Page 33 of Simon Says

“Neither.”

So he was going to be difficult. She’d deal with it. “A wild bull, then? A bus? What? Come on, Simon, give me details.”

He looked her over again, and she knew now that it was with disapproval. He’d made it clear that she didn’t appeal to him, that he considered her too pushy and too mannish. But so what? Approval from him wasn’t what she needed the most.

While looking at the front of her shirt, he said, “Actually, it was Mallet.”

“Ouch.” She winced, feeling a moment of pity for the young fighter. “Is he dead, then?”

A small smile touched Simon’s mouth, but only for an instant. “No. I took it easy on him. I got the cut from his elbow.”

“Instructing him, then, and not fighting.”

“What makes you think so?”

She shrugged. “That’s easy enough. No way Mallet would be able to hurt you like that unless you let him.”

“Your faith is humbling,” he said with dry sarcasm. “Dean asked me to give him some pointers, but Mallet jumped the gun a little on a move I showed him. He’s young and impetuous, and at times too eager. I wouldn’t kill him over that, you’re right. But he’s catching hell from everyone else.”

Pleased that he’d strung together so many pleasant words, Dakota nodded. “No one wants to spar with a dirty fighter.”

“Something like that.”

She grinned. “At least now you know he has good elbows, right?”

“There is that.” Distracted, Simon nodded at her chest and read aloud, “‘Barbers have all the right tools.’” His gaze clashed with hers. “You sure this guy isn’t more than a friend?”

“Like you’d care.” Those words had no sooner left her mouth than she wanted to take them back. Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip. “Forget I said that.”

Simon didn’t change expression, he just waited.

Sighing, Dakota rubbed at her forehead. She didn’t understand him at all. “It really isn’t any of your business, but since you asked—again—he’s just a friend.”

“All right.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you still here?”

Hoping he wouldn’t send her packing again, Dakota measured her words. “Maybe we could talk about that over lunch?”

“I have other plans.”

Yeah, right. “Tomorrow, then?”

“No.” Resolute, he kept her gaze snared in his. “Not today and not tomorrow.”

Somehow, without her realizing it, he’d moved closer. Suddenly Dakota could smell the mingling scents of fresh soap and heated male.

She looked at his sternum. “But—”

“You’re wasting your time.”

If she believed that, her despair would be great. She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Suit yourself. But the answer will stay no.”

Before Simon could walk away, Dakota caught his arm above his elbow. At the feel of his rock-solid biceps and taut skin, a secret thrill coursed through her.

She licked lips that went dry and pleaded with him. “Could you at least tell me why?” And then maybe she could talk him around his reasons.

He looked first at her hand, then at her mouth. “I have a father, Dakota. I don’t need Barnaby…whatever his last name is.”

---