Playing with Fire by Mia Dymond

evidence, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about
Liberty.
    Even though she witnessed his vulnerability
firsthand last night, he felt encouraged. Rather than talk him to
death afterward, she seemed to accept his silence and offer nothing
more than understanding. Yet, her reaction confused him. Especially
since she’d made sure to place a kiss on his lips before she left
the bedroom. He grinned in satisfaction. He’d been awake and she
had no idea. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. Therapy between them wouldn’t last much longer.
    Dylan sauntered in the office and parked in a
chair on the other side of the desk. “Late night?”
    “Yeah,” Shane said carefully.
    “How long did Liberty stay?”
    Shane stared, speechless.
    “Jake drove by about four o’clock this
morning. Your light was on in the living room.”
    He chose non-response in an effort to
dissuade Dylan’s questioning.
    “She was wearing your t-shirt and sweats,
Hartwell,” Dylan drawled.
    “Jake was doing surveillance outside my
window?”
    “The front curtains were wide open.”
    Not exactly disappointed by Dylan’s
assumption, he dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. “She
spent the night.”
    “And?”
    “She slept in the spare room.”
    “What?”
    “She slept in the —”
    “I heard you. Why?” Dylan’s eyebrows met in
the middle of his forehead. “Oh no. Your equipment isn’t
malfunctioning is it?”
    His eyes bulged as he sat up straight.
“SShhh! Damn, Carmichael! My equipment works just fine.
Exceptionally fine around Liberty.”
    “Then what’s the problem?”
    “I’m her patient. She can’t let it go.”
    “So? Fire her.”
    “It’s not that easy. She’d see right through
that move anyway.”
    “Now what?”
    “I wait.”
    “Wait?”
    He nodded. Waiting was his only option. Once
she figured out she couldn’t fight her feelings, sparks would
fly.
    “Good luck with that.” Dylan snickered as his
cell phone chimed.
    Shane took a hopeful breath as he waited for
Dylan to read his screen.
    Dylan stood and flashed a cocky grin. “I’ll
be back in an hour. Call me if you need something before then.”
    Relieved that Dylan was distracted, he
mumbled an acknowledgment over his reports and kept reading.
     
    Dylan unbuckled his belt and worked his shirt
loose from his waistband while he drove home. He glanced at the
test message displayed on his phone again.
    LUNCH ?
    His blood heated. Lunch, indeed. He burst
through the front door of the house, kicking off his boots and
unbuttoning his shirt on his way to the bedroom.
    “Hi, handsome.”
    His jaw hit the floor at the sight of Maddie
braced in the doorway. Stark naked. In hooker heels at least four
inches tall. Slinging a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs.
    “Damn.” He swallowed tightly, paralyzed with
arousal.
    “Dylan,” she scolded as she fumbled with the
remaining buttons on his shirt, “I’ve only got an hour.”
    He inhaled a sharp breath as she unzipped his
pants and slid her hand inside to squeeze his aching cock. “Sorry
baby, you just look so good.”
    “Mmmm.” She stroked him from tip to base and
back again.
    He thrust into her hand and wrested his shirt
until it lay on the floor. “We may not need the whole hour.”
    With one last squeeze, she led him to the bed
and forced his pants over his hips and down his legs to the floor.
He only took time to toss his pager on the bedside table before he
pulled her on top of him and collapsed onto the bed. His erection
quivered as her gentle fingertips caressed the sharp edges of his
chest, the hollow of his stomach and finally danced inside his
boxers to tease his swollen cock. He placed his hands on her hips
and urged her against him.
    “Nuh-huh.” She clipped one handcuff around
his left wrist. “No hands.”
    He smirked. “I don’t need hands, honey.”
    “Good.” She snapped the second cuff closed
and then attached him to the bedposts.
    Dylan lay stretched between both posts