Page 71 of Wood You Rather?

“I overheard some chatter about a place called the Ape Hanger when I was at the gym a couple of weeks ago. Do you know it?”

He had returned to meticulously stacking the wood, which only made it harder to stay focused on work. “It’s a shady biker bar off Route 119 near Heartsborough.”

My fingers flew over the keyboard, and I found its location in seconds. The Yelp reviews were uniformly terrible, but it was only about twenty minutes from here. “I’ll probably head over there next week,” I mumbled, typing the address into the spreadsheet I’d created to keep track of businesses and locations.

“No,” he said, spinning quickly and almost knocking over the neat stack of wood he’d assembled. “I’ve heard stories about that place.”

His tone was a little too bossy for my liking. What a shock.

“That’s great news.” I rubbed my hands together. “Means there will be tons of shit for me to dig up there.”

He stalked toward me, his eyes sharp. “You’re not going. It’s not safe.”

“Excuse me?” I slammed my laptop shut, itching for a fight. No man, especially a pampered suit like Pascal Gagnon, would lecture me about danger. I shot to my feet, and if I had been wearing earrings, I’d have taken them off. The nerve of this man. “Of course I am. You may recall that I’m a former statie. And I hold not one, but two black belts. And I carry a goddamn sidearm. Sit down, sir.”

He prowled even closer, his fists clenching at his sides. “If you go there, I’m going with you.”

“So you can blow my cover and offend everyone with your uptight presence? No, thank you. I don’t think your Brooks Brothers shirts would blend well there.”

Did he honestly think he could tell me what to do?

“It’s a shithole filled with grizzled old bikers and criminals.”

I threw my arms up. “My kind of people! What does one wear to meet criminals and bikers?” I asked, the words dripping with sarcasm.

His jaw was locked so tight I feared he’d need it surgically opened again. “You can’t waltz into dangerous situations with your half-baked theories, stacks of paper, and random Post-its.”

Glowering, I contemplated dropping him right on his round, muscular ass. Instead, I took a breath. “Since you are my client, I’m going to say this nicely. But only once. Get the fuck out of my way. This is my investigation. I’m the one with the training and the experience. I’m the one pounding the pavement for you and your family.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he studied me, his eyes narrowed and his face flushed.

“So you can take your judgment and derision and shove them straight up your ass. If there’s room, of course, with the large stick you keep wedged up there.” I tilted my head and tapped my chin. “Actually, you’re a lumberjack. Must be a fucking pine tree. Explains why you’re such a dick.”

His eyes flashed pure rage, but I swore there was a hint of desire swirling there too. Without a word, he grasped me by the shoulders and kissed me. This time, it was rough and fierce. The opposite of our tender moment by the piano. This was pure anger and lust and desperation.

I pushed him away, confused and more than a little turned on.

“What the fuck, Paz?”

He smirked, still holding my shoulders. “You pissed me off. I had to shut you up somehow.”

“You can’t just grab a woman and kiss her like that.”

He did it again, harder this time, taking my mouth forcefully. So I did what came most naturally.

Gripping his shoulders, I swept his right leg out from under him and dropped him right on his fine ass. Then I pinned him to the floor.

His eyes were wide, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. Despite the violence, I could feel him hardening against his leg while I straddled him on the floor.

We stared at one another for a long moment, and I could feel my pulse quicken.

He broke the silence first. “Sorry. I thought after last night”—he cleared his throat—“I don’t know. That you maybe wanted to.” He regarded me, his eyes dark and heated.

I bit my lip. I didn’t know how to respond. Part of me wanted to lash out in righteous indignation, but another part really enjoyed the thrill of being manhandled by him and equally enjoyed doing the manhandling myself. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, because the attraction I felt was purely physical. But I couldn’t let him think he had taken liberties with an unwilling woman.

“Yeah. Last night was unexpected but nice.” I was trying to play it cool, but my face didn’t get the memo. A hot flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks, but I refused to break eye contact.

“You kissed me back.”

---