Free All That You Are by Stef Ann Holm

truck floor. A credit to Spivey’s integrity, no money had been taken—until Earl asked for the impound fee, and handed over the ticket from the police department.
    Jeff had been so irritated by the amount it cost him to park in a public lot he went back to the condo to have a beer and mess with the software on his laptop. At that point, Mark volunteered to get their fishing equipment.
    The parking lot’s asphalt glittered with busted glass pieces by the Dumpster.
    â€œWatch where you’re walking,” he cautioned over his shoulder. “You’re going to step on glass and cut your foot.”
    â€œNot hardly.”
    Settling the tackle into the truck’s bed, he snorted. “So we’re doing that dance again—the ‘I say one thing and you say another’?”
    â€œI walk in this parking lot with my flip-flops on all the time and I’ve never had a problem.”
    â€œYou should have a problem with it.” He frowned, glancing at the black-cloaked veil of the parking lot. Set off from Dock Street, a person would have to scream at the top of their lungs to be heard. “It’s dark out here. Any degenerate might be sitting around waiting to jump you. That potbellied quarterback could be hunkered down behind the wheel of his four-by-four, pumped up to rush you.”
    She gave the area a furtive glance, biting her lip as if he’d made an impression on her to be—at the very least—momentarily concerned.
    As if to validate her lack of concern, she declared, “There’s nobody here.”
    Lowering his mouth intimately close to her ear, he whispered, “I am.”
    Â 
    N OT SINCE C OOPER TOOK HER to court over his visitation rights had Dana felt such frustration, compounded by the feeling of total lack of control.
    A glance out the window, and she saw Mark’s truck was still there.
    For the past thirty minutes, she’d holed herself up inside the Blue Note, hoping he’d drive away and leave her alone. Trapped with only her thoughts to pass the time, she was going stir-crazy. The harder she tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted.
    Tonight had been a turning point.
    Mark had touched her, held her hand within his own. She’d fought to disguise the internal tremble she’d felt over the smooth warmth of his flesh. No man who came to the bar was allowed to get physically close. While it wasn’t something she’d made an announcement about, everyone knew Danalee Jackson was off-limits.
    She’d never gotten involved with a customer. Nor would she. As the owner, she set herself apart from the crowd. She didn’t mind if Presley or Leo and Walt made connections. She just felt that as the proprietor, people ought to have propriety around her. It was all about respect.
    But there were times when a good-looking man came in, and she wanted to amend her personal rule. Many had tried to get her to change her mind. She had never yielded.
    She’d dated plenty before Terran, and while not so much after his birth, she wasn’t seriously looking. If the right guy happened to come along, it happened. She wouldn’t shut the door. There had been a few guys who’d been nice enough, but the spark just hadn’t been there. Not even in their good-night kisses…Kisses she’d hungered for, had put her best effort into, but she’d felt nothing more than a crackle—not a snap and pop.
    There was something to be said about a hot kiss that could curl her toes, make her want to fuse herself into the man delivering it. Too bad she hadn’t felt that since…
    Damn .
    Stupid Cooper Boyd.
    Dana checked the time, then glanced out the window. The watchdog was still out there. Didn’t he have anyplace to go? The loser.
    With that, she laughed at her false misnomer.
    Mark Moretti was anything but a loser.
    The contact of his hand, the strong feel of his fingers wrapped around hers, had done strange