“I’d never admit this to anyone but you,” she murmured, “but I feel as if that beefy Sheila rearranged half my face. Terrible.”
Brig slid close and took her in his arms. She gingerly leaned into the comforting embrace. “It’s all right to be needy.”
“No, it’s not,” she corrected. “But I can’t help myself right now.”
“I’ll settle for that. Let me drive.”
She sighed and said wryly, “Why not? You’re practically a member of the staff. I’ll just pretend that you’re Paradise Springs’ first inmate deputy.”
“I shouldn’t have barged into things tonight, I know.”
Millie patted his chest. “Brig, I wasn’t the least surprised.” She paused, and her voice dropped huskily. “Thanks.”
Back at the jail, they went to the deputies’ lounge and opened the freezer section of the refrigerator. Millie retrieved something that looked like a blue beanbag. “Reusable ice pack,” she explained.
“Come on.” He took her by one hand and led her to his cell. “Home sweet home. Lay down on my bunk.”
Her face hurt too bad to argue. Millie stretched out, the cold bag pressed to her eye. He left for a minute, and when he came back, he carried a soft drink can. A straw protruded from the top. While her good eye watched him in amusement, Brig set the can on her chest and slipped the straw between her lips. He sat down on the bunk, his hip casually touching her thigh.
“Why is it that you always end up taking care of me?” she asked, arching her good brow. “Twice, now. I must be injury prone around you.”
“Nah. You just didn’t have anybody to watch over you before. You think it’s strange to have a shoulder to lean on.”
“It is.” She frowned as much as her condition would allow. “I’m not certain what to do.”
“Lean, love, lean. It’s that simple.” He grinned for a moment. “I left the door open to the reception area. I’ll listen for any phone calls. You rest.”
“Hmmm.” Grateful, she sipped from the drink, then handed it to him. “Enough.”
He finished it in a few swallows, then pressed the can against his knee and crumpled it flat with the movement of one large hand.
Millie smiled wearily. “I love men with strong fingers.” As a coy look spread across his face, and as she analyzed her words, she smiled ruefully. “I always manage to get myself in trouble with you.”
“And it’s wonderful, eh, Melisande?”
“Melisande,” she repeated softly. “I thought you weren’t going to call me that anymore.”
He looked away for a moment, and a muscle worked in his jaw. “Didn’t want to. Couldn’t help myself. It suits you.”
“I wish it did,” she said fervently. “I wish I could be tough Millie and delicate Melisande at the same time.”
Brig looked at her with a seriousness that made her heart stop. “You were delicate and tough tonight. I wanted to carry you out of that trailer and kiss you.”
Her stomach dropped in delight and shock. “With my uniform on and a bruised eye?”
“Yes, love.” He couldn’t resist adding devilishly.
“Though I’d rather you had your uniform off. Your badge might stick me.”
She stared at him in silent wonder. “I want you so much,” Millie whispered.
A taut, intense look of concentration replaced the teasing expression on his face. His voice was a throaty promise. “You’ve got me.”
“For tonight, at least.”
Brig shut his eyes, willing his patience to remain strong. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. “Why are you so afraid that I’ll leave you and never look back?”
She was silent for a moment, struggling inwardly. Her tone was cautious. “My family moved every year from the time I was a baby until Dad retired. I was nineteen then. Nineteen years of leaving friends behind, of moving into new apartments and houses. Nineteen years of always struggling to be self-sufficient so that the transitions would be easier. I want permanent things around me now. A permanent home, permanent relationships.”
He cupped her chin in his hand, bent forward, and brushed his mouth across hers. He felt the small shiver of response in her body. “I won’t make promises tonight, because you wouldn’t believe them,” he murmured. “But they’re there, Melly, waitin’ to be said.”
“No,” she protested in a troubled tone. “No promises.”
Brig braced his arms on either side of her and slowly lifted himself to one knee. He moved to the empty half of the small bunk, then lowered himself. Trembling, Millie turned her head on the pillow and looked at him. She sensed his restraint and saw the intensity in his eyes. His breath touched her lips, and a sweet sense of certainty flooded her.
She tilted her head close to his and kissed the corner of his mouth. A rebuking inner voice told her that she should only kiss him briefly, just long enough to sample the texture and taste of his lips. But he moaned, a low, encouraging, masculine sound that unraveled all her good intentions. Millie pushed the ice pack away. and it fell to the floor beside the bed. Her hand crept forward and stroked his jaw while her mouth pressed tighter to his. He opened his lips and welcomed the gentle pressure of her tongue.
Brig shifted and slipped his arms around her, gathering her close to his body. It was natural and easy for her to turn on her side and nestle against the hard length of his torso, feeling her breasts flatten against his chest, feeling his thighs brush hers. He caressed the small of her back, then ran his hands over her hips and pulled them snugly to his own.
Millie exhaled softly, pleasure in the sound, and he captured her breath with a kiss that turned her boneless. The hot, stroking intimacy of his tongue made her want him desperately, and her body arched into the straining hardness between his thighs.
He drew back, his face flushed and eyes groggy, then raised one hand and gently traced the bruise on her left eye. Millie made an inarticulate sound of affection at the way his fingertips eased the pain. “Prize-fighter,” he murmured, “you won me.”
Brig lifted his head and lightly touched his lips to the bruise, then licked the skin with infinite care. When he passed his tongue over her swollen eyelid, Millie gripped his shoulders and shivered.
“Hurt?” he whispered.
“Just the opposite.”
Smiling, he put one hand between their bodies and began unbuttoning her shirt. “Upset you?” he asked.
She laughed helplessly. “Just the opposite.”
When his hand delved into the open shirt and slipped under her bra, he inquired, “Too much?”
“Just the opposite.”
Grinning now, he slid down and placed a kiss on the top of the breast he cupped in one hand. He pushed the bra strap and shirt off her shoulder, then circled her nipple with his tongue. “Want more?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Don’t you dare say—”
“More.”
His breath exploded in soft chuckles against her sensitive skin, then caught short as he turned his attention to her breasts again. Brig eased her onto her back and took her shirt and bra off. Millie heard roaring in her ears as the cool air added its caress to her body. She moved languidly, trapped in primitive sensations and the hunger of Brig’s gaze. He drew his fingertips across her breasts almost reverently, and Millie felt weightless as she watched his eyes move over her.
“I haven’t got anything near as pretty as these to show,” he said gruffly.
She smiled. “Oh, I suspect that you have something I’d find just as appealing.”
He bent his head and took her breasts in his palms, running his thumbs across her nipples, igniting pleasure throughout her body. Then his mouth teased her, nibbling, pulling, until she made wild little sounds and sank her fingers into his hair.
“Tonight is just for you,” he whispered as he trailed kisses up her throat. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, knowing that she was vulnerable, that she’d do whatever he asked, but duty and conscience would haunt her later. No, he
’d have to wait until he was a free man, and they were someplace besides a jail cell, before he could finish what they’d begun here. Oh, but what a beginning.
Brig undid her trousers and the thick, black belt she wore, then slid his hand inside. She trembled and a mixture of desire and confusion colored her eyes. “Be needy,” he urged. “Just lay still and need my touch.”
Reassured, she put her hands above her head. Brig curved one hand around them and she gripped tightly. His other hand sought the warm secrets between her thighs. When he cupped her softness, she thought she’d die if he didn’t give her more. Affection and passion combined inside her until she wanted to cry out that she loved him. That amazing thought was lost in her passion, and she had no time to analyze it.
“Melisande,” he whispered into her ear. “Melisande, I’m going to touch you inside.” She moaned as he made good on his words. “That’s right, love. Move against my hand. Does this make your eye feel better?”
Confused, dazzled, lost amidst sensation, she chuckled weakly and her voice was barely audible. “What eye?” And then she said his name in a way that made his hips arch against her reflexively.
“Aw, Melly, you could ruin me with a tone like that,” he said in a raspy voice.
Brig kissed the parted sweetness of her mouth and groaned when she gave back the pleasüre with abandon. His fingers continued to stroke her, slowly, expertly, making her rise and quiver under their guidance.
She twisted her mouth away and drew a long, shuddering breath. Then her eyes settled on his, and he watched her expression as control slipped away. She writhed as sensation washed over her, and Brig shuddered when he felt her wild tremors. She clung to him, shaking with pleasure, and tears came to his eyes.
This was love, then, he thought, this being so happy for Melisande that he didn’t mind the unslaked need throbbing in his own body. He gathered her close to him, stroked her golden hair, and kissed her forehead.
“Your needs,” she finally managed. “Poor you.”
“Sssh. ‘Poor me’ is about as bloomin’ ecstatic as a man can get. Funny thing, eh? Not very macho, eh?”
“Eh,” she agreed. “I adore you.”
“See there?” His voice was hoarse, his throat tight. “See what bein’ sensitive can do for a man? Gets him adored.”
“I adore you even when you’re not sensitive.”
“You mean I’ve wasted my time studyin’ Phil Donahue?”
They both laughed softly. She winced a little, and he got up to retrieve the ice pack. After he put it on her eye, he helped her dress. She watched him with a devotion that made his chest ache with pleasure. Brig covered her with a blanket, then pulled a chair beside the bunk and sat down.
“Sleep for a little while, love,” he told her, his hand caressing her hair possessively.
“Can’t. I’m on duty.”
“Then I’ll call Raybo and tell him you’re hurt. He’ll send somebody to take over.”
“I don’t ask for favors.”
“Melisande, the situation wouldn’t be any different if you were a male deputy. Relax.”
“The reason I’m accepted around here is that I don’t have to ask for help.”
“Wrong, love. You’re good with people and capable of handlin’ anything that comes along. That doesn’t mean you have to be tougher than everybody else. Sssh, now. I’ll wake you up if anybody calls.”
She struggled silently for a moment, then gave him a wistful look. “Promise?”
“Word of honor.” He smiled. “That’s more serious than swearin’ on a kangaroo’s hop.”
Millie sighed at the gentle sound of his voice and the soothing pressure of his fingers. Her eyes closed, and as she drifted off she felt a deeper sense of peace than she’d ever known in her life.
Dread gnawed at Millie’s stomach as she opened her eyes. And then, as her good eye squinted in the sunlight pouring onto her face through the jail cell’s window, she knew. Brig had let her sleep past the end of her shift.
“Dammit, no!” Millie threw the blanket off and rolled out of his bunk, ignoring the dull throb that had taken over the left side of her face. She ran to the cell’s little dresser and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eye was a rainbow array of colors, heavily favoring the purples, while the rest of her face was colorless.
“I look like a vampire on a day pass,” she muttered. She raked her fingers through her hair but it still looked as though it had been combed in a tornado. Her uniform was wrinkled and her shirt hung out of her pants. She had been weak last night, weak and soft and vulnerable, and she looked it. The terrifying part was that she’d enjoyed herself.
Millie straightened her clothes as best she could, then squared her shoulders and went to the lobby. Brig lay on the couch there, reading the morning newspaper. His feet were bare, and he had propped them atop one of the couch’s armrests. Charlie sat behind the desk with his feet—not bare, thankfully—dropped on a trashcan. He was sipping coffee and lis-tening to a talk show on the radio.
As soon as Brig saw her, he got up hurriedly. “How’s the eye, love?”
“What time is it?” she demanded.
“Eight-fifteen,” Charlie answered.
Her jaw set, she gazed at Brig angrily. “You promised to wake me up.”
“If anyone called. Nobody did.”
“My shift ended two hours ago!”
Swinging about stiffly, she walked to the counter and faced Charlie. “I apologize,” she told him, her voice clipped. “It won’t happen again.”
Charlie gave her a slow-eyed blink that made him look like a bewildered bear. “What’s wrong, Millie?”
“I’ll put the details of the incident on my shift report, and you note on yours that I was asleep in a prisoner’s bunk when you got here.”
“Melly, stop it,” Brig said, his voice grating.
Charlie gaped at her. “I don’t want to report you,” he said plaintively. “I’m not upset.”
Her chin up, she told him, “It’s a matter of duty and pride.”
“And foolishness,” Brig interjected.
Millie did an about-face that was nearly military in execution. He glared down at her in exasperation. “I should have known you’d treat me this way after last night,” she declared. “But I’m not a frail little ciybaby. I don’t need special attention.”
“You need to have your fanny paddled.”
“Get an army, McKay. If you try it, you’ll need help.”
When he was upset, he reverted to a heavier accent. His eyes flashed. “I’ve never walloped a Sheila in me life, so don’t strain yerself makin’ threats. But bein’ that you’re such a violent little thing, a good paddlin’ is probably the best way to communicate with you!”
“Your true colors are showing,” she retorted. “You wanted to play Sir Galahad last night, and in a moment of extreme stupidity, I let you. My mistake. Now you think I’m a helpless little girl who has to be pampered. That may make you happy, but it won’t work for me.”
Millie looked at the hard planes of his face and wondered how she could have seen so much tenderness there last night. He was furious. “You are a little girl,” he told her. “Because a grown woman has sense enough and grace enough to accept a man’s love without thinkin’ that he’s manipulative and selfish.”
“Geez,” Charlie said in an awed tone. “Everybody said there was something goin’ on between you two, but I didn’t believe it.”
That was the final blow. Millie pressed her fingers to her temples. Despite all her efforts to maintain a professional appearance, people were gossiping about her and Brig. Whether the gossip was ugly or not didn’t matter—a woman who worked at a job traditionally held by men couldn’t allow herself any slack. She’d learned that in the navy. When she recalled how Brig’s intimate touch had made her forget her responsibilities, she felt like crying.
Millie twisted, walked over to the desk counter, and thumped a fist down. Charlie jumped. “No matter what an
yone says, I’ve never compromised my duty as a deputy. Understand?”
“Nobody said that, Millie, and—”
“And I will never compromise my duty.” She jerked a thumb toward Brig. “He’s just another prisoner.”
Brig crossed his arms over his chest. “One you happen to love.”
She whirled around and stared at him. He read anger and shock in her expression, but also a kind of wistful distress that tugged on his heart. Her voice low, she bit into each word as if it were hard. “Are you determined to ruin my professional reputation?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “If that’s what it takes to teach you a lesson.” Brig wouldn’t have believed that he’d ever see fear in her beautiful green eyes, but he saw it now. He added, “Lucky for you that I don’t kiss and tell.”
Her face grim, she went behind the counter, opened a drawer in one of the file cabinets along the back wall, and retrieved her small straw purse. Looking worried, Charlie got up and hovered over her like a mother hen.
“You okay, Millie?”
“Fine. Have a good day.”
She came out of the desk area and stopped in front of Brig, gazing up at him with a cold, troubled expression. “I’m going to sit down with Raybo tomorrow and tell him what’s happened between you and me. Then I’m giving him my resignation.”
For just an instant, Brig looked stunned. Then his eyes narrowed and he said, “Good. It’ll make it easier for you to move to Nashville with me.”
Her good eye widened in disbelief. Brig was a hard-headed, overconfident, unstoppable freight train of a man. She could either give up, punch him squarely in the face, or laugh. Laughing seemed the best alternative.
Millie cupped a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shaking, she turned and marched toward the door. It was only when she was outside in the bright July sunshine that she realized how anguished her laughter had sounded.
Six
Raybo sat across from her, graying hair ruffled, paunch a little paunchier from the huge barbecue lunch he’d recently eaten, long legs crossed. He smiled his sweetest good-old-boy smile.
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