Dangerous Curves by Dara Girard

those days were over.
    He would have to be careful, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the view.
    She was beautifully proportioned with luscious curves. From their first meeting he knew there was more to her than what she seemed. She carried herself with a regal certainty he’d never seen in someone who’d been in service.
    She had the bearings of a queen, someone used to being obeyed. Half the time he expected her to hand the keys to him and tell him where to take her. He wondered what she’d done before she’d shown up at his door. Was she running from someone? Hiding? Her missteps and awkwardness at their first meeting weren’t her natural state. He could tell that she wasn’t a woman who was shaken easily. She was a woman usually in command of herself. He’d learned to read people.
    No, not just people—women. Women were his favorite subject and Dominique was a lesson he wanted to study. She was a strange contradiction. An attractive woman who didn’t seem to know how attractive she was. A woman used to leading, taking a job that forced her to follow. She’d tried to trick him, but her attempt was sloppy, although he did enjoy the effort.
    And then there was her voice. Yes, her voice was going to get him into trouble. It was smooth, deep and husky like a good bourbon. The kind of voice that could turn any word into a naughty invitation. Just hearing her say ‘yes sir’ made him want to hear her say ‘yes’ again. Over and over. Preferably in bed with her legs wrapped around him.
    Right now he could picture her washing the car naked—soaping up the car and bending over the hood. Then he could picture her hosing it down. Then hosing herself. He couldn’t help a grin. Ferguson would definitely scold him for his thoughts right now. He was supposed to be worried, instead he was turned on.
    But right now his imagination was all that he had. There was still so much he couldn’t share with anyone. If only Cassie…
    His mood dimmed. Cassie was still in the hospital—still in a coma. The woman he didn’t want to love anymore. He hadn’t even known he had a type until he met her. She’d been the first and only woman who’d made him—Mister-can’t-keep-still-Kevin—think of settling down. She’d completely shaken him like no other woman had.
    He’d met her in a class he’d taken about social grace. A class he didn’t need. He’d done it for fun to see what kind of people would show up. Cassie had been the instructor—Cassandra, her alter ego—a successful author and speaker. A woman who moved like a goddess. As Cassandra, her eyes weren’t hidden by glasses and she commanded attention. But instead of being haughty or distant, she cared. When one of the students broke down after sharing one of her disastrous dates, Cassandra gave the young woman such a motivating speech about self-love that the other students burst into applause and at the end of the class the young woman had left the room beaming.
    In that instant he’d lost his heart. She possessed a level of warmth and sweetness that had no guile. She didn’t want something from him and that was rare in his life. She also didn’t fall for his charm, seeing him as a friend instead of a man. It had bruised his ego at first, but he’d decided to be patient, sure that in time she’d see him as he wanted her to.
    He’d been wrong. First there was her bastard ex-husband and then she had married Henson. Even after all these years, he couldn’t say that man’s name without a feeling of annoyance. He didn’t know what she saw in him.
    Real women play with boys, but they marry men. Henson’s words burned at the very core of him. He wanted to forget them, but they kept coming back. He gripped his hand into a fist and pounded the wall. He was a man. A good man. A strong man. But nobody saw it. Nobody saw