Sexy Beast II

by Kate Douglas, Noelle Mack

Good heavens! Taking in the masculine eye candy, Deanna licked suddenly dry lips, her libido waking with a good old college cheer. She’d thought her carnal desperation the result of her narrow escape, an anomaly that was unlikely to recur any time soon. Obviously, she was mistaken.

  She straightened slowly, careful of the bruise that made sudden movements chancy. “Deputy, um…” Her mind blanked, unable to pull up his name. Surely she knew it from yesterday, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what his name was.

  “Luger. Graeme Luger.” The deep bass voice that matched his physique so well did unspeakably intimate things to her body, made her wonder what he sounded like in the bedroom. “Just call me Graeme.” Large hands surrounded hers, made her feel smaller than usual—even delicate.

  She inhaled sharply at the unmistakable sexual interest in the bladelike smile that accompanied his introduction, and the heat pooling in her belly in answer. “Uh, Graeme. Has something happened? My things…?” She forced down irritation at her uncharacteristic breathlessness. A lifetime of depending on no one but herself had left her wary of emotions that smacked of neediness.

  Graeme immediately eased her concern with a quick shake of his silvered head. “I came by to drive you around.” He lifted a bushy brow. “Unless you have a car waiting?”

  Warmed by his consideration, Deanna shook her head in turn. “The rental agency can’t bring a car until Monday. Even then, I can’t leave without my things. Any idea when they’ll be recovered?”

  “It’ll take at least a week.” He shrugged, making his corded shoulders ripple. “There’s no easy way to get down to your car. We’ll need to borrow some equipment we don’t have and that takes time and paperwork.” The slow flow of words caressed her ears, almost distracting her from their content.

  She sucked in her lower lip. It wasn’t that grievous a setback. Her work files and other records were in storage in Boston. Her laptop could be replaced. Only her few treasures left over from childhood were irreplaceable. And those were at the bottom of the gorge. The delay simply meant she’d have less time to settle down in Hillsboro…and less time to devote to her inquiries about her parents before she had to get back to business. But the sooner she left Woodrose, the sooner she’d get to Hillsboro.

  “If you need a place to stay…” He hooked his thumbs on his pockets, his arms akimbo, in a casual display of beefcake—a rare delicacy these past few months.

  Deanna had to smile at the direction of her thoughts. “I’ve already made arrangements.” Despite its picturesque scenery, Woodrose didn’t have much by way of temporary lodgings. From what Mary Lee, the clinic’s friendly clerk, had said, there were no motels or even a B&B nearby. Deanna had ended up reserving a log cabin outside town that—according to the woman she’d spoken to—was popular for fishing and fall color, the main tourist attractions in the area. But first she had to get to the rental office to pick up the keys…and find out where the cabin was.

  “But not for a native guide.”

  Wrestling with her independent nature, Deanna forced herself to admit his help was necessary. After all, if she refused his offer to drive her around, how would she get anywhere, especially when she didn’t know where she needed to go in this little mountain town? It wasn’t as if she could download a map off the Internet, and Mary Lee had also informed her there were no local taxis and no means of hiring one. Until the rental car arrived, she’d have to accept help or limit her travel to her own two feet.

  “But not that,” she admitted reluctantly, trying to ignore the clerk’s bright-eyed interest in their conversation.

  “I’m free until five.” His low drawl made it sound like they were discussing something more intimate than just his driving her around. Strangely enough, when she’d heard Mary Lee’s accent, it had only registered as the voice of home, nothing more.

  “What happens then?” Deanna forced down a flush as her body responded to his intonation.

  “My shift starts.”

  “Then I guess we’d better get going.” Fighting for a casual demeanor, she slung her poor, badly scarred purse—which now looked like a candidate for the trash bin—over her shoulder. “Thanks for the offer.”

  At her acceptance, Graeme flashed her a slashing grin that sent a shiver of awareness darting up her spine.

  His car turned out to be a battered Jeep of indeterminate masculine color, a weird shade of green-brown that couldn’t have been the manufacturer’s original choice. She didn’t think the name existed in her color palette.

  To her surprise, he opened the door for her; she’d forgotten some men still held to such courtesies, used as she was to his counterparts in Boston. As she steeled herself to reach for the grab bar, he wrapped his hands around her hips and lifted her into the Jeep with solicitous care, clearly aware the bruise in her side made raising her arms above her head painful.

  Deanna held her breath, supremely conscious of the heat of his hands through her shorts. She appreciated his help, yet her heightened awareness of him did little to put her at ease. Setting her battered purse at her feet, she tried to mask the strange turmoil swirling inside her with speech. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you for saving me.”

  He shrugged, a surprising blush touching his cheeks with pink. “No thanks necessary. Just doing my job.” He quickly shut her door and rounded the hood of the Jeep.

  When Graeme got into the driver’s seat, the already Spartan proportions of the vehicle seemed to shrink further. His back was so broad, his arms were scant inches from her own. And—healthy male that he was—he radiated a palpable heat that caressed her skin as he drove, like seductive fingers inviting her surrender.

  Trying to ignore his allure, Deanna turned to the window to get a better look at Woodrose. The first time she’d passed through, the ambulance had been going too fast and she’d been in too much pain to pay attention.

  Crammed between mountains, the town was a haphazard agglomeration of wooden buildings clinging to the steep slopes, laid out in no discernible pattern. Its roads were more like paved trails, rather than the orderly street grids she was accustomed to. But there was a rough charm to it all that harked back to simpler times.

  They descended one slope and ascended another, winding between stands of deciduous trees and topping a ridge, before going down once more. Unable to pick out distinct landmarks, Deanna soon found herself disoriented by the switchbacks and crisscrossing streets unmarked by anything as obvious as a street sign. She was suddenly grateful for Graeme’s presence beside her, dreading the time she’d have to navigate the town on her own, once she had a car again.

  Despite their convoluted route, the drive didn’t take very long—it only felt that way to Deanna’s taut nerves. The cabin rental office turned out to be a long building filled with fishing gear, with lifelike mock-ups of large—presumably local—fish festooning its walls.

  “Hey, Gray! You droppin’ by the Hogg Wylde tonight?” The plump woman with glossy blue-black skin behind the counter gave the deputy a wide smile of welcome.

  Acknowledging the hail with a casual wave, Graeme nodded. “Have to make sure there’s no trouble.”

  “Good. Once those hotheads get liquored up, there’s no tellin’ what they might do.” The woman shook her head, making the beads at the ends of her cornrows clatter.

  Deanna ignored the irrelevant exchange for the one detail that interested her. “Gray?” she repeated softly.

  “It’s the obvious nickname.” He ran a hand over his short crop of salt and pepper, a wry smile tilting his lips.

  There was nothing overtly suggestive about his gesture, yet the speculation it gave rise to was inescapable: was he equally grizzled below, over his chest and groin? Heat flushed through her body at the thought of discovering the truth for herself. Her hands literally itched to find out.

  “What can I do for y’all?” the plump woman asked, smoothing the front of her skirt as she looked at them expectantly.

  “Betty, this is Deanna L
ycan.”

  “The one Fred ran off the road yesterday.” Betty nodded to herself. “Well, now, you don’t look too bad, honey. Good thing Gray here got there when he did.”

  Deanna fought not to squirm while the other woman chatted on. Listening to platitudes about the recklessness of youth today was difficult when her body tingled with awareness, but she must have managed the feat—at least, neither of her companions looked at her as if she had spouted nonsense.

  “Well, he’s young,” Betty finally concluded, setting out a register and a pair of keys on the counter. “Hopefully, this will teach him a lesson.”

  Deanna stifled a snort. As far as she knew, the drunk driver was less than ten years her junior! More than old enough to take responsibility for his actions. Not wanting to get into an argument, she managed to keep her opinions to herself while dealing with the rental paperwork.

  “You sure you don’t want anythin’ else?” Betty asked as she put away the register and the credit card slips. “Nothin’ much to do up there, what with no TV. You could try your hand at fishin’. We rent poles out. Give you a good deal on that. The creek out back’s got some trout that’s good eatin’.”

  More than ready to escape the good-natured stream of words, Deanna declined politely. After garrulous assurances that the cabin’s power and water were on, and that fresh linens had been put in, they finally got away with Deanna clutching the keys.

  Since it was approaching noon, Graeme brought her to a small, unprepossessing diner. The outside of the building didn’t look like it’d had the benefit of fresh paint in more than thirty years. The inside fared little better, the floors covered with scuffed linoleum. But the food promised to be good, if the number of patrons was any basis. It was early for lunch, but more than a dozen people were already seated in various stages of dining.

  Everyone seemed to know the deputy by name. Deanna couldn’t help but wonder if that was what life had been like for her parents in Hillsboro. But if that was the case, why hadn’t there been family to take her in when her parents were killed? Did that mean her inquiries were doomed to failure?

  Beneath the interested gaze of the townsfolk, they ate a simple lunch of salad and flame-broiled burgers, and discussed what she needed to buy.

  “Okay, clothes, some supplies and food.”

  Deanna nodded. “Uh-huh, and some books. Enough to last me until my things are recovered, or at least until my rental’s been delivered and I can get around on my own.” She bit into the thick sandwich with unaccustomed relish, savoring the juiciness of the meat patty with some surprise. No wonder people were lining up to eat in the diner! She normally didn’t pay much attention to food, but the hamburger just seemed to melt in her mouth and the beef was especially tasty.

  Before she could ponder her sudden liking for meat, two grandfatherly types at the next table stood up and walked over, chatting all the while. They stopped beside Graeme—one lanky, the other stocky and balding—and bestowed genial smiles on him.

  “So, Gray, is she The One?” the thin older man asked in an innocent tone.

  The One? Deanna paused in mid-chew. Were they matchmaking?

  His shorter companion didn’t wait for an answer. “Where’s she staying at, anyway?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” the lanky codger answered for Graeme, who wore a tolerant smile as he chewed in silence. “Betty rented one of the cabins out. That’d be to her.”

  “You mean that one by the creek?” The stocky man pointed a finger sideways, as if they could see through the diner’s walls to whatever he was indicating. “A bit isolated for a city girl, don’t you think?”

  Deanna had been enjoying the ping-pong conversation between obviously old friends that didn’t seem to need much outside input, but it looked like they would stand by the table all day if she didn’t say something. Swallowing her mouthful, she injected: “Betty said there was a creek.”

  “Well, there you go! It’s that cabin all right.” The lanky one bent down to whisper in a conspiratorial voice, “Don’t mind him. It’s a great place to relax, lose the aches and pains from the crash, soak up the wildlife. Why, up there you might even see a wolf. No harm done, right?”

  She blinked. Wolf?

  The stocky man harrumphed disagreement. “The only way she’d see a wolf up there is if she’s snorting something. There hasn’t been a wolf in these mountains for more than a century—not since my great-grandpa’s days—and you know it. It don’t do to go around scaring people like that.” The old codger continued his harangue as he and his companion walked on, clearly having forgotten Graeme and her in favor of retreading a favorite argument.

  Deanna smiled at Graeme. “Wolves?” she asked with a healthy dose of skepticism. While wolves had been successfully reintroduced in Montana and Yellowstone, they hadn’t reached West Virginia—at least as far as she knew.

  He shook his head ruefully, sunlight picking out the silver in his crew cut. “You heard him. There hasn’t been a wolf in these mountains in generations.”

  The rest of the meal went by without interruption, as the other diners chose to satisfy their curiosity from a distance.

  Their next stop was a small store offering casualwear that ran to short shorts and crop tops. Since Graeme didn’t evince any impatience, Deanna took her time browsing through the clothes on display, in no particular rush to bring her time with the rugged deputy to an end. She got a few simple tops and shorts, automatically choosing complementary colors, plus cotton sleep shirts. “These should be enough.”

  The deputy’s bushy brows knit. “Enough for what?”

  “To last until I get my clothes back. Then I can continue to Hillsboro.”

  He seemed to frown at her answer, but his expression cleared too quickly for her to be sure.

  Despite the pleasure of Graeme’s company, it felt strange to have a companion while shopping. Deanna had gotten used to doing most things alone. Certainly, her web design work wasn’t conducive to face-to-face interaction; most of her business was handled online.

  What was more, she hadn’t been alone with a man in months, ever since her restlessness started.

  Now, she had difficulty thinking of anything else but being alone with a particular well-built deputy sheriff, especially since he didn’t leave her side while she shopped.

  Dragging her mind back to what else she needed to buy, Deanna headed for the small lingerie section. Most of what was on display were strictly utilitarian cotton briefs. About as exciting as her grandmother’s flannel nightgown, or so she imagined, if she’d had a grandmother.

  She made a face, riffling through the sparse selection and resigning herself to the plain merchandise. All she needed was two sets; she could make do with that plus what she was wearing until she got her things back.

  Only there weren’t any bras in her size.

  Deanna searched the racks repeatedly, a sinking feeling in her belly. While she wasn’t that big, she wasn’t small enough to go without support either. Especially not while wearing the T-shirts she’d chosen—and anything else would be too thick for the summer heat. But the prospect of wearing the same bra day after day was too much to contemplate on a full stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” The growled question came from Graeme, who was standing patiently at one side, out of her way.

  “I can’t find anything in my size.”

  Efficient man that he was, Graeme waved a clerk over and consulted her on the state of their inventory. Unfortunately, she could only confirm Deanna’s conclusion.

  When Deanna chose a smaller size than she normally wore, he plucked the bra from her hands to study it with a critical eye. “This can’t be your size.”

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  “You don’t have to settle for that.” He snorted. “Miss Ginnie might be able to help.”

  Miss Ginnie?

  Though Graeme urged her toward the cashier, Deanna planted her feet, wondering who the woman was. “How?”

 
“She does direct sales for this kind of thing.”

  Understanding dawned. “She’s an Avon lady?”

  “Something like.” Graeme shrugged, the muscles of his shoulder bunching attractively. “She’s the town librarian and does direct sales out of her house as a sideline.”

  Satisfied with his explanation, Deanna paid for her clothes, conscious of the curiosity in the cashier’s eyes.

  Graeme drove her to a relatively newer neighborhood lined with prosperous-looking houses. He rang the bell of a two-story house and introduced her to the spry, elderly woman with blue-rinsed hair who answered the door.

  Miss Ginnie showed them to the living room, an old-fashioned parlor with delicate lace curtains, a curio-filled china cabinet, and frilly cushions competing for space on the cabbage-rose–printed, overstuffed furniture. Strangely enough, Graeme looked quite comfortable in the overwhelmingly feminine space. She refused to discuss business until she’d served them sweet tea and cookies, waiting to see them take a bite before listening to their explanations.

  “What size do you wear, dear?” The elderly woman took a measured sip of her tea after asking, seemingly oblivious to the impropriety of such a question in mixed company.

  Conscious of Graeme beside her, his virility magnified by their surroundings, Deanna mumbled an answer. On the pretext of drinking, she hid her warm face behind the glass of cold tea, wistfully remembering the tin of Earl Grey in her car as she tried to swallow the near-lethal dose of sugar without flinching.

  “No wonder you couldn’t find any. That’s one of the most common around here. Never fear, I have some in stock.” Saying so, Miss Ginnie patted Deanna’s hand and left the room, hopefully in pursuit of said stock.

  The elderly woman returned carrying a colorful mound of satin and lace that she set on the coffee table. “Now,” she announced with a cheerful smile, “let’s see what suits you.”

  Deanna stared at the frothy lingerie before her, uncertain where to start. When Graeme had told her about Miss Ginnie, she’d hoped to find a few basic pieces, but this surfeit of feminine luxury far exceeded her expectations.