by Jill Shalvis
Not just any car, but a police squad car. Damn it. She tucked Pete's letters into her purse and turned with her hands on her hips as one tall, dark and sinfully fine-looking Sheriff Sean Taggart entered the building with a casual nonchalance that made her every hormone stand up and quiver.
Take what you can, honey, and spit the rest back out. Cassie thought about what Flo would say and had to admit there wasn't much to spit back out when it came to Tag.
Not exactly a comfort.
"Fancy you showing up out here," she drawled slowly though her heart had started racing at just the sight of him. She hadn't seen him since that night at the lake when he'd stripped down and showed her he was one pretty remarkable male specimen. When she'd accused him of only wanting sex. When she'd nearly succumbed to temptation and let herself lean on someone. Him.
Kate's head was swiveling as she looked back and forth between the two of them. "I take it you two know each other."
Tag just stared at Cassie, and she sighed. "Kate, meet Sheriff Sean Taggart. The man who single-handedly tripled my car insurance rates."
"Well, then." Kate smiled and held out her hand. "Nice to meet the rare person who can get the best of my cousin." When Tag nodded, then looked back at Cassie, unmistakable trouble in his gaze, Kate grabbed her purse. "Oka-a-ay. I'm thinking now is a good time to get some shut-eye."
"Kate—"
"I have a feeling you're in good hands," she whispered, then hugged Cassie tight before she vanished.
"You scared her off," Cassie accused.
"If she's related to you, she's no more scared of me than she would be of a kitten," Tag said evenly.
"Why are you here?"
"Because of the five complaints logged about the volume of your music."
"I turned it down." She turned her back. "I'll behave now. You can go."
"I'll just wait while you lock up."
"Oh, I'm not leaving yet." She bent to stroke Miss Priss. "I have some stock to go through, and—" She squeaked in surprise when he whipped her around to face him.
"Damn it to hell," he muttered, staring down into her face.
"Damn what to hell?" she asked, pure frost in her voice.
Her shoulders were stiff in Tag's hands, but it had just come to him. The problem he'd been stumbling over since she'd strode into town.
Yeah, he wanted her, just as she'd accused. But he also … liked her. More than that, he wanted her to trust him.
She didn't, not even close, but she would. He was suddenly quite determined about that.
"You know what I think?" he asked her softly. "I think your kick-ass demeanor, as well as the job that's made you so famous, is all a front."
She stared at him as if he was crazy. "What?"
"Beneath all that wild sensuality and come-hither smile designed to make grown men beg, you're all talk"
"Excuse me?"
"You just stroked the cat. I saw you."
"So?"
"So you claim to hate that cat. You claim to hate this town, and yet here you still are. Oh, yeah, I'm on to something all right. You're not nearly as untamed and uncaring as you want people to believe, not even close." Sure of himself, he smiled. "In fact, you're just one great big fraud."
She let out a disbelieving laugh. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I'm as out there as they come, just ask anyone."
"Not buying it. You're all talk, Cassie Tremaine Montgomery. All talk."
"You think so?" She grabbed a box off a shelf, tossed it to the floor, then kneeled down to riffle through it. "I'll show you talk." She lifted a set of handcuffs. "I have a set of these in my bedroom. Waiting for the right evening, the right lover."
He nearly swallowed his tongue, and instead lifted a shoulder. "So what? I have a pair on me all day long."
A sound of frustration passed her kissable lips as she tossed the handcuffs over her shoulder and pawed through the box again. With a cry of triumph, she help up a small plastic package holding…
He gulped hard.
"A clit ring," she said. "I have one of these, too."
"Are … you wearing it now?"
Her triumph faded, and with a growl she tossed it over her shoulder to fall next to the discarded handcuffs, leaving him to give a silent thanks because he doubted he could have handled remaining so calm, cool and collected if she'd showed him a clit ring.
On her clit.
Just the thought made him break a sweat.
Cassie dove back into the box, and this time came up with a small white leather pack and a smile that went right to his crotch.
Lord help him, he'd opened Pandora's box.
"Know what this is?" she asked in a sultry voice. "A portable vibrator. For the woman on the go. It fits into a pocket or small purse."
Oh, man. He leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms and forced himself to yawn. She would not goad him into a physical relationship, not when she still believed he wanted her only for sex. Nope. He wouldn't touch her.
At his feigned boredom, she sputtered. "You think I wouldn't use this to make myself come?"
He just lifted a brow.
Still on her knees, she shot him a look of pure daring, which in truth started his heart pumping, even before she lifted her denim skirt, revealing a tiny patch of red satin masquerading as panties. Pulling out the small white vibrator, she turned it on, smiled the very smile of the devil, and ran it over her thigh before settling it directly between her legs.
"Mmm," she whispered, letting her head fall back on her shoulders. Her eyes closed as she slowly moved the vibrator up and down and back again.
Her breath came quicker, and so did his. "Cassie—"
"Shh." Her hips started pumping in tune to her hand.
His own hands fisted.
"God. This is so much better than a fumbling man."
He'd show her fumbling.
"Oh, yeah…" The vibrator hummed. Her hand moved faster.
She moaned softly.
Up and down.
The red satin became wet, he could see it.
And Tag nearly sank to the floor. "Cassie—"
Her mouth fell open, her tongue came out and wet her lips. Her breath caught and she went still, so utterly still … then shuddered as she let out a little helpless cry, lost in her own pleasure.
Tag didn't move a muscle, he couldn't.
After a moment she opened sleepy, sated eyes and smiled. "Definitely much better than a man." With a click she turned off the vibrator and let her skirt fall back down.
Before she could riffle through the box again, his brain started functioning, barely, and he came forward. "Uncle," he said hoarsely, hauling her to her feet. "I get it. You're not all talk. And you're killing me. Lock up, you're going home."
"I suppose you think you're going to tuck me in and sing me a lullaby."
"No. You're going home alone."
"Suit yourself."
No mistaking her anger that he hadn't fallen at her feet in a boneless mass of need, but no one had ever wanted her for anything besides sex, and he refused to fit into the same mold as all the other assholes in her life.
"Got your keys?" he asked calmly, as if he couldn't have hammered steel with his raging erection.
She pocketed the vibrator and shot him a long look, definitely noticing the problem behind his zipper. "I have my keys." She patted the vibrator. "In fact, I have everything I need, thank you very much."
Fine. She was pissed at him, nothing new. But it was satisfying, despite the burning need of his body, to see the shock in her eyes that he wasn't going to try to get into her very wet panties.
And he would hold firm. At least for tonight.
* * *
Chapter 7
«^»
With Kate in town to help get Bare Essentials going, Cassie felt free to give in to impulse.
And impulse had her eating whatever she wanted—screw her agent telling her to remain thin—which included a daily sandwich by Diane at
the deli. Impulse had her going to the library for more of the books she sucked down every night—and teasing Mrs. Wilkens about her phone sex.
And impulse sent her back to New York for her agent's birthday party bash.
Going back had nothing to do with work. Nothing to do with needing something from her apartment. Or even wanting to see her friends.
Neither did it mean that she missed New York, because actually, surprisingly, she hadn't given it that much thought.
She just needed … out.
And she made no mistake about it, she knew exactly why she needed out. Tag.
She still couldn't believe he'd sent her home alone after she'd teased herself into a feverous pitch in front of him. Granted she hadn't shown as much skin as she had at the lake, when she'd worn nothing but skin … but she'd masturbated right in front of him! She knew men, damn it, and knew that watching a woman touch herself was basically nirvana. Heaven on earth. A fantasy come true.
She'd given him that, and still, he'd remained cool as rain. Nearly a week had gone by and she still couldn't believe he hadn't given in to his body's obvious craving.
But he hadn't, at least not in front of her.
Which meant he had far more self-control and restraint than she did, and she had plenty. It startled her, knowing he wasn't the usual puppet on a string. That he had his own mind. Was his own man.
It startled her, and unsettled her. Enough that she told Kate she was going for two days. She needed some action, and New York was where it was at.
Kate wasn't happy, but Cassie easily distracted her, mostly because Kate was busy with other projects such as working at the local theater—the Rialto—not to mention she had her own problems with the sexy Jack Winfield. And he was pretty damn sexy, so Cassie could understand the distraction.
In any case, Cassie wasn't worried. She wouldn't be in New York long enough for Pete to track her down. Besides, she had the restraining order. And in the mood she found herself in, she felt invincible.
Or at least, battle ready. Bring it on, Pete, she thought testily. Bring it on.
Back in the city, she looked up her friends, went to the birthday party, hit a great new dance club afterward, lined up some work for the fall and winter … and by the end of forty-eight hours, was ready to go home.
Home. As in Ohio.
Pleasantville, Ohio. She sat on the plane, staring sightlessly down as the landscape passed her by, wondering when exactly she had started to think of that one-horse, narrow-minded, too small town as her … home?
Not good. In the name of distraction, she asked the flight attendant for a deck of cards and tried to occupy herself in a mean game of solitaire, but she kept losing.
By the time she got off the plane, shouldered her carry-on and walked outside, the sun was setting. She put on her sunglasses and looked for Kate, who'd promised to pick her up, and realized she was still carrying the deck of cards.
Maybe she'd get Kate to come over to play a game with her tonight. Then she wouldn't have to stay up late and stare into the mirror above the bed wondering what the hell she was going to do for another long month and a half.
Only there was no sign of Kate. Really, that was no surprise. Cassie had always figured Kate would be late to her own funeral. With a sigh, she found an empty bench and sat, idly shuffling the cards to keep her hands busy.
When a patrol car pulled up, she frowned. Her frown turned to an all-out scowl when Tag rolled down the window. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, his shoulders straining his uniform shirt. Not that she'd admit it to him, but she knew him now, and could read his tension. What had gotten his panties all ruffled?
"Ready?" he asked.
Ready. Maybe that explained the odd tremble in her limbs at the sight of him. "Has hell frozen over?"
His jaw tightened. "You want to be nice to me today, Cassie. I'm in a mood."
"Oh, fine, you're in a mood. Well, just take it on down the road."
"Get in."
"What's the matter? Am I disturbing the peace?"
"Yeah. Mine."
"Kate is going to meet me."
"The arrangements have been changed."
She was going to kill Kate at the first opportunity. "I'd rather walk."
"It's thirty miles and it's going to be dark in five minutes." He sighed. "Let's go."
She would never in a million years be able to explain to anyone, much less herself, why she stood up and got in the squad car.
Without glancing at her again, he put the car in drive and took off. Cassie looked around her with morbid curiosity. "I've never been in one of these before."
"Uh-huh."
She hadn't, but at his sarcastic "Uh-huh" she folded her arms and stared straight ahead. Why had she said that? Why had she just opened her mouth and let something personal like that fly out? She never did that, and she never would again, or she'd cut out her own tongue.
Another rough sigh punctured the air, and his hand went to her thigh. She tensed, but all he did was gently squeeze her. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was uncalled for."
She tossed his hand off her leg. "Whatever."
With a soft oath beneath his breath, he exited the freeway, took a few turns, obviously knowing where he was heading despite the dark, dark night and the fact that there were no streetlights. They ended up on the east side of the lake.
"What are we doing?" she asked.
"Talking."
She stared into his sharp, knowing eyes. "About?"
"You shouldn't have gone to New York this weekend."
"I was in and out. Never saw Pete. He never saw me."
"How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure. Look, he's probably already lost interest."
He shook his head. "It was still foolish. Foolish, dangerous and stupid."
She crossed her arms. "Well, why don't you just tell me how you really feel?"
"Why did you do it?"
"I needed to get away."
"From me?" He seemed too big for the car. His shoulders and chest and arms filled her vision. So did his badge.
She turned and stared out the windshield. "Awfully conceited, aren't you?"
"When are you going to tell me why you're so bitchy when I'm in my uniform?"
"Um, because it's a terrible color on you?"
"Goddamn it, can't you just answer a question?" She expertly flipped the deck of cards between her fingers. "Sure, when I feel like it."
He got out of the car, came around for her and opened her door.
Cassie looked out over the black water and felt an urge to strip down and swim off all her tension. "You're on duty."
"I left work when I picked you up."
"I want to be alone. I want to go home."
"We're alone here, this is a secluded spot. Please?" He held out a hand.
She stared at that large, work-roughened hand, at his long, well-shaped fingers. If he'd said anything else, if he'd been a jerk and demanded she get out, if he'd just hauled her out himself, she would have been able to tell him to go to hell in a handbasket.
But he'd said please, in that low, husky voice that could charm a nun. Damn him. "I suppose it's hot enough that I could dip my feet in for a few minutes."
"Good. Bring the cards."
"Why?"
His lips curved slightly but he said nothing as she got out without accepting his help and walked to the empty beach, making sure to walk the walk, to toss her hair, to glance back at him over her shoulder.
Just so he'd remember exactly what he'd turned down the other night. It'd serve him right, she thought, for always so effortlessly making butterflies dance in her belly.
For making her so off balance with just the look in his eyes.
* * *
Tag caught the walk. His gaze was pretty much glued to her ass and hips as she swung them all the way down to the water.
He knew she had no plans on letting him get any closer than it took to drive him wild with desire. He und
erstood that, and appreciated the need coursing through him at the sight of her lush body, clad in a hip-hugging, gauzy white skirt and matching sleeveless blouse that was tied beneath her breasts, exposing a good hand span of her midsection.
Added to that dazzling effect was the fact the material gave off the impression of being sheer, that with every movement he was catching peekaboo hints of the soft flesh beneath.
Hell yeah, he wanted her. Badly. But something had happened to him that night she'd accused him of being like every other guy on the planet. Oh, he wanted the sex. He wanted the sex with her. And yet, surprisingly, he wanted more.
And he wanted her to know that. He wanted her to face it, to accept it, because he had the most shocking feeling no one had ever given her more. Ever.
In front of him, she kicked off her shoes and sat on a pile of rocks, watching the water hit the sand. She pulled up her skirt to her knees and leaned back, appearing relaxed and at ease.
Coming up next to her, he took in the gentle rise and fall of her bare stomach as she breathed, and concentrated on matching her calm rhythm. "Remember that night I won that teddy bear for you?"
Still facing the lake, her lips quirked. "I remember."
Hunkering beside her, he studied her beautiful profile. "Do you remember the kiss?"
He was close enough to hear the little catch in her breath as she turned to him. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?"
"No." Sitting, he kicked off his shoes and socks, then took the cards from her hand, shuffled and dealt them each five cards. "Want to play?"
"I'm good," she warned.
"So am I. Poker?"
Her eyes lit with pure trouble. "Strip poker?"
"If you'd like."
Her gaze fell to his uniform shirt and she lifted a shoulder noncommittally, but it was enough to decide him. In uniform he made her nervous, not that she'd ever admit it, and he didn't want that barrier between them. "I'd like," he said, and picked up his cards.
"You're going to lose. You'll be buck naked in no time flat, big man."
"If I lose, I'll strip." He lifted his gaze. "And if you lose…"
"I won't lose."
"If you lose…" he repeated, "you have to answer my questions."