Dylan by C H Admirand Page B

off.
    He knocked, but no one answered. “Figures.” He tried the door and found it unlocked, so he went inside. “Anybody home?”
    No answer.
    â€œGreat,” he grumbled, “my luck someone’ll call the local law and have me arrested for breaking and entering.”
    Looking around at the inside of the store, he whistled. “Somebody must have had it in for the shop owner.” He could see where the display racks and shelves had been and the piles where someone had been painstakingly sorting through the wreckage. The froth of fractured lace caught his eye; he bent to pick it up. The silky material attached to the lace was in shreds. “Who’d the owner piss off enough to have them shoot up the store?”
    â€œDamned if I know, cupcake.”
    His entire body went on red alert. Dylan clenched his jaw and dug bone deep to keep from grabbing the woman paused halfway down the stairs glaring daggers at him. He was torn between the need to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she stopped trying to irritate the crap out of him and hauling her close and kissing her until she shut that smart mouth of hers.
    His sigh was long and low. It wasn’t his normal MO to want to get his hands on a woman—with the intention of teaching her a lesson and not just for a little mattress dancing. One look at her angry expression and he realized it wouldn’t do any good to remind her that his name was Dylan—and not buddy or cupcake. She was obviously set on digging her spurs into him to get his attention. It was working. He’d give her that much.
    The dark-haired temptress who had haunted his dreams and distracted him while he was working alongside his brothers sauntered down the steps and walked over to stand toe to toe with him. “Why you? Why couldn’t it have been Tyler’s other brother?”
    â€œOut here, people are usually bit more sociable, ma’am.” Dylan refused to let her get any further under his skin. “We usually start off a conversation with ‘how’re you doing’ or ‘what’s the good word today.’ Besides,” he said crossing his arms and staring down at her, “my brother Jesse’s talents don’t extend to a hammer and nail.”
    Her mouth opened and then closed. The light laughter surprised the both of them. He hadn’t thought the sound of a woman laughing could be so sexy. He’d been wrong. The silky sound of her laughter sent a set of chills chasing up his spine. Dylan fought the need to shiver.
    â€œWe do back home too—well not quite the same expressions you used, but the meaning’s the same.”
    Dylan swallowed a snort of laughter and noticed her eyes twinkled. She urged, “Admit it, DD.”
    â€œDD? What kind of insult does that stand for?” He almost didn’t ask for fear that it would have to do with his manly pride, and the little woman had flung enough insults at him already.
    Slashes of deep rose accentuated the luscious olive-toned skin that begged to be caressed. He noticed textures and colors, wanting to delve deep for another taste of her. His fingertips itched to trace the curve of her jaw and test the plumpness of her bottom lip. She dropped her hand and shifted from one foot to the other. Was he making her nervous? DD must be an East Coast insult.
    â€œCome on,” he urged, “tell me.”
    She shook her head.
    â€œLord, woman,” he ground out. “You’d drive a saint crazy.”
    She narrowed her gaze and stared at him. “I don’t think you’d qualify as one.”
    This time, he couldn’t contain the rumble of laughter bubbling up from inside of him. “Probably not.”
    She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Did she do that to distract him or to just plain torture him? His palms started to sweat. He brushed them against his thighs.
    He noticed Ronnie was skittish and kept looking over her