Simon Says (16 page)

Now that they were alone, her bottom lip trembled. She immediately firmed it. “I already told you. I didn't see anyone.”

Her shaky voice tore at his heart. “I know you didn't.”

Her makeup was ruined, her hair tangled, and she looked as if she'd gone the distance with a heavyweight and lost. But still, she cleared her throat and made her voice strong. “Right. So how do you expect me to—”

Simon brushed her hair away from her face. “You still have a good idea who it is, don't you, honey?”

She didn't deny it.

“Dakota?”

As if her bold façade had worn thin, she rested her forehead on his shoulder. “You know, I pretty much hate it when people call me honey, but all of you do it.”

“All of us?”

“You and Haggerty and Mallet.”

“I'll tell Mallet to knock it off.” Her husky and warm laugh teased Simon's senses. He breathed in her scent, felt her heart beating against his chest, and said again, “Come home with me. Please.”

“Yeah, all right.” She lifted her face and sighed. “But just for tonight, and only because I want to get to know you better, too.”

Not understanding himself or what he wanted, Simon accepted her stipulation of one night only. But tomorrow he'd reevaluate the situation. “Let's go.”

W
RAPPED
in Simon's jacket, riding on heated seats in his SUV, Dakota finally felt warm. Even the ice bag on her thigh didn't cause her a chill. There was no one staring at her with doubt and pity. The evening was quiet, the streets mostly deserted. She no longer shook.

She almost felt safe.

But then, out of nowhere, her muscles would clench again at the awful sensation of being jabbed in her back. She'd see those hard steps coming up at her face, feel the helplessness of falling and falling, and fear burned in her veins.

She couldn't stop thinking of it. As she'd tumbled, there'd been no recognition of pain. Numbness had taken over. When she crashed at the bottom of the stairway, she didn't know if she was hurt bad or not. The echo of her scream assaulted her eardrums, making it impossible for her to hear anything else.

One thought had gripped her: Was her assailant still behind her?

Would she feel the blade of a knife? Would her clothes be torn away?

Or would this time be
worse
?

For long seconds after the assault, she couldn't open her eyes, didn't dare look for fear of what—or who—she'd see standing there. Then Haggerty had charged in and shouted her name and—

“Dakota.” Simon reached across the seat, taking her hand and pulling her from her black thoughts. “Try to put it out of your mind for now.”

“Easier said than done.” Dakota gladly laced her fingers through his. He was so warm and alive, strong and gentle. His touch helped to calm her racing heart.

Nothing and no one would ever scare Simon. He was a rock.

And she wasn't. “I hate being such a coward.”

Simon glanced at her. “You're not.”

It hurt her throat to laugh. “Nah, of course not.” She held out her free hand, showing Simon the slight tremors that still haunted her. “I feel sick.”

“Do you need to throw up?”

His look of alarm would have amused her under different circumstances. “Not that type of sick.” Sick at heart. Sick down to her soul.

When she'd first felt someone watching her, she should have taken it as a warning, instead of writing it off as nothing. She knew better, damn it.

She eased her hand away from him. “I shouldn't be imposing on you.”

“I feel better having you with me.”

Because he was such a good man. Dakota stared out the darkened window, disliking herself immensely. “I've done too much of that already.”

His voice edged with anger, Simon asked, “What exactly does that mean?”

Self-pity made her maudlin. It was unforgivable. She'd changed. She wasn't a selfish person, not anymore. It was past time she remembered that. “I've hounded you to do things you don't want to do. I've tried to use you to get what I want. I apologize for that.”

He steered his car into the motel where she stayed. “We have a lot of talking to do. Let's just wait until you're comfortable, okay?”

Dakota looked around the lot in confusion. “Changed your mind about spending the night with me, huh?”

“No. And without debating it, we both know it'll probably be for more than one night. So why keep paying for this room when you won't be using it?”

More than one night? He must be a glutton for punishment. “I think we need to debate it.”

He sighed.

“Come on, Simon, I can't just throw myself on your doorstep because of a few bruises.”

“You met Roger. Well, the bar isn't the only place in Harmony that he owns. He has a nicer motel. It wasn't always, but after Dean had some problems there, Roger put in better lighting and better security. If you decide to go back to a motel, go to his.”

That sounded reasonable enough to agree. “Not a bad idea.”

“This place isn't the best. You know that.”

“It's a dive—but it's cheap.”

“Is money an issue for you?”

She grinned. “Not yet.” But it would be soon.

“All right, then. Cheap or not, after what happened tonight, don't you think it'd be a good idea to move out of here?”

If the push down the stairs hadn't rattled her so badly, she'd have thought of it herself. “Yeah, I do.” She started to open her door, but Simon told her to wait.

Like a true gentleman, he came around and opened the door for her, then stayed close, holding her hand while they went inside to gather her few belongings.

When Dakota flipped on the light, Simon looked at her room with curiosity. Her satchel, overflowing with snacks, rested on the dresser. The empty shopping bag, evidence of her impromptu trip to the mall for a party dress and shoes, lay crumpled on the bed next to her open suitcase. Her thermos stood on the nightstand, her boots on the floor.

“You didn't bring much with you, did you?”

“I didn't expect to be here long.”

Hands on his hips, Simon stared at her. “I disappointed you by not agreeing right away to see Barnaby.”

She'd disappointed herself more by asking. “Forget it. Far as I'm concerned, Barnaby is one topic we should kill, bury, and never mention again.”

Her vehemence had Simon frowning, but after a few moments, he nodded his agreement. “Do you need to check your phone for messages before we get out of here?”

“No.” She was a cautious sort by nature, but especially when dealing with Barnaby. “I didn't tell anyone where I'd be staying. Anyone who might need to reach me has my cell number.”

He picked up her thermos, which was empty, and replaced the lid. “Do you want to change before we leave?”

She hadn't thought about it, but one look at her ruined dress and hose, and it seemed like one hell of an idea. “Yeah. Thanks.” Going to her suitcase, Dakota withdrew a worn pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and warm socks.

As she ducked into the bathroom, Simon busied himself by strolling restlessly around the small room.

The mirror provided something of a shock for Dakota—she looked hideous. Worse than hideous. No wonder Simon hadn't mentioned sex. Why would he want to?

After changing, Dakota made a face at herself and took a few more minutes to remove her destroyed makeup and the traces of blood from her cut, which, once cleaned, looked to be no more than a deep scratch with discoloration around it.

Every movement caused an ache. Her muscles were stiff, her flesh black and blue. Her stomach still roiled and her head pounded. Before gathering up her few toiletries, she brushed her hair and pulled it into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she said to Simon, “I hope you have a coffeemaker.”

“I do.” He scowled at her sweatshirt, which was another gift from Barber. “But you drink too much of that stuff.”

“Right.” She offered up a sneer. “I'll start a twelve-step program soon, I swear. But not tonight.”

Simon drew her to him and examined her injured cheek. “Not too bad, but you might end up with a small scar.”

That struck Dakota as so ironic that she said without thinking, “Won't be the first.” The words had no sooner left her mouth than she caught her breath.
Idiot!

She tried to ease away from Simon, but he didn't let her go, and she didn't want to make an issue of it.

“You have other scars?”

“Doesn't everyone?”

“How?”

“Come on, Simon. Not another inquisition. Let's get out of here, okay? I'm beat.”

Simon's dark gaze scrutinized her. She could tell he didn't want to, but he let it drop. “Are you sore?”

“Yeah, all over. But Dean's right.” She held up the now soggy ice bag. “I'll refill this at the ice machine on the way out. Tomorrow, a good soak in a hot tub will do wonders. Is there one at the gym?”

He touched the corner of her mouth. “Yes. There's also one at the house I'm renting.”

“You're renting a house?”

“I've been in Harmony for a while now. I plan to stay on until the competition. Rather than share the hot tub with a bunch of fighters, you can use the one at the house.”

“Cool.” She freed herself from him to sit on the edge of the bed and pull on her boots. “Only problem, I don't have a suit.”

“You won't need one.” He zipped up her suitcase.

Dakota stared at him until he held out his free hand to her. Was he hinting about sex? Or did he mean he'd give her privacy?

She had no idea. She wasn't even sure which option she preferred.

After she took his hand, Simon led her out the door, saying, “Don't worry about anything, Dakota, okay? I'm not going to rush you.”

“I wouldn't let you rush me.”

He smiled. “But I will join you in the hot tub. And while we're soaking, we'll talk about things. Like what Barber means to you, whether you want your own room or you'd rather share the bed with me, who pushed you, and what other scars you have.”

With dread, Dakota realized that he wanted to know everything.

The desk clerk smiled at them, forcing Dakota to blink away her wariness. She had to check out. She had to think. She had to get control of her fear.

This whole night was one huge mistake.

But she'd rather go with Simon and answer impossible questions than spend the night alone.

“I
T'S
small, but since I don't officially live in Harmony, I didn't see any reason to rent anything extravagant.”

Arms wrapped around herself in a pose that looked far too contained and alone, Dakota nodded. The drooping ice bag hung from one hand, sending a trickle of icy water to darken the side of her sweatshirt and the top of her jeans.

By the minute, her skin turned more colorful, the reds and blues deepening to purple and green.

Yet she kept quiet, not issuing a single complaint.

Simon fought back his frustration. He knew Dakota's physical pain hadn't caused her remote attitude. It was his need to know more about her, and her uncertainty at exposing herself.

But he wouldn't relent, damn it. Dakota fascinated him more than any woman he'd ever known had. It'd be nice if she felt the same.

Before he could know her true feelings, he had to know her. All of her.

Whether she liked sharing herself or not.

“You have some messages.” She indicated the blinking red light on his phone, sitting on the end table.

Simon walked over to the phone and pressed a button. “Normally I'd wait to check them, but it could be Dean or Mallet. I assume they'd call my cell, but just in case…”

Simon shrugged, then listened to the messages. Dakota looked stunned to hear him offered a commercial for a health drink, two sponsorships for clothing, and a reminder that his article would be due soon.

She stared at him. “You're writing an article?”

“Yeah. One of the sports magazines offered me a good deal to do a piece for them.”

“What's your topic?”

“Ego.” Still holding her suitcase, he said, “It has no place in training.”

“I'd like to read it.”

“All right.”

“Is it always like this?” She nodded at the answering machine. “So many offers and so much attention?”

“Pretty much.” Simon stepped closer to her. “Now it's my turn for a question.”

Her blue eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze on him.

“Do you want to sleep with me or alone? Before you answer, understand that I mean
sleep
. You're in no shape for sex, and I know it.”

Her jaw tightened. “I can sleep alone.”

“Of course you can. But do you really want to?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but said nothing. Her arms tightened around herself and she looked away. “I don't know.”

So honest—or at least it seemed that way. But she'd duped him several times already and Simon didn't want to be taken in again. “I'd prefer you sleep with me, if that helps you decide.”

“All right.” She swallowed, and her gaze wavered. “If you prefer, then sure. Why not?”

“Good. This way.” Simon led her down the short hall to his bedroom. “It's a big bed. We'll each have plenty of room. But I don't mind cuddling, if you're so inclined.”

He set her suitcase down and turned to her. “The bathroom is right through there. If you want more privacy, there's another one in the hall.”

“Thanks.” She stared at the bed.

It all felt very awkward, given that Dakota looked wary and, despite his need to protect and pamper her, he was so horny he could barely breathe. “Next question. How about some aspirin?”

“How about half a dozen? And coffee?”

“Two aspirin and a cup of coffee if you insist.” He took the ice bag from her and led her back the way they'd come, into the kitchen.

“This is a nice place.”

“It came furnished, so I can't take credit for more than paying the rent.”

While Simon dumped the makeshift ice pack and retrieved a real one from the freezer, he asked, “Something to eat?”

Favoring her injured leg, Dakota slumped into a chair. “I'm always up for food.”

That made Simon smile. True, she did have a fast metabolism that she constantly fed.

First, he gave her the aspirins with a glass of water, then handed her the ice pack. She automatically put it against her thigh, which seemed to be her worst injury. Simon looked at the large bruise on her forehead, her black eye, and the other marks on her face.

Fury and empathy warred inside him.

“What are you in the mood for? Sandwich, soup, cereal, eggs?”

“Cheese sandwich?”

“Got it.” When Simon opened the fridge, she set the ice pack on the table and came forward.

“This is ridiculous. I don't need you to wait on me.”

“I don't mind.”

“But I do. It's not what I'm used to and it makes me feel like a slug. Let me get the sandwich and you can do the coffee.”

Simon studied her. She'd regained some warmth in her cheeks, and she wasn't trembling as much. Dakota Dream was not a woman to be coddled.

“Your leg is feeling better?”

“Let's put it this way. Making a sandwich isn't going to hurt it any more, but sitting and stewing is for the birds.”

“All right.” He pointed out the location of plates, glasses, bread, and chips. “Make me one, too.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You're allowed, with your training?”

“I'm strict, but not that strict. One sandwich won't hurt anything.”

“Long as you're sure.”

After they sat at his small table with the food in front of them, coffee for Dakota, water for Simon, she went back to icing her various pains. She took turns, first holding the ice against her face, then her leg. She timed it perfectly, like a pro, making Simon wonder how much experience she had with injuries—and why.

Simon said, “Next question.”

“Gee, I'm starting to feel like a world spy being interrogated.”

Teasing? By the moment, she returned to her old self. “How do you know Barber? You realize that I assumed it was his vocation, not his name.”

“I know.” She grinned at him, but it was a crooked grin, given the battery on her face. “He thinks the different slogans are funny.”

The sweatshirt she wore now said,
BLOW JOB
? and had a picture of a blow dryer in the background.

Brows raised and temperature elevated, Simon said, “That one's suggestive.”

“Yeah, Barber claims he had this one made specifically for me. It's huge, so I usually wear it to sleep in, not in public. But I didn't even think about it when I pulled it out of my suitcase.”

“You and Barber seem really close.”

“We are.” With most of her sandwich gone, Dakota downed half her coffee and said nothing more.

She didn't plan to elaborate? Simon snorted. He wouldn't let her off that easy. “How did the two of you meet?”

She set down her coffee and began pulling at the crust on her bread. Not to discard it, but to eat it. “It's a long story.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

She sighed, gave him a grievous look, and wolfed down more food. Around a mouthful, she said, “I'm wrong. Actually, it's a short story.” She chewed, swallowed. “In addition to the band, Barber teaches self-defense. I met him at some classes.”

“What kind of classes?”

“Muay Thai. Remember I told you that I'd been studying off and on for three years now? Barber's been instructing me. I've also taken some grappling and kickboxing classes.”

“With Barber?”

“No. He only teaches Muay Thai.” She tilted her head. “He's really good, Simon. With some additional training, he could probably compete in the SBC. But he's totally into his music and only teaches now to stay in shape.”

“How good are you?”

“Good enough to defend myself, but without enough guts.” Propping her elbow on the table and her forehead on her hand, she slumped. “Like on the stairs tonight. Defending myself never entered my mind. I panicked, and forgot everything I know. Like I said, I have some courage issues.”

“Anyone can be caught off guard, especially when an attack comes from behind.”

She sat back in her seat and stared at him. “It wouldn't happen to you.”

Simon didn't deny that, but he did qualify it. “I've been studying mixed martial arts most of my life, and competing for over a decade. You can hardly compare yourself to me.”

“Because it's instinctive for you.” She nodded. “I know. I wish I could learn to react like that. I need to somehow trigger an automatic response.” She sat forward again, and her voice rose in frustration. “What good is it to learn technique if I don't apply it? I might as well be an ignorant, helpless girl.”

“I can't see you ever being ignorant or helpless.”

She sent him a look of disgust. “Then you don't have much imagination or insight.”

What the hell did that mean? “Dakota…”

In a massive mood switch, she shoved back her chair. “Sorry, Simon, but I've changed my mind. I'd rather sleep alone.”

“Why?”

She headed to the sink with her plate. “I'm getting whiny, and I despise whiny women. It disgusts me. It's stupid.”

Simon tried to keep her talking, to give him a chance to figure her out. “You're not whiny, Dakota, but under the circumstances, you'd be allowed.”

Her laugh had the effect of nails on a chalkboard. “No thanks. Hopefully I just need some sleep.” She put her dishes in the dishwasher, returned the ice bag to the freezer, and without looking at him, turned to leave the room. “Thanks for the food and meds and…attention. Right now I—”

Simon grasped her wrist.

And to his surprise, she turned on him. He ducked one fist, then another.

Shooting to his feet, Simon said, “Dakota, calm down.”

Silently, not even breathing loud, she struggled until Simon let her go and held up his hands.

She stumbled back from him so quickly that she bumped into the sink.

From across the kitchen, they stared at each other.

Still keeping his hands out in a supplicating position, Simon said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…”
What?
Dakota stood in front of him as if held at gunpoint. “I'm sorry,” he said again, his voice firm.

“No.” Dakota didn't look away from him. “It's not you, it's me.” But she didn't move. Her gaze still locked on his, she curled her hands into fists and clenched her jaw. “God, I feel like an idiot.”

So did he. “What happened?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. You grabbed me, and I…” Her muscles tightened more. “I don't like to be grabbed.”

“I wasn't grabbing you, honey. I mean, not with any evil intent. I just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her shoulders were so taut, she looked ready to snap.

Simon struggled to find the right words. “I only wanted to ask you why you had the change of heart.”

Expression pained, she nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

With her so spooked, there didn't seem to be any reason to beat around the bush. He might not have known Dakota that long, but he knew genuine fear when he saw it.

Simon put his hands on his hips. “Your husband abused you, didn't he?”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth firmed in mulish denial.

Too many things were coming together for Simon to relent. “He hurt you, and that's why you took self-defense.” He eased one small step closer to her. “What happened tonight, the push down the stairs and being here alone with me, brought it all back.”

“So you're not only a fighter, you're a shrink, too?”

The bitter wisecrack didn't faze Simon; he recognized it as a defensive tactic.

But the idea that someone had hurt Dakota damn near killed him. “You think he's the one who shoved you tonight?”

He expected her to dodge the question, to maybe tell him to butt out of her life or to flat-out refuse to answer.

Instead, she lifted her chin. “I'd bet my favorite boots on it.”

Even now, she had her wit, and Simon knew he was a goner. “He's the one you thought was watching you yesterday.”

“Someone definitely was. I felt it. But Barnaby denied keeping tabs on me. So who else would it be?”

That she'd trust him made Simon that much more determined to protect her. “If you're so sure, then why not tell the police?”

“What would be the point? He's not stupid, so he probably has an alibi lined up if anyone asks.” Her mouth twisted. “He always has an alibi. He always covers his tracks.”

He always has an alibi.
Those words reverberated in Simon's head. Had the bastard attacked her before this? How many times?