“We need to meet. Somewhere private without prying eyes. Not your office or your home. Not my place, either.”
Another cold chill gripped Dash. Was Randall trying to get him alone—to add him to the list of those missing?
“Where?”
“I hoped you’d have an idea, Mr. P.I.”
Dash considered a location, one where he’d have some kind of protection if Randall was considering something devious—and the perfect spot came to mind.
Emerson’s boat.
It was private, out of sight, andifRandall was planning something, Emerson would be there to ensure nothing happened to Dash. Wouldn’t he?
There was a problem, though. Emerson had mentioned one of his brothers had learned about the secret boat—he couldn’t remember which one. He thought it was Harrison but wasn’t positive. His mind was usually a steel trap but between the chaotic shock of what they’d done and the aftereffects of pleasure at Emerson’s hands, a few things were a bit hazy. His body tightened at the memory of that pleasure.
Of Emerson’s hands on him.
Lips. Tongue.
Cock.
A shiver went down his spine. “I have a place in mind, but I have to check to see if I can use it.”
Randall pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it over. “I’m off tomorrow night and just had my plans fall through. Can you square it by then?”
“I think I can,” Dash said, taking the card.
“Call me once you know for sure.”
Dash nodded. “Will do.”
He watched as Randall walked off and waited a full minute before coming out from behind the stairs to cover that they’d been back there alone. As he walked out, he considered how in the world he’d sweet talk Emerson into letting Randall come to the boat.
There was one obvious way, of course. One he’d said they couldn’t do anymore.
Had his mind landed on the boat just to give him an excuse to lay under Emerson one more time?
17
After Dash peeked in for a requisite greeting to his father—promising he’d come for supper soon—he picked up dinnerandhis car. A little over an hour later, Dash sat alone on the deck of Emerson’s boat, stargazing. As the minutes ticked by, the food in the bag at his feet grew colder. The night grew darker, and chillier, especially there on the water. He pulled his arms around himself, trying to stay warm. Worry grew that Emerson was out for the night.
Out with who, though?
Had he been a fool to think he’d been special last night? What if Emerson brought another man home with him—and Dash was sitting there like an idiot when they walked up? Doubt ricocheted inside his head, and the urge to escape deepened. He should’ve called first, but he’d opted for a sneak attack. Emerson wasn’t going to be a fan of using his boat, so Dash expected he’d need to use persuasion. A surprise, even a mild one, sometimes made a man more susceptible to saying yes. If that hadn’t worked, there was always seduction.
What am I doing here? I was the one who said last night was the end.
Dash had suspected his ability to uphold that decision was going to be challenged, but the fuck if he’d expected to come running like an obsessed man.
He shouldn’t have come. He should’ve called Mason and had his actual fuckingpartnerhelp him find a safe space and back him up. Where the hell was his head at? He barely knew Emerson. One night together didn’t amount to anything.
He needed to stop thinking with his dick.
Dash rose and crossed the deck seconds before he heard footsteps coming down the pier. He backed up a bit, hiding in the shadows, waiting to see who was approaching. Dash tensed when someone strolled closer. Whoever it was hopped onboard before finally stepping into the spread of the security light fixed above the door leading below deck.
He released the breath he’d been holding, seeing it was Emerson.
Emerson spun and lifted his fists, squaring off in Dash’s direction. “Who’s there?”
