One-Click Buy: February 2010 Harlequin Blaze

by Betina Krahn

  “You were very clever last night.”

  She smiled. “Some things never change.”

  His gaze roved her body. “Some things have.”

  “I guess I’m a late bloomer.”

  “So brains and beauty now, is it? Not that you weren’t cute before.”

  “I wasn’t even in cute’s neighborhood.”

  “Sure you were. There was something really great about your eyes. I noticed it last night, too. Though I didn’t connect you with…well, you. What’d you do about the glasses?”

  “LASIK surgery,” she said slowly, struck a bit dumb by the great about your eyes comment. He’d noticed her eyes? “Would you have…responded the same way if you’d known who I was last night?”

  “I guess so. Why would it matter?”

  She worried her lower lip and forced herself to look directly at him. “Look, to be frank, I acted pretty impulsively last night. I’ve been working a lot, and I haven’t—”

  “What do you do?”

  “As an insurance appraiser, I mostly investigate frauds and historical forgeries.”

  He looked impressed. “Yeah?”

  “It has its moments. But the thing is, I haven’t taken the time to get involved with anyone for a while.”

  “When was the last time you’d had sex before last night?”

  “I—” Talk about frank. She blinked. “I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe I should have clarified—when’s the last time you had great sex?”

  Never without you.

  The uncensored thought, thankfully, popped in her head, not out of her mouth. Was that really true? She didn’t want to pause and wonder because then she’d be in serious trouble. “Could I please get this out?”

  He leaned back into the sofa cushions. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “So I had this unresolved fantasy about you.” When he opened his mouth, she held up her finger. She’d like to get this done with as little humiliation as possible. “Not that I’ve spent the last decade pining over your yearbook picture or anything. I just felt…unresolved about us. I mean, I kissed you, you said no thanks and that was that, but I still wondered. And hoped things might be different.”

  She rose and turned partly away from him. Offering the truth this way was uncomfortable. In all but the most basic sense, he was a stranger. “When I found out you were back on the island, I avoided you. I didn’t want to remember how it used to be.” How it felt to want him and not be able to have him. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed on. “Then last night, Sloan and I got carried away talking about regrets.”

  “And fantasies?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, noting he wasn’t smiling anymore. He’d gone very still. “And fantasies. You were mine.”

  “Were?”

  “Sure. Last night lived up to—well…really surpassed—all my expectations.”

  “So now that you’re satisfied, so to speak, you’re done with me?”

  Wow, that sounded cold. And she supposed she had to face up to the fact that she had been. “It wasn’t mature or honest of me, I know. I am sorry.” She sank onto the lounge chair, laying her hand on top of his. “If I’d handled things differently, I guess we might have been friends.”

  “Friends, huh?”

  She couldn’t sense his mood, but he hadn’t stormed out. Yet. She’d used him for sex. He got that, right? “Well, if you want to try, I guess we could start over.”

  “Will us being friends involve you patting my hand?”

  She glanced over, where her hand covered his. “If you need me to.”

  For the first time, he looked annoyed. “Then I’ll pass.”

  She started to draw her hand back, but he surprised her by wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and with that little bit of pressure he was able to unbalance her, so she landed in his lap.

  Before she could do more than suck in a surprised breath, his mouth had covered hers. With his hand behind her neck, he angled her head, deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, heat pumping off his body like a furnace.

  The sensual hunger that had fed them through the night burst to life with a craving intensity she was sure she’d never escape.

  And why would she want to go?

  His need for her and her longing for him were explosive chemical compounds, undiscovered until last evening. Impulsiveness and a mask of deceit had led to something magical, something she’d been sure would never strike again. So she reveled in the recurrence.

  When he released her, she was panting. “Are you crazy? What was that about?”

  “I was just demonstrating that I don’t want to be friends.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, but her ears were still ringing, so she was pretty sure she’d misheard him.

  “I’m glad you agree.”

  “Agree about what?”

  “Not being friends. We’ve moved past the friend stage, don’t you think? I would have rather you told me about your fantasy to start with, but I’m willing to catch up. Which one would you like to do next?”

  Do what?

  He wanted to know about her fantasies and act them out? “I think I just fell into one,” she muttered.

  He waggled his eyebrows. “Sex on the beach, huh? That’s a personal favorite of mine, too. We should probably wait until after dark, but if you’re game…” He levered them to standing, still holding her in his arms. “I could always arrest us afterward.”

  She kicked her legs. He’d lost his mind. “Put me down.”

  “Here or out there?” He bobbed his head toward the ocean.

  “I could probably use a good dunking, but here’s good,” she told him. Standing, she had to brace her hand against his chest in order to get her bearings. His kissing ought to qualify the man as a lethal weapon. “We need to clarify some things.”

  He looked amused. “More talking, huh? I prefer action.”

  “Yes, I—” She stopped as the power of those potent baby blues twisted her stomach into a knot of desire. “I kind of figured that. But I feel compelled to point out that I used you for sex.”

  “And anytime you want to do it again, I’m available.”

  “But I don’t do that.” His wicked grin called her a liar. “Okay, I don’t normally do that.”

  “Good to know I’m a special case.”

  But I don’t want you to be special, she nearly blurted out. “I date men,” she said instead. “I have relationships with them. I don’t have casual sex.” And if that tidbit didn’t send him running, nothing would.

  “No kidding? Me, too. Well, not the part about men. How about I pick you up for dinner at seven?”

  “We can’t date.”

  “Sure we can. You said a few minutes ago you weren’t involved with anybody.”

  “But—” She certainly didn’t belong with him—island heartthrob, local hero, star of her erotic fantasies.

  Their relationship, such as it was, had started off all wrong. Even if she set aside the humiliation of the old crush, him knowing about the fantasy stuff and the way they’d rapidly reacquainted themselves with each other, their compatibility in bed was all they had. Since that was a small aspect—well, maybe not small, but not the be-all, end-all, either—of a successful relationship, she didn’t see any reason to pursue an ultimately futile project.

  Plus, she just plain didn’t like that he’d breezed into her house, kissed her, then asked her out as if dinner, a little wine and her flat on her back were all a foregone conclusion.

  Of course last night she’d wound up on her back without any dinner at all.

  But then it had been all her idea.

  “I already have dinner plans,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. They were with her brother, but still.

  “You do?”

  He clearly hadn’t expected this. No woman had probably ever turned him down. It was yet another reason anything between them was doomed. The balance would always be weighted on his side. She, like everyon
e else, would always be a little in awe, and she couldn’t let herself be that vulnerable to him again.

  “I do appreciate you coming by and clearing the air, but I have work to do this afternoon,” she said, “so if you don’t mind…” And she extended her arm toward the door leading from the deck to the house.

  “You’re throwing me out?”

  She opened the door, holding it wide. “I’m showing you out.”

  He stared at her a long moment, then smiled and moved toward her.

  She had a second to recognize this was the identical, ultraconfident, Vote For Me smile that graced signs all over the island, before his scent and nearness overwhelmed her and her brain went fuzzy.

  “If your date doesn’t go well, you can always call me later.”

  The cockiness wasn’t working on her today. Well, actually it was, but he didn’t have to know that. “I’m sure my date will be more than entertaining.”

  He slid his thumb across her cheek. “Too bad.”

  “Oh, so you’re not going to hang around and fight him for me?”

  “Would I win?”

  She thought of her quiet, gangly, video-game-loving brother. He was crafty, not brawny. “Probably,” she hedged.

  “It’s tempting. Winning you, I mean, not the fight itself.”

  “But…”

  “I’ve already seen more fighting than I need.”

  His years in the military hadn’t been all medals and glory, it seemed. And, despite her vow to get him out of her life, she found herself curious about the shadows that had moved into his eyes.

  “And the islanders might not appreciate their would-be sheriff picking a fight,” he added.

  “I guess so.”

  He moved past her, then crossed through the den. She followed him down the hall, wishing she could close her eyes and block the view of his fitted jeans riding his narrow hips.

  He turned. Regret filled his gorgeous eyes. “Call me if you change your mind.”

  She forced a smile and steeled her resolve. “Okay.” As she also forced herself to close the door behind him, she came to an honest and disturbing conclusion.

  Despite all her denials, delusional pep talks and hopes to the contrary, their chemistry was no charade.

  “SIR, YOU HAVE A visitor,” Dwayne said, sticking his head around the door frame the next morning.

  It was Monday, but Tyler resisted the urge to sigh. Barely. “Please don’t call me sir, Dwayne.”

  “But you’re in his office,” Dwayne said, a hint of awed fear in his voice. “Sitting at his desk.”

  “And when he comes back, give him all the sirs he can handle.”

  “Lester Cradock said that if he wins the election for sheriff, I’ll get my own bullwhip, but I have to address him as the Grand Island Pouba.”

  “Then you’d better vote for me. Who’s here?”

  “Sir—” He cleared his throat. “I mean who’s where?”

  “The visitor, Dwayne.”

  “Sister Mary Katherine.”

  Now Tyler did wince. “Did she say what she needs?”

  “No. Sorry. Should I have asked her?”

  Rising, Tyler shook his head. “You’re not my secretary.” He dropped a pile of faxes on the desk as he headed out of the office. “I’m not getting anywhere on this missing-silver case anyway. Nothing about the theft makes any sense.”

  “Yesterday you seemed sure the tea set would turn up in the pawnshops.”

  “Proving I know significantly less about local law enforcement than I do about flying M-16s.”

  “I’m not sure I’d put that on your campaign posters.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Would he have a stronger focus on this case if he wasn’t spending every waking moment thinking about Andrea? If he hadn’t slept wishing Andrea was beside him? If he couldn’t swear the alluring scent of her perfume brushed past him every five minutes?

  He could admit his ego was bruised. But the feeling weighing in his chest went beyond ego and disappointment. He was hurt.

  He rarely had trouble getting and keeping a woman’s attention. Where had he gone wrong with Andrea? Was one night really enough for her? She wasn’t involved with anybody, but she’d had dinner plans she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change to be with him.

  At some point, he really needed to look around for his charm.

  “Have you heard back from Mrs. Jackson’s pool cleaning company yet?” he asked Dwayne as they walked down the hall.

  “I don’t know how much of a company it is, boss. And his answering machine’s message is Went to catch some waves. Later. So we might not hear from him right on through the end of summer.”

  “Keep trying, will you? Maybe we’ll go by his office this afternoon and see if any of his neighbors have seen him.”

  “I think he lives and works from his parents’ garage.”

  “Terrific. Maybe they know where he is.”

  They rounded the corner into the outer office, which separated the rest of the station from the waiting area. For security purposes, the room had a large front window made of bulletproof glass.

  Aqua Joliet, the station’s day receptionist and 911 dispatcher, sat leaning back in her chair, her bare feet propped on her desk as she smacked gum and flipped through the pages of a fashion magazine.

  This was her usual pose, and since Tyler was only temporarily in charge and he’d yet to find any fault with her job performance—even the lack of footwear could be considered normal for the island—he didn’t generally comment. But with Sister Mary Katherine sitting only yards away, dressed in her formal black-and-white habit and knitting something, the whole business seemed strange at best, disrespectful at worst.

  He stopped at her desk and leaned toward her. “If crime were running rampant on the island, Aqua, and your fellow citizens were to dial nine-one-one, would they get an analysis of London Sheraton’s latest party dress or actual help from the sheriff’s department?”

  Blowing a bubble, Aqua tucked a blue-and-blond-streaked lock of hair behind her ear. Which actually didn’t turn out to be either a nervous or defiant gesture. With her hair out of the way, Tyler could see a small earphone, presumably linked to the phone system on her desk. “Should I be concerned about a crime spree, Lieutenant?” She flipped another page in the magazine. “And London Sheraton’s taste sucks. There’s nothing to discuss.”

  Clearly, he’d lost both his charm and his ability to command.

  Planting a firm smile on his face, he opened the outer office door, then headed toward the nun. “Sister, let’s go back to my—uh…the sheriff’s office.”

  She rose, her pale, smooth face wrinkling briefly in a smile. “Thank you, Tyler. I missed you in church on Sunday.”

  He didn’t think telling the sister that he’d crawled out of a strange bed after a particularly lascivious night was the right tone for their conversation. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make a stronger effort this week.”

  In the office, he offered her one of the chairs in front of the sheriff’s battered oak desk, then sat behind it. She tucked her knitting in her tote bag and folded her hands in her lap.

  “I think you know why I’m here,” she said.

  A flash of Andrea, flushed and naked, scooted through his memory. He staunchly blocked out the image. “No, Sister, I’m sorry. I really don’t.”

  “Henrietta called me.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s vital this case be solved.”

  “My team and I are working very hard to make that happen.”

  “Your team?” The sister smiled—benevolently even. “You, Deputy Dwayne and Miss Aqua.”

  She wasn’t both the spiritual leader and crab-claw-edged spine of the island for nothing.

  “Yes, Sister. My team and I are confident we’ll find the perpetrator. I’ve interviewed Mrs. Jackson, searched her house and dusted for fingerprints. I’m working my way through interviews of everyone who’s had recent access to her hou
se. I’ve talked to or gotten faxes from practically every pawnshop in Charleston, and I’ve been involved in the case less than twenty-four hours. We’ll find the tea set.”

  “Do you really think a piece that important is going to turn up in a common place like a pawnshop?”

  On top of every other complication in his life at the moment, did he really need a nun educating him about police procedure? “We have to pursue every possibility.”

  “While you’re pursuing, Deputy, please make sure the history of the island is considered. How can we move forward if we don’t know our past?”

  “I’ll adopt that as my campaign slogan.” When she continued to stare at him, saying nothing, he sighed. She wouldn’t be passed off with vague promises and a pat on the head. He’d been delusional to even believe in the prospect.

  He, like most islanders, suspected her habit was steel-lined.

  “So, Mrs. Jackson’s claim about the set once belonging to the president is true?” he asked.

  The sister nodded. “The historical society verified her genealogy years ago. Though she isn’t a direct descendant of his as she often claims. President Jackson actually fathered no children. She’s the great-great-granddaughter of his wife’s brother.”

  “So how does she have the name Jackson?”

  “A coincidence, believe it or not. Though I’m sure she’d tell you it was fate or some such. I expect her pride in her name is one of the reasons she never married.”

  Well, that and the plentiful supply of hunky lifeguards to keep her entertained.

  “Still, the tea set did belong to the president,” the nun continued. “So, as I said earlier, I doubt we’re going to find it in a pawnshop.”

  “We?”

  “With the sheriff out of town, it falls to me to supervise this case.”

  Knowing it would be rude and disrespectful to ask how the hell do you figure that? Tyler merely raised his eyebrows. “It does, huh?”

  “Yes, it does. I represent the island’s interests, the historical society and the church. Surely you feel you can trust me with the information on the case.”

  “Of course I trust you, Sister.” In his meddling hometown, was there any way he really thought he could be in charge of a simple burglary without interference? He’d led covert international flight missions with less interrogation.