NAUGHTY BUT NICE

by Jill Shalvis

  No. Her mother had known him. Cassie had just hated and feared him. "The ticket?"

  "Now you're in a hurry to get your ticket? What's up, Cassie?"

  The sound of her first name in his incredibly sensuous voice seemed so … intimate. "Like I said, I'm in a hurry to get out of here."

  "Are you on your way out then? Already?" She opened her mouth to remind him that was none of his business but her cell phone rang. It was Kate.

  "Did you get there yet?" came her worried voice across the line. "Are you okay? How is it? You run into anyone we know? Talk to me."

  Cassie stared up at the tall, dark and intensely handsome sheriff. "Kate, your timing is something."

  "Oh, honey. Who is it? That mean old Mrs. McIntyre? Mrs. Wilkens? Because if it is—"

  "As a matter of fact," Cassie said, slowly smiling as her and Tag's gazes locked. "It's Sheriff Taggart."

  "Is that old fart still sheriff?"

  "No, Tag here is Richard's son." When her gaze ran down the front of him, slowly, across his broad shoulders and what looked like a very promising chest and flat belly, over his trousers, which lovingly cupped powerful thighs and everything in between, then back up again, he lifted a daring brow, then gave her the same slow perusal.

  Good, she thought in triumph. He was just a man after all, a man run by the equipment between his legs. A man who'd possibly forget to write that ticket due to the fact her little yellow sundress not only matched the car she'd bought herself last year but also accented the body she'd been well paid for over the years.

  "Cassie," Kate said into her ear. "I worry about you there, all alone."

  "I'm used to being alone." Funny how that worked. She was surrounded by people all day long and yet it was true. She was utterly alone.

  "I mean because of your stalker."

  Cassie's stomach tightened with the fear she pretended not to feel and glanced at Tag, who was unabashedly eavesdropping. "I'm safe enough here." She hoped.

  "The guy slashed all your tires in the hopes of leaving you stranded, remember?"

  "I do."

  "And then he ruined two photo shoots—"

  "I remember all of it, Kate."

  "I'm sorry, of course you do. Okay, subject change. You going to be okay facing what Flo left you?"

  That had been a shocker. That her mother had actually come out on the winning side after all, after always being considered the town joke. Seems the men in her life had come through, over the years gifting her a prime piece of real estate downtown, an amazing turn-of-the-century house on Lilac Hill overlooking town, and supposedly some other equally valuable things she needed Cassie to take care of. Cassie still couldn't believe it.

  "Cassie?"

  "I'm okay, Mom," she said, and accomplished what she'd wanted. Kate laughed.

  "Call me back."

  "Oh, I will." She clicked off and tossed the phone into the back seat. Then looked at Tag. "So…"

  Tag looked right back. "What do you mean, you're safe enough here?"

  "It's considered rude to eavesdrop."

  "Talk to me, Cassie."

  Oh, right. Terrified as she might be in the deep dark of night, she'd rather face the boogeyman bare-ass naked before asking this man for help. "If I do, can we skip the ticket?"

  Now he laughed and, good Lord, she hoped that wasn't a weapon he used often because just the sound could make a grown woman quiver with delight. She was fighting doing just that—uniform or not—when he flipped open the ticket book and started writing.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  Tag actually managed a night of uninterrupted sleep, mostly due to the fact that he'd turned off the ringer on his phone and had shoved his pager beneath the couch pillows.

  Not being on call did wonders for his mental health. What hadn't done wonders for that same mental health had been his dreams.

  X-rated dreams about Pleasantville's latest visitor. He doubted they'd sprung from the photographs in the lingerie catalog he'd received in the mail and had perused over dinner. Photographs that showed every perfect inch of the body that belonged to one Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.

  Lord, she was stacked. All long, tanned … lush. With the wild mane of sun-kissed blond hair and come-hither mouth … man, she was sure built like a goddess.

  A tempting goddess, for certain. But luckily, not his type. A woman like Cassie was trouble, and on top of that trouble, he imagined she'd be high maintenance.

  Tag was done with high maintenance, done with people needing him to take care of every little thing. The next time he let a woman into his life—and there would be a next time—it was going to be for keeps. She was going to be a sweet, quiet little thing who lived for him.

  Yeah. He was going to be the high maintenance one for a change.

  But as he showered, it wasn't the quiet little woman that came into his mind. It was Cassie. As in his dream, her cynically lit eyes were hot with passion, her mouth wet from kissing him, and her amazing body wrapped around his. Not only wrapped, but soft and pliant and so ready for him she would explode when he plunged into her.

  Now there was an image to make a shower nice and steamy and his body hard and achy. Nothing he couldn't take care of by himself. But that wasn't what he was looking for.

  Once the hot water turned cold, Tag got out, slipped on his uniform pants, and reluctantly put Cassie out of his mind. Even more reluctantly, he pulled his pager from beneath the couch cushions.

  His father had called—again. He'd probably heard about the tri-county arrest, the one in which it had taken the authorities—including Tag—three days to apprehend the suspect. Yeah, ex-sheriff Richard Taggart probably wanted to make sure Tag knew he would have done it in one day.

  Well, hell. So he wasn't like his father. So he didn't believe he had to bully the town into obeying the law. Hallelujah. But it'd be nice if just once, just one damn time, his father could acknowledge Tag's success.

  Tag ran a hand through his wet hair and bit back a sigh as he strode through his very quiet house to the kitchen, where he poured himself a bowl of cereal.

  "Note to self," he said to no one in particular. "The little wife will make me a hot breakfast every morning."

  Soon as he found her.

  The phone rang. Not surprisingly, it was Annie.

  "Hey, boss, get your sweet ass up. We're shortstaffed. Turns out Tim didn't have food poisoning, it was the flu, and half the staff is out."

  "Any bright yellow Porsches out there speeding this morning?" he asked.

  "Just one."

  And he was just in the mood for it, too. He slipped into his uniform shirt, grabbed his badge and hit the road.

  He found her immediately, cruising downtown, rolling through a four-way stop where he'd cleaned up more accidents than he liked to remember. Pulling her over, he strode up to the driver's side of her car and had to laugh at the look of fury on her beautiful face.

  "Let me guess," Cassie said through her teeth. "You haven't met your ticket quota yet for the week."

  "Careful, or I'll think you like me." He grinned when she snarled. "Did I mention yesterday that the speed limit is enforced here? As well as the full stop sign, which by the way, means you're supposed to come to a full stop. It's a ticket if you don't."

  She rolled her eyes and tapped her red-lacquered-tipped fingers on the wheel, the picture of impatience. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

  "You know, you'd get farther with honey than vinegar," he said, pulling out his ticket book.

  "I save the honey for someone who'll appreciate it."

  Well, she had him there. She could bat her pretty lashes and flirt all she wanted, he was pretty much fed up with the tactic. No way could she bowl him over with those sexy green eyes and walk away. Nope, he was far tougher than that.

  Maybe he wasn't big city. Maybe he had only the badge and his training behind him, but he was his own man and he knew what he wanted.

  And okay, he want
ed her. He was red-blooded, after all. But a quick affair to let off some steam wasn't enough for him, not these days. Slumming around no longer appealed. He wanted for keeps. The real deal.

  Nothing about Cassie was the real deal.

  "Meow."

  This came from the passenger seat, on which sat the biggest, fattest tabby he'd ever seen. "Well, hello," he said, and when the cat climbed all over Cassie to get to him, obviously using nails for leverage if Cassie's hiss was any indication, he obliged it by reaching in and scratching beneath the chin.

  A loud rumble filled the car.

  Cassie narrowed her eyes at the purring cat. "Look at that, the Daughter of Satan likes men. What a surprise."

  "Daughter of Satan?"

  She sighed. "Sheriff, meet Miss Priss. Miss Priss meet—" She glared at the cat when it growled at her. "Oh, never mind, you're so huffy and snooty and rude you don't deserve an introduction."

  "Funny," Tag said. "I would have said the same thing about her owner."

  "I don't own this cat, and I'm never huffy. Snooty and rude, most definitely. But not huffy."

  Despite the fact he didn't want to acknowledge his dreams hadn't been as good as seeing her in the flesh, his gaze gobbled her up. She was wearing white today. White tank top, white mini skirt, white leather boots. It seemed almost sacrilegious, all that virginal color on that mouth-watering body. Down, boy. "Why doesn't your cat like you?"

  "It's not my cat, it's my mother's. Apparently they frown on felines on cruise ships, so she left the thing for me to take care of, along with—" She sent him a look designed to wither. "Why am I telling you all this?"

  "Because I'm irresistible?"

  For one moment she let her guard down and laughed. Her entire face softened, and he stared at her in shock. My God, she was beautiful like that, he thought, and wondered what it would be like to see her happy, really happy.

  But then he took back the thought. He didn't care what she looked like happy; he'd prefer to see what she looked like from the back, heading right out of town. "Let me guess … you're on your way out of here."

  Now her frown was back, on those perfectly glossed lips. "I wish." She flipped her hair out of her eyes and lifted a shoulder. "I think you might he stuck with me a little bit longer. Hope you can handle it."

  "The question is, can your car insurance handle it." He opened his ticket book and she sputtered, making him laugh again. "Why do I get the feeling that not many have crossed you?"

  "Why do I get the feeling you don't care?" she muttered.

  When he'd handed her the second ticket in as many days, she grabbed it, tossed it over her shoulder into the back of her car and took off, her hair flying in the wind, her cat back in the passenger seat. The two of them were frowning, two obnoxious females thrusting their chins out against the world.

  * * *

  Honey, do what you got to do. The blazes with anyone else. Cassie heard Flo's voice in her head clear as day. More rarely she heard Edie's voice, Kate's mother, and for all intents and purposes Cassie's Mom No. 2. It seemed Cassie's bold-as-brass lifestyle leaned more toward Flo's advice than Edie's.

  She wondered if hearing voices meant she was going crazy, or just that Pleasantville was getting to her. Both, she decided, and stripped out of her clothes, fingering through the things she'd brought, looking for some comfy pajamas.

  She was a clothes hound and, thanks to her job, had collected many beautiful things. They were a comfort to her, the silk and lace, and proved, if only to herself, she was no longer poor.

  Poor had meant longing, yearning, helplessness, and she hated all three. She would never long, yearn or be helpless again.

  She thought of her little stalking problem—the slashed tires, her ransacked apartment, the threatening letters—and shivered.

  Well, hopefully, she'd never feel helpless again.

  In her suitcase she came across a tin of cookies her agent had given her. Cookies were a rare treat for a lingerie model, but since she'd canceled work for the entire summer, she tore into them and grabbed her book.

  The Savage Groom. Maybe some good old-fashioned French Revolution period lust would clear her head. At least she could afford her books now instead of sneaking into the library and past the haughty Mrs. Wilkens for them.

  "Chocolate," she moaned out loud and stuffed another in her mouth. Happy and cozy in imported silk, a fattening cookie in one hand and a book in the other, she flopped back on the bed and let herself relax for the first time in too long. "Two days, two tickets and a pounding headache. That's got to be some kind of record, even for me."

  Another weight bit the bed and Cassie lifted her head. Her gaze collided with the slanted yellow one of Miss Priss. "You."

  "Meow."

  Cassie tried to shoo her off, but the cat wasn't only annoying, she refused to budge, letting out that terrible wail she had.

  "Meow."

  "Hey, I just fed you…" When had that been?

  "Yesterday." Oh, man, good thing she wasn't a mother. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, the cat turned in a circle, presented her behind and sat within an inch of Cassie's nose.

  "Eww, move."

  Miss Priss did. She moved closer and, claiming half the pillow with her big, fat, furry body, she began to clean herself. Her private self.

  "I am not sharing a pillow with someone who licks her own genitalia."

  Miss Priss didn't seem to agree, and with a bolt of ingenuity, Cassie grabbed the spare pillow and threw it at the cat, who landed with a hiss on the floor. Leaning over the edge, she smiled smugly. "Stay."

  "Mew."

  That was an "I'm sorry" mew if she ever heard one. Damn it. What was she doing, snapping at a cat? Wasn't that like kicking a puppy? With a regretful sigh, she reached out a peace offering in the form of a cookie, and—

  "Ouch!" Yanking back her scratched palm, Cassie sat up. "That's it. Go play on the freeway."

  "Mew."

  "Oh, fine." She got up and fed the ingrate. Then, using both pillows now, she settled back on the bed against the headboard.

  The sound of a roaring truck ruined her peace, and she went to the window. The trash truck. Now there was a job. The guy on the back of the truck hopped off at her neighbor's house and hoisted the cans. He bad a slouch and a gut and … and it was Biff. In an instinctive gesture she backed from the window. Assessed how she felt.

  And grinned. There had to be some justice in the world if she—a Tremaine—was living on Lilac Hill and Biff —former star football player—was collecting her trash.

  She called Kate, who'd appreciate the irony.

  "Kate, Biff is the trash guy," she said when her cousin picked up the phone. "And he's not even the driver. He picks up the trash."

  "Perfect job for him, I'd say."

  Oh, yeah, she could count on Kate. "I'm sprawled on the most luxuriously silk-covered bed in a luxurious bedroom surrounded by the most amazing, luxurious house. Can you believe it? My mother lived like a queen after I was gone." And because it felt good, so good to relax, she arched her neck.

  "My God," Cassie murmured.

  "What? A spider?"

  She stared at herself in the mirror framed above the bed. She'd seen the mirrors before now, of course, but they were still a shock. She studied herself dispassionately. Her body was barely covered in azure-blue imported silk, showing off her full breasts and the belly that didn't look quite as flat as it should for a lingerie model. With a grimace, she tossed the cookies aside. "No, it's just this place. The garage is full of furniture from the duplex and my mother has mirrored ceilings."

  Kate let out a startled laugh. "Well, we always knew Flo wasn't a prude."

  Funny how even though Cassie knew exactly who and what Flo was—a woman unable to resist a man, any man at all—when it came right down to it, it was hard to picture her own mother having sex on this bed and enjoying the view from above. "You realize I'm on Lilac Hill, right? Lilac Hill. My fancy neighbors would have a corona
ry at the secrets this bedroom holds."

  "I imagine that was part of the fun for her."

  Ever the voice of reason, her Kate. Despite Kate's own demons, she'd always helped Cassie see things differently. And more importantly, she made Cassie smile. "Flo did enjoy a good scandal. But Lilac Hill, for God's sake." The place that as children they'd stared at enviously, fantasized over. "I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole."

  "You deserve it," Kate said with a sudden fierceness in her voice. "Both of you. You've worked so hard all your lives, and now Flo is sailing the Greek Islands and you're a world-famous lingerie model. You both paid your dues for so many years. You're supposed to enjoy this."

  "But I miss work." Cassie sighed. "The photo shoot I bailed on this week was in the Bahamas."

  "Which is where your stalker was going to meet you. Isn't that what the last threat said?"

  Yes, but she didn't want to go there. She so didn't want to go there. "So I'm here. In a house my mother never paid for."

  "Of course she did. She loved … who was it—Mr. Miller the banker, right?—and he cared enough about her to give it to her. Just like Mr. McIntyre, who left her that building downtown." She laughed. "I bet Mrs. McIntyre is spitting nails over that."

  "Oh, yeah. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under. Which reminds me." Cassie took a deep breath. "I have some ideas." She sat up because she had to be careful how she phrased this. After all, Kate was a Tremaine, which meant that like Cassie, she had more pride than sense when it came to accepting help. "You said you were ready to open another shop."

  "I said I wanted to open another shop, I never said I would open another shop. Successful as I've been in Chicago, I don't have the money for that yet."

  "I know. But I do."

  "I'm not taking any more of your money. I just paid back the start-up loan you gave me for the first Bare Essentials."

  "I'm not talking money, per se. I want you to take the building, the old men's store that Flo inherited from horny old McIntyre."

  "No."

  "Kate."

  "Cassie."