested in his hostility. “Why?”

“
I don't trust that man as
far as I can throw him. He is not
watchin'
over you.”

W
ell, then. “Proprietary
much?”

“
I protect what's mine,”
he stated plainly.

What was his? She wasn't his, no matter how
often she thought about it. S
he ran her gaze over
his long, tough body. He was gaining mobility in his right arm, but
she doubted he could pull the trigger and hit what he meant.
“Dylan,” she started, cut off by another low growl.

“
I can protect you better
with this half-workin' body that that bastard can fully
functional.” He took a sip of water. “How do you know he wasn't the
one who blew up your precious Blue, anyway?”

S
he scrunched up her face.
Why would Brandon Davis blow up her car? “He's a
detective.”

He gave her an “and this matters how?” look.
“The other cops on your brother's case don't
trust him. Chris thinks he's crooked as a dog's hind
leg.”

S
he shook her head.
“Crooked as a dog's hind leg? Where are you from?”

“
Up the road,” he answered
vaguely. “Admit it, you know he can't protect you.”

“
I don't know that.” She
shifted to place her glass on the table, faced him fully. “How do
you know that?”

“
I wasn't always asleep in
my hospital bed, and I have excellent listenin' skills.”

“
What about off-hand
weapon skills?” she tossed at him.

“
That too,” he agreed with
a slight nod.

S
he sighed. “Fine. I
already declined. He gave me a hard time about it, and I was sure
I'd done the right thing.”

“
Then why?” he
asked.

S
he stood. She needed
distance between them before she said this. “There's a pull between
us, and I don't know what to do with it.”

H
e carefully moved to
stretch his legs out on the couch fully, propping his body in the
corner. “You know my answer,” he finally said.

H
e'd said he wasn't
looking for casual, but what else was there? “After you're healed,
you'll go home.”

“
Cassie, I live less than
an hour away. You know this, you've been there. Twice.”

“
I'm not built for
relationships,” she whispered, turning to face the window. “I get
too caught up in my work, ignore my partner. Before I know it, he's
cheating and I barely care because I wasn't really invested
anyway.”

“I don't cheat,” he stated plainly, the
authority of his declaration ringing true. A few beats passed with
no words spoken before he asked, “If
you don't do
casual, and you don't do relationships, what do you do,
Cassie?”

Good question. What
did
she do? F
inally, she answered
him, telling the unvarnished and unhappy truth.
“Nothing.”

“
Come here,” he commanded
gently.

“
I'm afraid to come over
there,” she admitted. If she went over there, it meant she accepted
whatever was between them, conceding defeat, her body winning over
her head. She stayed where she was.

“
Just come here. I won't
hurt you.” He blew out a breath and she knew she was frustrating
the hell out of him.
She stifled her own
sigh; she was frustrating herself, too. Maybe he was different,
maybe he was worth fighting for, but she wouldn't know until she
took a chance. “Promise?”

H
e held out his left hand.
“I will do my absolute best never to hurt you.”

She'd never had anyone promise that.
S
he took the few steps to grasp his hand in hers.
“Thank you.”

“
Now, let's watch the
movie,” he said as he pulled her into his lap.

S
he was sitting on his
hard thighs, the heat of him seeping through her jeans, his spicy
scent filling her nose, and he nonchalantly spoke about a movie
that had completely slipped her mind. “What?”

“
Aren't we supposed to be
watchin' a movie?”

H
e wasn't even going to
try anything? She wasn't sure if she was insulted or elated, so she
went with ignoring it. “Let's watch the movie, then.”

~
*~

S
unlight poured through
the window the following morning, piercing Dylan's eyelids.
Normally he would be out running before the sun was up like this,
but that was before. This morning was interesting because there was
a soft, beautiful woman across his lap, her head pillowed against
his chest, her hand dangerously close to his morning wood. “Cassie,
honey, you need to move,” he whispered against her ear. She moved,
but not how he'd meant. Now she was practically straddling him, and
while his brain was telling him to be a gentleman, his body had
other plans. He felt her come awake and held his breath, his heart
beating wildly in his chest.

“
Dylan?” she questioned
very quietly.

H
e clenched his jaw and
left fist. He'd promised not to hurt her, and not to rush things.
“I'm going to stay still while you climb off,” he
instructed.

“
What if I want to stay
where I am?”

“
Don't mess with me,
woman. If you don't climb down right now, I am not responsible for
my actions,” he warned.

S
he was moving, but not to
get off. He held back a laugh at his thought. Getting off was
exactly her aim, rubbing her mound against the hard ridge of his
cock. He'd never wanted to be inside a woman more than he did right
now, but he let her take the lead. He would be patient if it killed
him.

S
he shifted her hips,
curling her right hand over his left shoulder as she increased the
pace, her breath coming in fast pants. It didn't take long before
she arched her back, her breasts pointing skyward when she broke,
his name on her lips.

H
er chocolate eyes were
still full of lust, but something else showed in them as well. She
swallowed. “Are you okay?”

“
I'm fine, Cassie,” he
gritted.
He was hurting—all over—but he'd
suffer through it again and again to see the bliss on her face when
she'd shattered.
He would be fine,
eventually. He closed his eyes. He needed to bury himself inside
her, make love to her, but was ceding her control even if it killed
him.

S
he tilted her head, and
he knew she had not only caught his lie, but the real meaning
behind it. “I can help with that,” she promised as she made her way
off his lap.

He didn't doubt that for a minute, but he
still managed to say, “
You don't have
to.”

“
Oh, but I want to,” she
promised as she perched herself on the coffee table.

“
Are you sure, Cassie?” he
asked. Her face went from sex kitten to Doubting Thomas in a flash,
a line forming between her brows, and he knew her mind had taken
her out of the moment. He shot her a look. “You think too much,
Cassie.”

“
And you think too
little.” She stalked away from him. “Who jumps in front of
bullets?”

T
hey were having this
conversation now? “I'm glad I did.”

S
he tossed her hands up.
“I know. I am too, but that's not the point. I'm glad you saved my
brother, but it wasn't the smartest thing to do.”

N
ow she was questioning
his intelligence? Not two minutes ago, she'd been ready to suck him
off, and now she was calling him an idiot? “So, if I were smart,
I'd stay locked up in a house somewhere?” He shifted in his seat.
“I did what was necessary to save your brother.” He pinned her with
a glare. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

“
I know. You'd also do it
for a stranger.” She spun away from him, her hair swinging behind
her. “We're different, Dylan.”

Why was that a problem? “
I
like different.”

S
he turned around and made
her way to him, her expression once again seductive, belying
nothing of her earlier outburst. “Different,” she said again as she
arranged herself between the coffee table and the couch. Eying the
thick erection encased in his jeans, she whispered, “I don't want
to talk anymore.”