Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(33)

Circling all the pretty little plantings and meandering paths was a six-foot wood fence. The gates, front and back, were padlocked at the latch with the same heavy Master locks. Still, a fence like this wouldn’t be tough to jump for someone with enough interest in getting on the other side. It was difficult to make residential yards secure.

Then he noticed that, except for the property line she shared with her neighbor, where a row of fragrant, flowering bushes nearly as tall as the fence provided a decent obstacle, Willa had planted decorative shrubs with nasty, inch-long thorns. Rad discovered that the hard way. Also a decent obstacle.

Sucking the blood from his thumb, he continued his survey, coming upon Ollie tugging on a knot of heavy cotton rope that was attached to a chain hanging from a thick metal pole, like the tetherball setups on the playground of his grade school. He smiled. She’d fixed it so her dog could play tug-of-war with himself, whenever he wanted.

This little area was set up like a doggie playground—the tug-of-war pole, a plastic tube he could run through, a jump, and to the side, a heavy plastic chest that Rad assumed held toys.

Rad had grown up with dogs. He loved animals of all kinds but knew dogs to be the best damn creatures on the planet. They were loyal and protective and just…easy. Uncomplicated. All they wanted was someone of their own, and when they had that person, they’d go through fire for him. Or her.

He understood that impulse.

Willa had said last night that animals were great judges of character, and Rad believed it to be true. She’d said it when Ollie had been willing to accept Rad in the house. But he saw Ollie’s perfect, wholehearted devotion to her and knew she was worth his own as well.

Maybe he and ol’ Ollie here had both found the same somebody. It was sure starting to feel that way.

Ollie had the chain wrapped around the pole, shortening it so that his front paws came off the ground as he yanked on the rope. He was wholly focused on his task; beyond briefly rolling his eyes Rad’s way, he hadn’t paid him much mind.

Curious, Rad tried something. Knowing better than to put his hands on that rope while Ollie was on it, he crouched close by and said, in a firm voice without threat, “Ollie, off.”

The dog stilled, black eyes on Rad, but didn’t let go.

“Off,” he said, more firmly.

Ollie growled, a deep rumble in his chest. He didn’t snarl, though, and Rad understood it as a test.

“Off.”

Another growl. Rad hunkered down a bit more and leaned in just slightly, his eyes steady on the dog’s. “Off.”

Ollie let go. He dropped his head, keeping his eyes on Rad.

“Good boy.” Rad held out his hand but didn’t try to touch him. Ollie came the rest of the way, butting his head into Rad’s palm. With that, Rad relaxed and gave the dog a rough, tousling hug. “Good buddy. You take care of your ma just fine, dontcha?”

He got a slobbery lick for an answer. Damn, what a dog—and now they were friends.

When they got back into the kitchen, Rad noticed that Ollie’s water bowl—a big metal thing in a stand with his food bowl—was empty. He filled it and, seeing a canister of Milk-Bones on the counter, tossed one Ollie’s way. The dog had sat neatly as soon as Rad had lifted the lid from the canister, and he caught it with a snap of those powerful jaws.

Ollie made a slobbery mess of his biscuit and then went to inhale his water. Rad walked into the front rooms of the house, expecting to find Willa on the sofa. She wasn’t there, but when he widened his attention, he heard running water. Her shower.

A brilliant image of Willa, naked and gleaming wet, her hair slicked back, her hands smoothing silky soap over her skin, burned itself into his brain, and his cock bounced and stretched. He didn’t even know what she looked like naked, but his hands had briefly held the firm, satiny skin of her thigh, her hip, his lips had tasted her neck, her mouth, and his need had filled in all the details.

He followed the sound of the water, turning into a short hallway. A narrow flight of stairs led steeply upward. On this level were four doors. Two were closed, and Rad guessed them for closets. The door at the back was open, the room beyond it lit with a dim, rosy glow. Rad saw a chest of drawers and guessed that to be her bedroom.

The other door was obviously her bathroom. That door was open as well, sharing bright light with the hallway.

Rad considered that open door.

Willa had asked him in again, this time expressly to get raunchy together. And that open door seemed like an invitation to do so.

He was not a man who asked for permission. He didn’t force himself, but he went for what he wanted, and the woman had to tell him no to back him off. At any other time, with any other woman, he’d be naked already and stepping into that shower.

But, as far as he knew, he’d never been with a woman who’d been raped—certainly not one who’d told him as much. He didn’t even know if she’d had sex since then. She’d had to, right? Smithers had raped her eight years ago. Or had he raped her again five years ago? She hadn’t been as specific about that attack. But she was a gorgeous, strong, desirable woman. She’d been forward with him about what she wanted, and they’d known each other less than two days. She couldn’t possibly have been celibate all these years. Right?

His doubt on the point, and the protective fury that caught fire in his gut when he thought about what she’d told him, locked his legs in an unfamiliar hesitation. He stood just beyond the doorway, feeling the kiss of steam from her hot shower, trapped in a tempestuous limbo between the wild need to have her in his arms and the fiery need to protect her.