Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(77)
He turned and extended a hand. “Shall we?”
Penni looked down at his broad palm and long fingers. Both were callused; both were hard. Both had given her pleasure like she’d never experienced before. Of course pleasure was the last thing on her mind when she suddenly realized the importance of what Dan being home really meant. There was no more putting off the inevitable.
Time to face the music, Penni-pie. Her father’s voice sounded through her head.
I know, Dad. Give me the strength…
Swallowing, she placed her hand in Dan’s, and walked toward the metal stairway that led to the second-floor landing. With every step she took, she was reminded again that what happened in the next few hours was going to shape the rest of her life.
Chapter Eighteen
“I’m assuming by ‘dogs,’ Becky meant hot dogs,” Penni said, her delicate hand held tight within Dan’s. He just couldn’t help himself. He felt better when he touched her. Whole somehow. Complete.
Well, that’s scary as hell, isn’t it?
He tried to shake off his sudden unease but didn’t quite manage it. These feelings he had for Penni were equal parts wonderful and frightening. Wonderful because caring for a woman, wanting a woman was a heady, exhilarating experience. And there was the added bonus that when he was with her, he didn’t think about taking a drink. Didn’t need to take a drink.
Frightening because he didn’t know where all this was leading. To bed, for sure. But then what? She hadn’t flown all the way to Cusco just to engage in some bow-chicka-wow-wow. She wanted more from him. He figured she was going to ask for more from him in pretty short order, now that the craziness of the past twenty-four hours was behind them. And the question that kept nagging him was, how would he answer her? He didn’t know if he could give her more. Didn’t know if he wanted to give her more. Because giving her more was…well…frightening. And wonderful.
Fuckin’-A! It was circular logic, and he couldn’t seem to break free of it. Your mind is a dangerous place; don’t go in there alone! The little slogans he’d picked up in AA worked for more than just giving him the occasional boosts he needed to avoid the booze.
“Dan?” Penni asked, pulling him to a stop once they reached the second-floor landing. “Are you okay?”
“Uh, sorry.” He shook his head, realizing he’d been a world away. “What were you asking?”
“I asked if you’re okay?” Her big, brown eyes were filled with sweet concern. Kind eyes. Sweet eyes. Wonderful eyes that I could drown in, wallow in forever. Jesus!
“No. Before that,” he said, avoiding the question. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he was okay, but he sure as shit didn’t want to tell her as much and then have to explain why that should be. Since he’d never lied to Penni, not once, and since he didn’t plan to start now, he figured escape and evasion were the best options.
“Oh, I asked if Becky was talking about hot dogs.”
Okay. Good. A banal topic. He could work with that one.
“Roger that,” he told her, leading her past the long row of closed doors that led to the Knights’ offices on their left. To their right was the huge, open space that housed the big conference table and Ozzie’s myriad computers. The place usually looked like NORAD. Satellite feeds, speakers squawking with positions and updates since inevitably one of the Knights was checking in from some mission or other. And ’80s hair bands booming in the background because Ozzie had wretched taste in music.
Today, however, it looked like little more than what Ozzie and Becky and Boss were hoping to portray: a high-tech custom motorcycle company. Designs for various bikes showed on every computer screen. Schematics for upgraded engines and wiring systems littered the long computer desk. A rebuilt V-twin engine sat on newspaper in the middle of the conference table. Lying beside it were hand tools and a pile of greasy rags.
“Wow,” Penni said, looking around. “This place looks…”
“Different,” Dan finished for her, tugging her toward the conference table where Peanut, BKI’s notch-eared, overweight, sorry-excuse-for-a-mouser sat, crooked tail twitching as he eyed the white cardboard box with the slogan Good Eats, Chicago-Style Treats!
“Hello,” Penni said, scratching Peanut’s ears. At first contact, the cat started his engine, rumbling louder than Heartbreaker, Dan’s custom-made Harley chopper. Peanut closed his yellow eyes in pure feline pleasure. The old tom was like Ozzie in that he adored all women equally and without prejudice. “And who are you, big boy? We didn’t meet when I was here last.”
“That’s Peanut,” Dan told her. “And he’s as useless as he is fat.”
Penni frowned and tsked at him. Turning to Peanut, she used that voice all women whipped out when they were talking to babies or animals. “He didn’t mean it,” she assured the cat. “You’re not fat. You’re just fluffy.”
Dan scoffed before grabbing the box. He looked expectantly at Penni. “Are you ready to experience real heaven?” he asked, making sure his expression was serious enough for the solemn occasion. Three months was a hell of a long time to go without a Downtown Dog.
She blinked at him, her lashes ridiculously long and sooty. He couldn’t wait to see them fanned out against her cheek when she threw her head back and closed her eyes in ecstasy. But first…sustenance. He was going to need his strength in the next few hours. And he did mean hours. Because that’s how long it would take to do all the things to her that he’d been dreaming about. His stomach growled in hungry anticipation of the hot dogs at the same time the moron behind his zipper throbbed in hungry anticipation of finally, finally getting Penni exactly where he wanted her. Beneath him. Beside him. On top of him. Every which way…