“No, you’re not. But when you put your hands where they don’t belong, refuse to take responsibility for your actions, then follow your victim when she walks away?” Harper said in the hardest tone Max had ever heard from her. “You’re the next best thing.”
“Shit,” the guy muttered. But he looked shaken as he walked off, so maybe he’d actually give what she said some thought.
Max moved in closer to Harper. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m more pissed than anything.”
He looked her over, trying to assess the truth of that. Then took a deep breath. “You, uh, need a hug or anything?”
“No.” She gave him a faint smile. “But thank you.” Her shoulders squared. “I’m damned if I’ll let him ruin my good time—it’s been forever since I’ve been dancing.” She gave him a comprehensive look. “You certainly are a good dancer. Maybe you could give me a spin about the floor.”
“Absolutely. I’ll even keep my hands off your butt.”
As he’d hoped, she laughed. The sound shot straight to his dick, and he knew one thing for sure as he escorted her back into The Voodoo Lounge.
He wouldn’t be using his new condoms tonight.
CHAPTER NINE
WHAT THE HELL am I doing here?
Tapping a finger against the steering wheel, Harper braked on a road outside of Razor Bay as her headlights picked out BRADSHAW in neat black stencil on a utilitarian gray mailbox.
It had been a week since she’d seen Max but this was a bad idea. If she had a lick of sense she’d head home and call it a night.
Yet still she found herself turning into the driveway and slowly making her way up its long lane. Woods crowded in on either side, the forest floor covered in lush ferns stippled almost silver wherever the moonlight managed to filter through the foliage. Then she drove clear of the trees, her headlights illuminating a large sweep of lawn, and—
Stomping on the brakes, she looked at the dark, clearly unoccupied house.
Okay, that was likely a good thing. Right? She’d been pretty damn ambivalent about her presence here to begin with. And if she felt perhaps the slightest bit disappointed?
Well, she could just blame that on the wine.
Forty-five minutes earlier
HARPER POURED HERSELF a glass of sauvignon blanc and carried it out to the porch where she settled into one of the two old bentwood rockers. Relaxing into her seat, she soaked in her surroundings. Although she could make out faint snippets of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter from guests passing by on the main path below, up here on the edge of the woods what she heard most were the more soothing sounds of nature. A playful breeze soughed through the alders and firs behind her cottage, setting needles and leaves to softly rustling, while crickets chirped in multipart harmony, the raucous song of their wings rising to a crescendo, then going abruptly silent when something disturbed them.
The moon had risen above the trees at her back to spotlight the canal, its reflected light shimmering a path across the water’s slightly rippled surface like a silver brick road to the Olympics. They in turn soared to majestic heights above the water, forming rugged silhouettes against a midnight-blue sky.
It was beautiful, a sight to inspire not only awe but a sense of peace. Yet serene was the last thing Harper felt at the moment. She took a sip of her wine.
Then a swallow.
Then a gulp so big she nearly drained the goblet as she finally admitted to herself the cause of her anxiety.
She was enjoying her stay in Razor Bay way too much.
Setting aside the wineglass, she thumped her feet flat on the porch deck. Too much? Really?
That was ludicrous—why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? It wasn’t as if she was doing something wrong. Sunday’s Child forged long-term relationships, and she simply needed to be sure its dollars went to the best of the best.
And just because it was nice to rise from the same bed every morning for a change, it didn’t mean she was looking for permanence or anything. The differences she discovered in the new places she visited were precisely what she adored. They were what turned new locations into an adventure. She gained fresh experiences and met fun, interesting people. She had a network of friendly acquaintances all over globe.
And yet...she hadn’t had a serious, Capital G Girlfriend since she’d had to leave Anke Biermann behind in München when she was twelve.
Oh, she understood the why of it. As grand as it was to meet new people, it was considerably less so having to say goodbye. And perhaps, just perhaps, since that wrenching, long-ago parting with Anke, she might have subtly discouraged true intimacy even as she’d had those grand times with her global playmates.
But if that were true, it sure wasn’t working on Jenny and Tasha.
They had stormed her defenses like Attila stormed the Gauls, except with a better end result. She credited that to their choice of weapons: irreverent humor and an easy, taken-for-granted inclusion in their lives. They hadn’t asked if she wanted to be sucked into their orbit. From the very first day she’d come to Razor Bay to interview for The Brothers Inn gig, they had simply been the moon to her tide, drawing her in with irresistible force.
And she was seriously loving it. It felt like a very big deal.
Yet it was small spuds compared to her attraction to Max.
Ever since he’d rescued her from the guy with the roaming hands at the dance club last weekend, she’d been forced to admit that if suddenly having real girlfriends was big, her fascination with Max was huge.
It would be easy, she thought, setting the rocker in motion, to attribute her growing attraction to seeing him out of uniform. He’d looked just plain hot with that skinny-brim fedora tipped down over one inky eyebrow, the retro shirt hugging the breadth of his shoulders and the granite curve of his biceps, and those charcoal slacks that did the same thing for his most excellent butt.
But to her surprise, it wasn’t his very fine body that had gotten to her the most. That had been the light in his dark eyes and the grin he’d worn practically the entire night, a startling contrast to his usually stone-serious demeanor. His obvious pleasure at being out on the town and getting to dance had been altogether unexpected and totally charming. She’d just wanted to be with him all night long.
This single-minded preoccupation with him was confusing. And utterly unlike her. She’d always gone for suave, cerebral men. Older men.
Yet all of a sudden she couldn’t say why. Not when Max was so big. So earthy. So...
Sexual.
A frisson of defensiveness shivered through her. Her previous lovers had been sexual. They’d left her perfectly satisfied.
But remembering his moves on the dance floor, not only with her but with the other women she’d watched him dance with, she was pretty sure Max would take satisfaction to an entirely new level. And that he wouldn’t go about it half as politely as her previous lovers had.
Just the idea had her literally burning to discover what that would be like.
“So why don’t you?” she whispered.
Harper rose to her feet so abruptly she set the bentwood chair to madly rocking. Excellent question. Why didn’t she?
Because there’s no chance of it lasting?
But it didn’t have to be a forever thing. God knew this attraction she felt was to-infinity-and-beyond enormous. And while she couldn’t say so with complete certainty, she was pretty sure Max wasn’t entirely indifferent to her, either. So what did she have to lose?
“He could reject you,” she muttered.
And that would bite, no two ways about it. Not to mention make future encounters rather awkward.
But what if he didn’t? The idea pulled her to her feet.
* * *
SO HERE SHE was in Max’s yard, feeling idiotic beyond belief as she stared across the yard at his house, which was pitch-dark except for a single light on over his garage. Beautiful. Could she be any worse at this if she tried? He wasn’t even hom
e.
With a sigh, she put the car in gear to turn it around.
She’d barely pointed it in the right direction when light filled the tunnel through the trees that led to the road. Even through her closed window, she could hear the growl of a vehicle coming up the lane with a lot more speed than she’d used. She shut down her engine and climbed out.
A second later his rig shot into the opening, then came to a halt so abrupt, the SUV rocked on its shocks. The door swung open, and Max got out, tension clear in the set of his jaw as he looked unsmilingly at her across its top. “Harper? Is something wrong?”
Okay, not exactly a Hey, glad to see ya, but Harper had to admit it was a valid question. What was she doing here? Because what had seemed like such a great and adventuresome idea on her porch now seemed really stupid.
“Oh, no. Everyone’s fine. I, um—” Think, girl! “—just wanted to thank you again. I haven’t been able to get Friday night out of my mind.” Okay, good—that’s good. The truth always plays better. He didn’t need to know it was him rather than Grabby Guy that she’d been dwelling on. “But listen. This was a dumb idea and probably a lousy time to come calling. I know it’s late—I don’t know what I was thinking. So I’ll just be off. Get out of your hair.” You can shut up any time now. Tossing her purse through the open door, she concentrated on watching it land on the passenger seat to avoid looking at him again, then reached for the door handle.
“Wait.” Rubbing at a furrow between his brows, he started toward her. As if his movement were a signal, a sliver of moon cleared the cloud it had been lingering behind. “I’m sorry. I had a crappy shift. But I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”
She could see the weariness on his face. And instead of his usual pristine uniform, he’d unbuttoned the top of his shirt and had clearly given the knot of his tie a big yank. It draped in a canted ellipse across his chest, the ends pointing sideways. “What happened?”
He blew out a breath. “I could use a beer. You wanna come in?”
“Are you kidding me? Jake’s been lording it over Jenny and Tasha all week because he’s seen your house and they haven’t.” She grinned at him. “Of course I want to come in.”
He shook his head, his expression lightening as he walked up to her. “I don’t get what the big deal is.” Resting his hand lightly on the small of her back, he escorted her to his front door where he reached around her to open it. The heat of his chest pressed against her back for a moment as he worked his hand along the interior wall. Then a light inside sprang to life, and he straightened. Cool air rushed in to fill the space that warm muscle had touched. “But I guess I’d better invite them over. Jenny’s reasonably mellow, but Tasha will cut off my pizza privileges in a New York minute.”
She was already looking around as he moved through the room, turning on a trio of table lights. “Wow. This is really nice.” Even in the pale moonlight coming through the windows at the dim end of the room, that was plain to see.
“Yeah, I’m pretty happy with the way it’s shaping up.” He motioned her into the large open Great room. “The space was all chopped up when I bought it, so I took out some walls to open it up.”
“By yourself?” She looked at him in admiration. “Weren’t you afraid everything would cave in?”
“No.” His teeth flashed white in the here-and-gone smile he crooked at her. “You can learn to do just about anything on YouTube, so whenever I had to remove a load-bearing wall, I replaced it with a support beam in the ceiling. Ignore the kitchen,” he said, waving a hand at the breakfast bar’s bare plywood counter and the ancient cupboards beyond it. “That’s top of my list after I finish staining the exterior. And that’s not gonna happen until Jake helps me pick out a color.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I figure, him being a photographer and all, he’ll have a better eye for what’ll look good.” Shrugging, he moved into the kitchen and turned on an under-counter light. “You want a beer?”
“Sure.” She crossed to the lamp by the leather couch and turned it on, then walked over to admire the tile work on the fireplace surround and hearth. “This is gorgeous,” she said as he joined her, beers in one hand and a bowl of potato chips in the other. She relieved him of one of the bottles and took the seat he indicated on the leather couch. “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about if you chose these colors.” She indicated the creamy gold of the walls and the tiles of rich browns and deeper, earthier golds.
He shrugged and flopped down next to her. “I stole both it and the idea for the fir surround on top of the tile one from a picture I found online.”
“Whatever works, right?” She’d been admiring his work, but turning to look at him more closely, she did a double take. He hadn’t simply unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie. His usually sharp uniform was completely mussed up, half of his shirttail pulled free of his jeans and hanging down, the placket’s top two buttons missing. Something damp and rusty-looking smeared the khaki fabric along the edge of his now-opened collar. “My God, Max. What happened to you?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Pulling a knee up, Harper shifted around to face him. “Yes. I really do. I’d love to know what the heck did that to a uniform that’s always very spiff.”
“That would be from starting and ending my shift with a D and D.”
“What’s that?”
“Sorry, drunk and disorderly. The usual Razor Bay drunks know me, and, except on rare occasions, they tend not to get out-of-bounds obnoxious, because it will land them in jail if they give me too much shit. Even temporarily impaired, they mostly understand this—it’s one of the advantages of small-town life. But with the summer trade, I run into people who just don’t know when to quit testing my limits.”
“And you had one of those tonight?”
He blew out a tired breath. “I had three—three frigging drunks. I’d only been on maybe forty minutes when The Anchor called me in to deal with a drunk-on-his ass, shit-for-brains peckerwood tourist who’d been pissing people off right and left. When I refused to let him get behind the wheel, he slopped beer on my shoes and bad-mouthed my intelligence, my parentage and the size of my—” He cut himself off, and his gaze turned inward as though he were recalling the encounter. Then he shook his head. “The guy was about as much fun as a raging case of—uh—acne, but at least he was all talk. The call I got out to Low Harry’s—that was something else again.”
“Low Harry’s?” Harper’s brow furrowed. “Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Honey, no one you hang out with would be caught dead there. It’s about five miles out of town, and the place is a cesspool, peopled by every lowlife within a thirty-mile radius.” His big shoulders suddenly rolled as if trying to shake something off. “Damn,” he said. “I was this close to not having to take that call. I should have been turning the shift over to Blackwell, the other deputy, but he was late getting to the station.”
“What did you mean when you said that call was something else again?”
“It was ten times—no, make that a hundred times—worse.”
“Why?”
“Because these drunks were women. Women on a tear. And you do not want to get between two women going at it the way those two were.” His long fingers rose, as if of their own volition, to touch that damp rusty patch on his shirt.
Suddenly suspicious, Harper leaned forward. “Oh, my God—is that—?” It was; it was drying blood. Gently, she fingered the shirt away from the side of his throat and saw a taped-down gauze four-by-four, dotted with blood, from where the pad of his shoulder began to rise away from the curve of his neck to just beneath his collarbone. Another, smaller bandage was taped to the side of his neck above the first one. Ragged tails of a couple welts, shiny with what she assumed was antibiotic ointment, stuck out beyond the edge of the bandage nearest her.
“Good God,” she breathed, raising her gaze to his face as she sat back. “I’m glad you at least got medical attention.”
“Yeah, the clientele at Low Harry’s isn’t exactly known for their hygiene, and that catfight was already bloody when I got there. God knows what diseases those two crazy-ass women might have.”
“Did you at least crack their heads together?”
“I’m a trained professional, Summerville,” he said sternly. “We arrest—we don’t crack heads.” But a slow smile split his face. “I have to admit that’s a pretty cool fantasy, though.”
He looked so boyishly wistful that her heart just melted. That smile. Oh, Lord, that much-too-rarely-seen smile. It got to her, and without thought, she leaned into him and whispered a kiss across his lips.
They were both soft and firm at the same time, and opening her own she touched them with her tongue.
And promptly felt as if she’d grabbed the business end of a live wire at the damp contact with the seam of his lips. She jerked back and, pretending her knees weren’t shaking, rose to her feet. Better to concentrate on that lie than to admit that a simple kiss—not even a let’s-let-our-tongues-go-crazy soul kiss at that—had totally wrecked her. “Omigawd. That was so presumptuous. I’m— I should go.” She headed for the door.
Before she could take more than a couple of steps, he was moving. She felt his heat again as one hard-skinned hand slipped around her waist and splayed across her stomach to pull her back against him, easily holding her in place.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his breath brushing her ear. “That was very presumptuous. I might have to arrest you for assaulting an officer.” He turned her in his arms. “Or...” His dark-eyed gaze locked on her mouth. “I could just do this.”
And his lips came down on hers, hot and demanding.
Head swimming with the abundance of sensation, she opened for him. His tongue took immediate advantage, exploring every sensitive inch of her mouth as if it were property he’d just acquired. Helplessly, she wound her arms around his neck to cling tightly.
He didn’t say a word, didn’t even flinch. But feeling the brush of gauze against her inner arm, she remembered his injuries and pulled back. “Sorry. I forgot.”
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