Dez glanced behind her. No sign of the other three. They must have left once they realized she was fine. They knew better than to stick around for her wrath. They’d seen the damage she could do when that MacDermot temper made its rare entrance.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Bukowski barked angrily.

“Well, ya are now!”

Mace towered a good six inches over Bukowski, but both men refused to back off. Idiots. God save her from protective men.

She sighed. “Would you two just—”

“Shut up, Dez!” They both said it at the same time, never once taking their eyes off each other. It took all her strength not to grab the gun she kept hidden under her couch cushions and shoot both of them in the head.

Instead, Dez turned on her heel and headed back upstairs, her two dogs trailing faithfully behind. At least there were some males in her life that obeyed her. “When you two are done pissin’ around me, feel free to let yourselves the fuck outta my house!”

Mace watched that cute ass walk away from him and he didn’t like it one bit. Well, he liked the view. A lot. But he didn’t mean to push her away. Not when all his future plans involved her.

“I swear to God, you hurt her—”

“Shut up. And get the fuck out.”

“She told both of us to leave.”

Mace ignored him, heading for the stairs. Bukowski stopped him with a hand on his arm. Mace looked at it, then at the man it belonged to. At least, the man it belonged to for the moment.

“Get your hand off me or lose that arm.”

He didn’t know what the little man saw, but his startled expression would be funnier if Mace wasn’t already so pissed.

“Jesus Christ.” What is this idiot’s name again? Bukowski? “You do care about her. I can see it on your face.”

Sometimes full-humans are as dumb as dogs.

“That’s brilliant deductive reasoning there, Sherlock. I’m surprised you don’t run the whole fuckin’ precinct. Now leave.” With that, Mace followed Dez up the stairs.

Chapter Seven

D ez snuggled under the covers, her face buried in her pillow.

She should have remembered her Grandmother Fiona’s words to her when she turned ten. “Honey, all men are idiots.” As always, the older generation called it.

She didn’t know Mace was in the room until he laid his long body out on top of hers. A heavy, muscle-laden man, his weight still felt good against her.

“Are you and Bukowski meeting at dawn for a duel with pistols? Or you going the Brooklyn way and using a couple of two-by-fours?”

He nuzzled the back of her head, licked her neck. His tongue dry and rough. Well that’s damn distracting.

“Are you even listening to me?” she demanded as sheturned over, pushing his big body off her. With a sigh, he rolled to his side and watched her. She ignored his obvious annoyance, wanting to get a few things straight before he started distracting her with that big dick of his.

“I can handle Bukowski. He’s my partner. We’ve been in some ugly shit together, and I don’t need you or anybody else stepping in and saving the day for me.”

“But isn’t that what Bukowski and those three guys did? Come in to save you from the big, bad lion.”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Why?”

“I’m not fucking them! I don’t care what they do. I care what you do.”

“I’m unclear about your logic.”

Dez grabbed a pillow, covered her face, and yelled into it. When she pulled it away, Mace still watched her impassively. Just staring and blinking.

“And you’re fixing my kitchen door!”

Mace rolled those gold eyes and sighed. “Whatever.” With a good yank, he snatched the comforter completely off her.

He couldn’t believe she was giving him shit about that door. She let that asshole Bukowski walk out without putting a bullet in his tiny pea brain with that gun she had hidden in her couch. But she orders him to fix the door. Did she believe for even a second he would ever let that idiot talk to her like that?

He gazed down at her ripe body. The woman was absolutely perfect. She tried to shimmy away from him, but he trapped her with his leg. Didn’t she know he was busy? He didn’t need her distracting him with her nonsense.

“What do you want me to do to you?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. What do you want me to do to you?” She didn’t answer, and he finally looked up to find her glaring at him. “What?”

“You don’t trust me.”

Where the fuck did that come from? “What the hell are you talking about?”

She knocked his hand off her chest and pulled herself away from him. “You don’t trust me to take care of myself. I can see it on your face. That’s why you’re so busy trying to distract me with those big lion hands of yours.”

“That’s a load of shit, Desiree, and you know it.”

“Fine. Prove it.”

He really didn’t like the sound of that. “How?”

She slid off the bed and walked over to her dresser. He really hoped she didn’t turn around with her gun in her hand. Although he wouldn’t put anything past her.

He heard metal clink and she turned around, her handcuffs dangling from her index finger.

“Not on your life, MacDermot!”

“See? You don’t trust me.”