“What are those?” he asked.
I swirled my finger in a circle in front of my face. “Her looks. Miss Montana 1985. She knew how to work it.” I sighed. “I remember how men would rush to help her everywhere we went. The grocer would carry her bags out. She never opened her own door.”
“So now you won’t let a man help,” Hayes said, softly enough that it didn’t goad me.
I picked my weapon back up. “I don’t want to depend on anyone.”
“Yeah, I get that, but having people you can trust doesn’t make you weak.” He shot me a wry smile. “Neither does being beautiful.”
His dark eyes roved over my face as I spoke.
“Yeah, I look just like her.”
“She’s a mighty pretty woman then,” he said. “But she doesn’t sound like she has your character.”
I blinked. “What?”
He pushed off the counter, set the bullet down and came close, tipping my chin up. “A person’s character gives them depth. Makes them worthy.”
“I thought that was honor,” I replied, suddenly feeling a touch vulnerable.
“Same thing.”
I shook my head and stepped back. I didn’t want his praise because he was so very wrong.
“It’s not the same thing at all,” I said.
This conversation was heavy. Way too heavy to have with a guy I was using for sex.
“You asked what I want if I win?” I turned and grabbed my safety goggles.
He stepped back to his booth. “Yeah?”
“Control.” I pushed the button, and my paper target zipped back to the farthest distance in the range. “You’ll give me control when we fuck later.”
Because it seemed that was the only thing I could handle right about now. My father was out there. I’d turned him away, but he wouldn’t be gone forever. I couldn’t control him. I never could. My mother left, and I’d been helpless to stop her. To be enough for her to even think about staying.
And Hayes? He couldn’t be more than a fling. He was honorable in everything he’d mentioned. He wouldn’t want me if he knew the truth of my past. Of what I’d done. Of the father who’d returned to pull me back into the life.
All I could be for him was a good time.
That was all I deserved. But I could get it on my terms. Tie him to the damned headboard and finally have a man under my thumb.
I smiled and tucked my hearing protection into my ears.
“That’s what I want,” I called, then raised my arms in front of me. Aimed. Shot.
Over the loud burst of gunfire, I heard him say, “Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
MEGAN
As it turned out, controlling Hayes in bed last night had been just as fun as having him take charge.
I strongly suspected he’d let me win, but he had allowed me to handcuff him to the bedpost and tease him with my mouth and hands until I thought he’d tear the bed apart to get on top of me. Only then did I climb over him and ride to my heart’s content.
I’d loved it, but I suspected there would be retribution tonight, and I had to say, I was looking forward to it. Hayes in charge was a beautiful thing to receive.
Damn, the guy was definitely growing on me, despite my effort to keep it as casual as it could possibly be. There was nothing about him I didn’t like. He pushed but respected. Was steadfast in his pursuit of me but honored all my boundaries.
Basically, he was a stand-up guy.
Part of me almost wanted to grant him that date.
Almost.
I smiled to myself when I heard a car pull up outside. Here he was, right on schedule.
Except the heavy knock at the door didn’t sound like him. For one thing, he didn’t knock. He disarmed my security system without knowing the passcode. If he did knock, it certainly wouldn’t be in that loud, impatient way.
Frowning, I yanked on a pair of jeans and palmed my Glock while someone nearly broke my door down.
I rode the edge of pissed off as I threw open the door. The moment I did, three guys pushed past me into the room. I stumbled back and left the door wide open.
“Well, well. You turned out as pretty as your mom, didn’t you?”
“Who the hell are you?” I snarled although I had a pretty good idea.
“Your daddy didn’t mention me? He mentioned you. I’m your new friend Burns.”
Just as I’d thought. Fuck.
He had the nerve to reach out and caress a lock of my hair. I pegged him in his early forties, younger than my dad. He was dressed in a suit with a black t-shirt beneath the jacket. His goons were a little more casual, but none of them blended into Sparks. Then again, this wasn’t their turf. It was mine, which meant he really wanted to talk with me.