Page 148 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

I pulled a pillow in front of my chest to protect myself from Brutus’s sandpaper-grade feet. “Does he sleep with you?” I couldn’t put the smile away, especially when Nash’s cheeks went hot. “Oh, he does.”

“I don’t have houseguests if you recall.”

My laughter faded as the dog finally settled between us on the wide mattress. I tucked my chin into the heavy muscle of the dog’s neck and stroked his huge block of a head. He cuddled back against me, wiggling for more, kicking Nash right out of bed.

“Nice.” He stood with his hands on his hips. It didn’t seem like anything was the worse for wear. Mostly.

I cuddled into the dog. “Grab me a T-shirt. Looks like this big baby wants to snuggle too.”

“Cock-blocked by my fucking dog,” he muttered and stomped away.

He came back with a pair of boxers on to protect himself and a black Ramones T-shirt for me. He tossed it at my head. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“Jealous?”

“Yes.”

I giggled and nudged the dog to the other side of the bed to make room for Nash to curl around my back. Brutus settled in with a grunt and a snore.

Nash narrowed his eyes as he walked around the bed. “Does this mean you don’t need the T-shirt?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Skin to skin is reserved solely for you, pal.”

He grunted, much like his dog, and crawled in behind me. “I suppose that will have to do.” He stroked a proprietary hand down my hip and slapped my ass. “My dog won’t save you every time.”

I grinned and settled back against Nash. “I don’t need saving.”

He gave Brutus a quick stroke down his silky ears then wrapped his arm around me. “Lights.” His voice was loud enough to carry, and the whole room fell into darkness save for a shaft of sunlight beaming down across the plants on the lower level.

Our little haven was thick with shadows, and the warmth of the both of them soothed my weary heart. The day had definitely taken a turn. For now, I was just going to enjoy the moment and let the rest of the details work themselves out later.

“I’m glad you’re here, duchess.”

I smiled into the dark. “Me too.”

Twenty-Nine

I sat at my office desk. The trio of forty-inch screens set up with my favorite tools of the trade blipped to life. I pulled the studio headphones over my ears.

My skin was still buzzy from the hit of the pharmaceutical and street cocktail I used to get through the day.

I’d had to bump it up last night. Enough that I couldn’t enjoy listening to my favorite personal podcast. It took some studio magic to make it worthy of re-listens, but I was a fucking magician. My fingers shook a little as I tapped the keys to pull my recordings from Nash’s house.

The microphones I’d placed only recorded when it picked up a voice.

I was tired of the endless self-flagellation. Jagged piano and lyrics at all hours didn’t give me anything to work with.

Except that one song. The one he’d left behind in Winchester Falls.

Too distracted by his bird to pay attention to his precious lyrics.

I’d made a few tweaks. Sending it off to Angel Martin had been inspired.

But that had been a bit ago. A surprise visit from her should give me plenty of new audio for my collection.

I flicked through the channels on the lower level of his house and frowned at the conversation.

It was too short.

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