by Sandra Brown
Why had he realized that too late?
“Because I’m stupid, that’s why,” he mumbled as he left his chair. He rinsed his cup out at the sink, unplugged the coffeemaker, and made his way through the shadowed house toward his bedroom. He happened to glance at his reflection in the mirror over his dresser. He had the bloodshot, bleary eyes of a drunk after a three-day binge. His beard was much darker than his hair and heavily shadowed the lower half of his face. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way, the shirttail hanging limply against his thighs. He looked thoroughly disreputable and nothing like the way the chief law enforcer of Latham Parish should look.
Lathering his face at the bathroom sink, he once again reviewed the events of last night. Sunny was all woman, no doubt about it. A sensuous, passionate woman. It had made her mad as hell for him to cut their foreplay short and rush off to the drive-in. If he had carried her from his kitchen into the bedroom, she wouldn’t have resisted. Oh, she might have put up some token resistance, her nature being what it was, but no real resistance.
He had decided after their first meeting that the only way he could woo Sunny Chandler was by not doing anything. It had become immediately apparent to him she couldn’t be flattered; she was inured to flattery. She couldn’t be cajoled; she was too smart. He couldn’t appeal to her pity; she wouldn’t have believed him.
Instinctively he had known that the only way he could successfully get her into his bed was to inform her outright of what he was going to do, and then not try very hard to do it. Come on strong and then retreat. Confusion was the key. By the time he made his final move, the poor girl would be so confused by his clever tactics she would be relieved to fall into his bed.
All had been going well and according to plan. But he hadn’t counted on the monumental roadblock of her fancying herself still in love with Don Jenkins.
He cut himself on the chin. He cursed the dull blade and angrily tossed the disposable razor into the waste-paper basket. Shedding his clothes, he stepped into the shower and turned on the faucets full blast. Maybe the hard spray would beat some sense into his skull.
In love with Jenkins! Ha! What a crock of crap.
He soaped himself, frowning at the thought of Sunny still besotted by that wimp. Couldn’t she see Jenkins was wrong for her? Didn’t she realize everything he’d said about Jenkins’s insecurity was true? Sure, it was armchair psychology. But it was so obvious any idiot should be able to see his theory was well founded.
Jenkins was the only man ever to hurt her. She was like a child who had been denied one single toy out of a boxful. Jenkins was the one she wanted only because she knew she couldn’t have him. If she had truly loved him, as she claimed, she would have forgiven him any indiscretion and married him anyway. Why couldn’t she see the truth?
Ty turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He dried himself in a hit-or-miss fashion. Padding naked into his bedroom, he began plowing through his bureau drawers looking for underwear and matching socks.
Sunny knew how to give just as much as she got. She’d scored a major point by calling his bluff and telling him she’d go to bed with him. Just for sex. No emotion.
Why the hell hadn’t he taken her up on that offer? Why hadn’t he scooped her in his arms and hauled her into the bedroom? He would have pumped thoughts of Don Jenkins, and any other man she’d ever met, right out of her mind. At least he would have gotten rid of what he was now having a helluva time stuffing into his briefs.
He cursed his swollen manhood. Cursed the golden woman who had made it that way. Cursed his own susceptibility to her. Cursed himself for not going to one of the many women who would have been all too willing to make his underwear fit this morning.
Dressed now, he snatched up his car keys and left his house. His patrol car started right up, though one would have thought the engine was reluctant by the way Ty floorboarded the accelerator. Thankfully, the streets of town were just coming to life and there wasn’t much traffic.
The sun was barely up, but it was already hot. His shirt was sticking to his back when he entered his offices at the courthouse. He was sporting a deep scowl and a tiny piece of toilet paper on his chin to stop the bleeding from the cut.
“Hi,” George Henderson said, turning around as the door crashed closed behind Ty. “Coffee’s almost ready.”
“I don’t want any. Did you get those reports typed up yesterday?”
George was taken aback by the abrupt question. “Yeah. They’re on your desk.”
“It’s about time,” Ty grumbled.
Ty’s dark mood was uncharacteristic. So was his mussed, damp hair, which looked like it had gone uncombed since his shower. So was the aimless way he prowled the office as though looking for something to strike at.
“Bad night?” George asked guilelessly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I was just asking.”
“Well, don’t ask. I’ll be in my office.”
His hand was on the doorknob when George halted him with another brave question. “How’s our bet going?”
Ty whirled around. “You haven’t won it yet.”
George laughed. “I haven’t lost it, either, according to your mood.”
Ty stalked into his office and rattled the glass when he slammed the door. He flopped down into his creaky leather chair and planted his boots firmly on the corner of his desk. Leaning back, he closed his eyes.
Sunny’s image was vividly imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. And just as vividly he remembered the way her breasts had looked behind that damn silky, lacy, crotch-grabbing temptation called a camisole.
He dug into his stinging, gritty eyelids with his fingertips and stifled a groan he was afraid his deputy might hear. Why was he torturing himself this way? Why hadn’t he taken her last night and ended this thing once and for all?
Because he had known that one romp in bed wouldn’t end it. His wanting her went way beyond the ridiculous wager with George. He wanted more than one night. He couldn’t fathom a time in the near future when he wouldn’t want her. Or in the distant future, for that matter.
She wasn’t like all the others he had bedded lustily but emotionlessly. When he took Sunny to bed, he wanted more than their glands to be involved. He wanted everything—emotions, fears, dreams—to play a part in their lovemaking.
But why?
Because she intrigued him. She put up a nonchalant, sophisticated front he’d seen straight through the minute he spotted her from across the room at the country club. She had a vulnerability she kept carefully concealed. He had wanted to discover the source of it. Last night he had.
So, fine. Now that he knew why she’d been so beguiling, why wasn’t he content? Now that he knew Sunny Chandler’s deep, dark secret, why wasn’t he satisfied? He had no one to blame but himself for not taking her up on her offer to go to bed with him. What was wrong with him?
The heat. The humidity. He could blame his itchy skin and short temper, his sleeplessness and sexual arousal, his fantastic fantasies and foul mood, on the weather.
Or he could squarely face the grim alternative.
He had fallen in love.
Eight
Sunny rolled out of bed and stumbled through the cabin to answer the telephone extension in the living room. It had been almost dawn before she fell asleep, and then she hadn’t slept well. Her head felt like it was stuffed with feathers, but there were bowling balls trying to push their way out through her eye sockets.
“Hello?”
“You had quite a night!”
“Hi, Fran.” Yawning broadly, Sunny folded herself into one of the easy chairs and drew her feet up beneath her. “What’s going on?”
“Absolutely nothing with me.”
“How can you say that? You’re getting married tomorrow.” Sunny closed her puffy eyes. The sunlight streaming into the room through the open shutters was blinding.
“A mere wedding pales in comparison to the exper
iences you’ve been having lately.”
“Like what?”
“Like going to the drive-in with Ty Beaumont. Then running into your ex-fiancé at the Busy Bee.”
“I see the tom-toms have already been drumming out the news this morning,” Sunny said dryly. “Don’t you want to know what we ate?”
“Steak sandwiches.”
“I was only kidding, for crying out loud!” Sunny exclaimed. “Who was the source of all this information?”
“I’ve had several calls from people who took in the Charles Bronson double feature last night. The consensus is that neither movie was as exciting as seeing you in Ty’s Datsun. When Steve stopped for doughnuts at the Busy Bee this morning, he heard the rest.”
“Unbelievable,” Sunny muttered.
“So, how was it?”
“The movie or the steak sandwich?”
“Come on, Sunny,” Fran said with aggravation. “Your date with Ty. Your first meeting with Don. Take your pick.”
“One was as ghastly as the other.”
“Running into Don so unexpectedly like that, I can imagine how terrible it must have been. What did he say?”
“You mean the grapevine hasn’t supplied you with a word-by-word playback?”
Her snide question dampened Fran’s enthusiasm. “Are you mad at me?”
Sunny massaged her throbbing forehead. “No, Fran, I’m not mad. I didn’t mean to sound so bitchy. Forgive me for taking out a pounding headache and a sleepless night on you.”
“Why the headache?” Fran asked sympathetically.
“Seeing Don upset me. I admit it.”
“What did you say to each other?”
“Nothing really. ‘How are you?’ ‘Fine. How are you?’ That kind of nothingness. It wasn’t so much what he said as how he looked. Bedraggled.”
“He’s always looked hangdog to me. Frankly I think he uses that self-effacement to evoke pity.”
Fran’s theory came so close to echoing Ty’s that Sunny lashed out defensively. “I don’t think his marriage with Gretchen is happy.”
“I know it isn’t. But everybody knows he took her on the rebound from you.” When Sunny failed to respond, Fran said, “So if Don is responsible for your headache, that leaves me to assume that Ty’s at fault for your sleepless night. Dare I hope that you went sleepless because you were otherwise occupied?”
“No, you dare not,” Sunny said tightly.
“Does your crankiness stem from disappointment or relief?”
“Relief. Thank God I don’t ever have to see him again.”
“Not see him again? Sorry, my dear, but you’ll see him tonight.”
“I’m spending tonight with you.”
“Right. After the wedding rehearsal.”
“Ty will be at the rehearsal? Why? In what capacity?”
“Best man. Didn’t you know?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be smiling?”
Sunny’s expression was about as far from a smile as one could get. She marched up the aisle of the church, ignoring her escort as much as the situation allowed. Which wasn’t much.
By virtue of its sheer size and strength a body like Ty’s wasn’t easy to ignore. He had shortened his long stride to accommodate hers, so their thighs seemed to move in perfect coordination while they maintained the measured tread in time to the swelling organ music. His cologne was so familiar to her now she smelled it in her dreams.
They reached the end of the aisle. In the church foyer, she withdrew her hand from the crook of his arm and turned to face him, having put it off for as long as she could. She had dreaded the wedding rehearsal, and it was proving to be just as difficult as she had anticipated.
Since it was a casual rehearsal, she had worn white jeans and a navy blue big shirt, the long tails of which were tied in a knot at her waist. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail.
Her tomboyish appearance had been intentional. She had wanted to curtail any romantic notions Ty might still be entertaining. However, when she had breathlessly entered the church, running late, he had looked at her with unconcealed amusement that told her he had gleaned her purpose and that it hadn’t worked.
“You never mentioned you were going to be Steve’s best man,” Sunny accused him stonily.
“Surprised?”
“Unpleasantly so.”
“What difference would it have made if you’d known?”
For one thing, she could have prepared herself for having to walk down the aisle with him at the conclusion of the service. It was going to be difficult enough to do it tomorrow, given the circumstances of her last march down the same aisle. Having Ty Beaumont at her side only compounded her anxiety over it.
“I might have resigned as maid of honor,” she answered tartly.
He laughed. “But you didn’t.”
To avoid his mocking smile, Sunny glanced down the church’s center aisle. Fran and Steve had been detained at the altar. The woman in charge was giving instructions to Fran’s daughters, making certain they understood where to stand during the ceremony and on what cue to start back down the aisle.
Sunny wished they would hurry. For all practical purposes, she was alone with Ty in the hushed atmosphere of the sanctuary. Considering why he had left her cabin last night in such a wrathful temper, being alone with him was awkward.
“I couldn’t resign,” she said, “so all I can do now is grin and bear it.”
“But you aren’t grinning. We’ve come full circle. Isn’t this where we started?”
“I don’t feel much like grinning.”
He leaned down and whispered, “Because we’re an ‘item’?”
“Yes,” she shot back angrily. “And it’s no wonder, the way you paraded us through the drive-in last night.”
He shrugged dismissively. “Part of my job.”
“You were off duty!”
Several heads at the front of the church turned in their direction and the instructions were momentarily suspended. From the back of the church, Sunny smiled weakly in apology.
Ty spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “The scene in the Busy Bee had enough drama to keep the gossips humming for the next three years. Do you plan to supply them with something to talk about on a regular basis?”
“Oh!” Clenching her fists at her sides, Sunny ground her teeth together. “You’re—”
“Wait,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Before you start slinging mud, let me tell you what I went shopping for today.”
“I don’t give a—”
“A fly-casting rod.”
She bit back her next words and stared at him in surprise. “A fly-casting rod?”
He bobbed his head in affirmation. “You know what that means, don’t you?” She looked at him warily, her expression rife with mistrust. “It means I’m calling off my bet with George.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no way I can win it, is there?”
She raised her chin a notch. “There never was.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head with chagrin. She was fond of the way his hair grew in a swirl around the cowlick on the crown of his head, but hated herself for noticing it, and hated even more her desire to touch it.
“I should have listened the first time you said no. It would have saved me a lot of, uh ... dreams.” He paused for a single heartbeat as his eyes focused on her mouth. “And it would have spared you a lot of aggravation.” He smiled an all-American, good-guy smile that would have warranted him a white hat in any western movie. “We’re maid of honor and best man. We can’t let this hostility between us spoil Steve and Fran’s wedding. So, what do you say? Are we friends?”
He stuck out his hand. Reflexively Sunny jumped. She stared down at his hand with open suspicion, then cautiously laid hers in it. They shook hands solemnly.
“Whew! That’s a load off my mind,” Ty said with a happy grin. “Now I can relax.”
&nbs
p; “Did somebody say something about relaxing?” Steve asked. He, Fran, and the rest of the wedding party had joined them in the vestibule. Steve was tugging at his necktie. “I could use a drink.”
“You sound like a desperate man,” Fran teased him.
“I am.” He drew her close and nuzzled her ear. “I have to wait one more night to get in your bed. Legally and officially, that is.” He said it only loud enough for her and Ty and Sunny to hear. Ty laughed.
Playfully, Fran fended off Steve’s amorous attack. “Why don’t you come over for sandwiches, Ty?” she asked. “Sunny will be there. She’s staying with me tonight.”
“Thanks. That sounds great,” he agreed with a smile. Draping his arm around Sunny’s shoulders he added, “Especially since my good pal Sunny will be there.”
It took a full five minutes to decide who would ride in which cars on the way to Fran’s house, since Ty had walked to the church from the sheriff ’s office and Fran’s daughters wanted to ride with their grandparents. It was finally decided that Fran’s father would drive Sunny’s car and that the bride and groom and their attendants would all go in Steve’s car.
“Oops, I forgot about those things in the backseat,” Steve said when they reached his car. There was a tuxedo hanging on the hook and a shoe box on the seat, along with several unopened wedding gifts.
“No problem. We’ll have room if Sunny doesn’t mind sitting on my lap.” Accommodatingly, Ty climbed into the backseat.
Sunny couldn’t protest. The car had bucket seats, so she couldn’t crowd into the front with Fran and Steve. Besides, Ty didn’t give her a chance to offer an opinion one way or another. He reached through the door, grabbed her wrist, and, giving it a sharp tug, pulled her in with him.
She landed solidly in his lap. He spread his knees wide and, placing his hands on both sides of her hips, situated her against him. There followed what seemed to be an inordinate amount of movement necessary to get her bottom settled in his lap, but finally he was satisfied.
“Comfy?” His lips moved directly over her ear.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s a good thing we’re only friends. Otherwise I might get ... embarrassed.”