He’d seen the way she stared at his crotch. He wasn’t blind, nor had he been unaffected by her interested gaze. But he had a job to do. He refused to let her know how she turned him on with just a pointed look. That wasn’t acceptable.
She’d popped up from out of nowhere. He’d seen something from the office window, a suggestion of movement, a hint of a shape, a shadow, a suspicious stirring that might just have been a ripple in the night, but he switched instantly into hunting mode. He didn’t like someone prowling around in his town in the wee hours of the night, staying in the shadows. His suspicions howled.
Sure, he concluded it was probably just one of the teenage boys who’d made vandalism the new sport in Rimrock lately, but maybe it was Hank’s killer out to murder the sheriff this time. He had to check it out, and he was just pissed enough not to be gentle with his capture.
The seething anger he felt as he weaved in and out of the shadows remained pumped and primed. She tripped his inner alarm, when she nearly walked right over him. He’d barely had time to react, to grab her.
Now, he couldn’t shake the concern he felt. It bothered him that a woman alone, late at night, slinked in a dark alley for no apparent reason, a woman who was short on cooperation and with a tongue and mind as sharp as a honed blade.
The problem with the set-up was in his experience, someone who sneaked around in the dark was usually up to no good. Damn, he hated that, but just because she was beautiful didn’t mean she wasn’t up to something. The question was. . .what?
And if not, if he’d misjudged her, then why was she so hesitant to answer his questions?
He couldn’t set aside his suspicions of her. An explanation from her was critical. At the same time, he admired the way she fought him.
She was such a fierce little thing.
Brave. Valiant. Feisty as hell.
If he didn’t miss his guess, she was a ball of fire any man would be tempted to get burned by, but he had a feeling she was so much more.
There was a depth to her he’d bet few men had had the nerve to delve into. Exploring that inner sanctum would be a pleasure as well as a challenge. No doubt, she’d be a handful. Her courage was commendable. She was beautiful in a wild, untamed way. Something in her eyes drew him. Exotically tilted, they were a fantastic sunburst of vivid greens and gold, shiny as a new coin, but pure feline. Tiger-eyes filled with spitting indignation.
Tiger? Hadn’t his grandparents warned him about a white tiger? Huh. She didn’t look dangerous or life threatening to him. He figured, in a pinch, he could take her in a brawl.
He felt his grin widen as he nudged the door with his hip and closed it behind him. Yes, definitely a tiger. He liked that. He liked her voice, too. That slow lazy drawl of hers sent waves of heat rolling down his spine and straight through his belly to his groin. It hinted at honey and sweet smelling magnolias, steamy sex, and tangled sheets. Of love on a hot afternoon that would blister a man clear to his soul.
She moved toward him. Her exotic cat eyes glittered with malice. Silently threatening. Promising. The challenge issued. She wasn’t about to back down an inch. He loved the way she moved—with feline gracefulness—boneless, fluid—a graceful saunter that wasted neither time nor energy and sexy as hell. She moved as slow as she talked.
His sex twitched as he imagined her beneath him, moving in an unhurried rhythm he knew would make him lose control. Vivid images flashed through his mind of her moving leisurely over him, catlike, her breath warm and moist on his skin. Tongue hot and damp, licking his chest, trailing a path down his stomach, gliding lower and taking his cock—
Shit. Danger coughed and forced his gaze away from her. What the hell was wrong with him? He never reacted this way to a female prisoner. He was always courteous, but maintained a professional manner. Always.
His gut clenched with desire. His cock twitched, and his balls ached. If she turned him on any more, his damned dick would stand straight up and thump against the buttons holding it back. She awakened a need in him, stirred something raw and pagan to life, something long forgotten and elemental—hot, intense lust.
He skimmed his gaze over her. She was small, but there were enough curves to whet a man’s appetite—son of a bitch. The little minx still stalked toward him like a jungle cat on the prowl. It was plain she intended to give it her best shot and fight him.
Why did she have to be such a headstrong, determined little cat?
Bracing himself for her assault, he watched her struggle silently with herself as she debated the wisdom of following through with her desire to battle him.
Dammit! She set his teeth on edge.
He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her. Okay. So she was a scrapper, he’d give her that. And so damned beautiful his heart ached, but he had a feeling she would drive him insane.
Her mouth—she had the most inviting, carnal mouth he’d ever seen. He swore softly beneath his breath as it suddenly hit him. She had Angelina Jolie’s mouth. Plump top lip, bottom lip luscious with a full, sexy pout that just begged for a man’s dick—Christ, her mouth ought to be illegal.
Danger inhaled deeply. Exhaled slowly. He didn’t like the fact that his mind kept heading south or the fact that what was behind the row of buttons stood up and waved for attention. With very little provocation on her part, his body overheated, and his cock started the fandango two-step.
A cloud of topaz-colored hair framed her lovely face. Highlights of red shimmered like rich jewels in the silky skeins. It rippled across her shoulders and down her back, glistening like a golden waterfall. Her hair was all the colors she’d stammered out before and even more. Eyeing the silken strands was like watching shimmering, variegated satin.
His fingers twitched. He ached to touch it, to curl his hands in the silken strands and force her mouth to his. He wanted a taste of her. A nibble. He’d be satisfied with a tiny bite of that sexy, bottom lip. One sample. It would surely appease his curiosity. He would know what she tasted like, then he could get on with this business.
He stifled a moan. This was not good. He had to do something quick to rein in his interest. But his gaze returned to her face and wandered. Her bones were fine and as delicate as a bird. If she attacked him, he didn’t want to injure her, and he could. He had no desire to destroy her wonderful spirit, but he couldn’t allow her to escape.
Danger drew a deep breath. “You don’t strike me as a fool, lady. So far, I’ve only been as rough as necessary in order to protect myself, but don’t push me. I promise you, I can be hell if the occasion calls for it.”
Fear rose in the intense depths of her eyes. Although he had a feeling she tried desperately not to let it show, she looked terrified. Visibly shaking, her eyes rounded with fear, and she took a single step back from him.
He suddenly realized she wasn’t just afraid. She was specifically fearful of him.
Now, why would she be so scared of him?
He’d never seen her before in his life.
The fact she was scared stiff of him hammered away at his mind, the thought somehow shocking. No woman had ever been horror-struck by him before. No wonder she was putting up such a fight. She was afraid and defensive. Guilt rose from his chest and lodged in his throat. He’d never meant to scare her. Not like this.
Okay, so he’d dragged her down an alley, mashed her face against a wall, frisked her, palmed her breast, and lugged her to his office across his shoulder. . .
Hell, he’d be scared of him too if he was her, but it didn’t set well with him that he’d caused the fright he saw on her face. Deeply shaken by the fact that he’d frightened her, he scraped his mind for a way to reassure her, but found his gaze settling on a jagged tear high along the outer seam of her dirty jeans.
A mouth-watering sliver of fair skin and red lace played peek-a-boo through the rip. The tempting glimpse of flesh and ultra-feminine lace tantalized his imagination. It made him think about what lay under the denim—behind that sexy bit of frothy materia
l.
Danger stifled a groan and clenched his teeth against an onslaught of pure, unbridled hunger. Dammit. All he needed was his libido to kick in first gear because of a bit of feminine lace. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen silks on a female before. He glanced away from the eye-catching lace and zeroed in on the sleeveless red-and-white checked blouse she wore. Her shirttail hung halfway out of the faded denim that hugged her trim waist. Two top buttons were missing and the provocative edge of a red silk bra grabbed his attention. Shit. He was no better off than he’d been.
Oh, yeah. It was damned interesting and certain to raise the temperature of any hot-blooded male. If he kept this up, by God, he’d remain hard as a mountain stone.
A third button dangled precariously by a thread. His fingers twitched. The urgent need to rip that damned, dangling button off her blouse punched him with the force of a stallion kicking him in the gut. Damn, if he didn’t want to search out those soft, inviting curves innocently hinted at by the drape of her blouse and snug jeans. Curves that tempted—lured him like the snowcapped mountain ranges of Montana.
He reached for a khaki jacket lying across the desk and shoved it at her. “Put this on.”
“Why?” She reached for the jacket in an automatic response to him pushing it at her and flung it around her shoulders.
“Because you’re cold.”
She snorted. “I’m cold—or you’re just through ogling me, Sheriff? I do have better things to do with my time.”
She thrust her hands on her hips in a fit of pique.
“You ogled me—it’s only fair I had a turn.”
“I did not ogle you.”
“Sure you did and turn-a-bout’s fair play in my books.”
“What could you possibly find so damned interesting in a little rip?” She scowled.
He raised his head to focus on her face. “What did you say about better things and time?”
“You aren’t even listening to me. I’d like to report a crime,” she drawled acerbically. “You know? A crime?”
“A crime?”
“Yes. I’m fairly certain, with you being a sheriff and all, you’ve surely heard about crime.”
“Sure. I know all about it. I know about suspicious characters and criminals, too.”
She wasn’t amused, not if the way she clenched her fists was any indication. Judging by her expression, he figured she was back to wringing his neck.
Danger cleared his throat, wary she might see the raw hunger he felt mirrored in his eyes. Christ, he hoped not. It didn’t matter one whit how much he had an itch to scratch. It could never be. If he came home with a pale-skinned woman, Papa Joe would never speak English again. Not that the thought of taking this particular female home with him had crossed his mind. Shit, no. His grandfather was apt to go on the warpath for real!
Papa Joe had little use for Anglo women. And this Anglo was paler than most with her rose complexion and nearly red hair.
The woman was trouble, nothing, but trouble. He thought she’d face the Devil and spit in his eye if she had to, but as far as he was concerned, she was as off limits and as untouchable as the mayor’s wife.
He didn’t want to know anything more about her than his job required. This was business. He intended to keep it that way. He never mixed his professional life with his personal one. In his opinion, it was simply asking for trouble. Living by that code had worked so far. So if it wasn’t broke, he wasn’t fixing it.
But the streak of blood smeared across her right cheek and crusted on her right elbow concerned him. “What happened to you?”
She raised a hand to the abrasion on her cheek. “You mean—besides you, Sheriff?”
Danger started toward her, then changed his mind, his footsteps faltering as she paled. “Besides me. I know I didn’t do all this damage to you. Were you robbed?”
She looked like someone had given her a rough time. He didn’t much like the thought of that. He lifted a brow and waited for her to reply to his question. She touched her tongue to her lips. Swallowed hard, then did it again.
His dick twitched. Jesus. He wished she would quit touching her tongue to her lips. He really did. An elemental rush of desire surged through him every time she did it. He shifted, uncomfortable with the rapid changes in his body. Shit. Behind the metal buttons of his fly, his dick lengthened and swelled. Christ. This couldn’t be happening. He should have accepted the blowjob Cynthia Hemphill offered him yesterday morning, then maybe he wouldn’t be so damned needy now. If little Miss Magnolia Blossom would just stop unwittingly enticing him— maybe his dick would quit going into spasms every time she did it.
He choked back a moan. Dammit, his brain had all but settled in his crotch and turned to gray sludge. Essentially, she was his prisoner. It was unethical, to say the least, to have a sexual interest in her. He snorted. Try telling that to his cock, but if he reminded himself of this frequently enough, maybe sooner or later he’d believe it. But the heaviness flooding his loins told him his body wasn’t listening, said, go to hell and wasn’t the least bit interested in ethical issues, would even give him directions if necessary.
He blinked to dispel the power she held over him, but the feeling of being a rat trapped in a maze—scurrying around unable to escape refused to go away.
Danger shifted his attention to the crumpled baseball cap lying on the floor.
When had she dropped it?
He sighed. With that mass of silken hair tucked out of sight beneath the cap, and the vague shadow she’d cast in the darkness, he’d thought her a young male prowling around, looking for trouble.
How could he have been so wrong?
Maybe it was her irresistible scent wafting across the room to him, that soft, sultry, woman smell that tempted a man to dream foolish dreams. His body felt primed, like a hot-blooded stallion. He had her scent in his nostrils. Knew it— wouldn’t forget it. Ever. He took a slow, deep breath. Like some kind of spell, her dark scent drew him. It seemed to cover his body, his clothes. Without thinking, he took an involuntary step toward her.
***
Lacey gasped at his sudden, unexpected move. Her heart leapt to her throat. Damn the man and his uncanny ability to move like a fearsome predator. He strode toward her with cat-like fluidity. His thigh and shoulder muscles rippled sleekly with each step he took.
She backed away from him, until her spine connected with the high-backed wooden chair behind her. In reflex, she pressed a hand to her heart.
It was all she could do to keep from giving in to the knot of panic that twisted her insides and remain where she stood. It was enough to give a lady a heart attack. She didn’t realize she’d gone back to wringing her hands until his gaze dropped. She looked down and stilled her hands immediately. No need to give him more ammunition to use against her.
When he reached down, picked her cap up off the floor and tugged it down on her head, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She really wished he’d stayed by the door. She preferred him blocking her path to freedom than hovering over her.
“Easy now, sweetheart, I don’t know what the hell you’re afraid of, but it certainly doesn’t have to be me.”
Like hell.
Lacey stifled the absurd desire to giggle and stopped wringing her hands— again. She had every reason to fear this man and none to trust him. The chair wobbled behind her as she backed up another step. Huh, so much for facing the enemy.
“Don’t do that!” His voice sounded strained, tight.
This time she did jump. “What?”
He exhaled deeply. “Stop backing away from me. I won’t hurt you, little cat. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
Lacey gave a derisive snort. Oh, right, he must think she’d awoken that morning stupid.
Both his brows arched. He held out his hand to her, as though trying to soothe a frightened mare. “Look, darlin’, I’m not going to hurt you. For Christ’s sake, quit looking at me as if I’m stalking you.”
“You are stal
king me.”
His flinty gaze drifted to her mouth before returning to meet her eyes. Lacey licked her lips, then froze as she realized he was staring at her mouth. He suddenly lifted his gaze to meet hers. She didn’t know which was worse, him staring at her mouth or having to meet his cold eyes on an even keel.
“No, sweetheart, if I was stalking you, you can be damn certain you’d be mine by now.”
Hateful man. Hateful, hateful man.
She curled her fingers into tight fists to conceal their trembling. She’d read somewhere once to never reveal your fear, to boldly stare the enemy straight in the eye.
Hah. Whoever parted with that bit of wisdom hadn’t been standing toe to toe with Crazy Horse, the ravaging warrior, who managed to look both sexy and fierce, at the same time.
There had to be a law against a man possessing bedroom eyes from hell. Why those scorching looks he sent her could blister a woman clear to her soul and leave her begging for the heat to be riveted up another notch.
In The Arms Of Danger Page 5