by Desiree Holt
She cleared her throat. “You said you had something for me? I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m in the middle of doing some work.”
He turned back to her, his mouth turning up in a smile that made her knees knock. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a small electronic unit. Her PDA.
“This was under some stuff on the table where you were working today.” He held it out to her. “You probably missed it, being in such a big hurry to leave and all. I figured it was important enough not to leave it there until tomorrow.”
“Yes.” She gave a small sigh of relief. “I realized when I started to work tonight that it was missing. Thank you for bringing it by.”
She reached for it. Their hands touched, and she felt a bolt of something akin to lightning shoot up her arm and impale her smack in the center of her chest. That traitorous pulse in her pussy was pounding hard enough to play in a rock band. She yanked her hand back at once, but he reached for it and gently placed her BlackBerry onto her palm. The flare of light in his eyes was the only indication that he’d felt the electricity, too. And he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move away from it.
She swallowed past the panic that flooded through her and backed away further into the room. She couldn’t let him get any ideas about her or do anything that might force her to leave High Ridge before she finished what she’d come here to do.
“You know,” he drawled. “It’s only common courtesy to offer someone a cold drink or a cup of coffee in a situation like this. I’m good with either one.”
Coffee? A cold drink? Was she supposed to make casual conversation with him, too?
“I know this sounds rude, but I really do have a lot of work to do.”
He shook his head, almost dismissively. “Those cases are older than dirt, Miss Moretti. Another half hour won’t make a difference one way or another. Besides, you look like someone who could use a break.”
Her chin lifted automatically. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
He moved closer until he was only inches away from her. “It means, you’re so uptight, if I flicked my fingernail against you, you’d vibrate like piano wire. I’ve seen people teetering on the edge of a nervous collapse before, and you give a pretty good imitation. So how about that cold drink and a little conversation about the real reason you chose the High Ridge crimes to write about?”
Dana nearly dropped the BlackBerry. She curled her fingers tightly around it and schooled her features into as blank an expression as possible. But not blank enough. Because Cole was looking at her as if he could see right into her center, right into the workings of her mind.
Dana shivered. This was so not good. Not to mention the dream…
“I can offer you a cold drink,” she said, giving herself a mental shake. “I don’t know about the conversation.”
With an effort of will, she made her feet move toward the kitchen, dropping the BlackBerry into her briefcase as she passed it. Yanking two bottles of soda out of the fridge, she turned to head back into the living room, only to find a solid wall of muscle in her way.
Dana froze. She suddenly felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her kitchen and replaced by this man and images from the dream. Tiny drops of perspiration beaded her forehead, and her heartbeat felt like a bass drum against her ribs.
She had no idea how to handle the unexpected feelings running riot in her body. She certainly couldn’t let him know how he affected her. Literally shoving one of the bottles at him, she slid sideways past him into the living room.
“Thanks.” His deep voice resonated through her as he followed close behind.
She deliberately took the big armchair, leaving him the couch. As if he read her mind, one corner of his mouth quirked, but he folded his body into one end of the couch, stretched out his long legs, and tilted the bottle to his lips.
Dana could barely tear her eyes off him as the muscles in his throat worked to swallow the soda. The pulse in her pussy beat heavily, a totally foreign sensation. Her nerves felt as if someone had removed all the protective coverings and exposed them to the sensuality of this man. Could he see the thudding of the pulse beat at her throat? Was her face unnaturally flushed? She had a feeling that somehow, in those eyes that revealed nothing, he knew her darkest secrets.
If all of this was a deliberate attempt to put her off balance she didn’t dare let him know how well it was working.
He locked gazes with her again.
“So how about it, Miss Moretti? I’m not looking for social discourse, just an explanation. What’s your real angle here?”
Cole wanted to slap his head and kick his brain back into gear. Coming here had to be the dumbest fucking thing he’d done all year. But the shock of seeing his water nymph from the night before—the vision of his intensely erotic dream—walk boldly into his office this morning, as if he’d conjured her from his dream, still hadn’t worn off. Maintaining his composure had been hard.
It wasn’t enough that she’d popped up out of nowhere to rake open the muck of a case everyone had buried as deep as they could. The hard-on he got the minute he laid eyes on her today was killing his concentration.
There was nothing sexy about the way she dressed, and her personality could freeze Hell. But he’d taken one look at her slender, shapely body, her soft mouth and thick, shining blonde hair that reflected the lights, and his dick had stood up and whacked him. Just like last night.
Wonderful. Just what he needed. A stiff dick for a nosy, uptight, and from what he could tell, slightly frigid writer. What the hell was he thinking? He’d given himself a mental shake and dismissed all possibility of her from his mind for about half a heartbeat.
Then he’d stupidly taken another look and seen hazel eyes flecked with green but so bruised he couldn’t imagine what hell they’d seen. Looking at her now, so obviously trying to hide the fear she was feeling, he sent his dick a stern message to assume parade rest. This was not a woman who gave out sexual signals at all, although he sensed something buried deep inside her was fighting hard to get out. And that something was scaring her to death. Something was off-kilter here, and he planned to find out what it was.
He watched her, curled into the big armchair she’d chosen, the too-large T-shirt hanging slightly off one shoulder, bare legs tucked firmly against her tempting ass. She’d poured her soft drink into a glass she clutched with a death grip, her eyes focused on the bubbles dancing in the liquid. She was ignoring his question, as if the longer she waited to answer, the sooner he’d lose interest. She’d soon learn he never lost interest when something mattered to him.
“Miss Moretti?” he prompted.
“Dana.” She lifted her eyes to look at him. “Miss Moretti sounds too confrontational.”
He swallowed a grin. Confrontational seemed to be her middle name, but apparently, she was holding out an olive branch. To pick his brain? Coerce him into…what…helping her?
“Dana it is,” he nodded. “Will that get me an answer to my question?”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. What was it you asked?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the soft drink bottle dangling from his hands. “I asked what this project of yours is really all about. I get a sense here this is more than a writing project for you.”
She lowered her eyes again, shielding whatever expression they held. “You know what I do, Sheriff. I select an unsolved crime that interests me, do the research, and write the book. That’s not very complicated.”
He pulled out what he’d been told was his knock-your-socks-off smile, hoping to lighten the tension filling the air. “Cole.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re Dana, I’m Cole. Besides, I’m not in uniform.” He leaned back, making his posture less threatening, and he could see her shoulders relax minimally. “So, Dana, what’s the deal? Writers researching a story don’t usually rent a house and put down roots, no matter how temporary they might be. They rent a motel or hotel with
maid service so they don’t have to think about anything but the book.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “Have you ever seen the fake cowhide bedspreads at the High Ridge Motel? Or tried relaxing in one of their rooms? I need to feel comfortable when I work.”
“Let’s say I buy that. There’s still something in your attitude that tells me this is more than a story to you. So give it up. What’s the deal?”
She was silent for so long he wasn’t sure she planned to answer him. Then she sighed, took a long swallow of her drink, and set the glass on the little table next to the chair.
“I think the worst crimes committed are those against children,” she said at last, speaking slowly and deliberately. “They’re the most defenseless people. The most vulnerable. And the most trusting. People who…injure them betray that trust. I think whoever did this to the children of High Ridge has been able to hide long enough. If I can find answers, maybe everyone can finally get some peace.”
“All right. If that’s your story.” He lifted his bottle to his lips, looking at her over the length of it. “But remember, when you start to dig up secrets, sooner or later all of them come to the surface. Even the ones you want to hide.”
Did her face pale a little? Was that a tightening of her body he sensed?
He wished she’d put on something a little different to wear. Like body armor or chain mail. The soft fabric of her T-shirt, even as big as it was, draped lovingly against her breasts. The outline of her nipples, which he could see without any problem at all, told him she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath it. Her shorts came down to the midpoint of her thighs, but they were loose, and even in her tightly curled position he could get a tiny glimpse of the tempting bits of flesh they covered.
Suddenly the image of her naked flashed across his brain. Temptingly spread-eagled on cool, crisp sheets. Breasts full and pointing. Pubic curls covering a pussy that he wanted to plunge his cock right into. Inner thighs glistening with the juices of her arousal.
He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Thank God her voice interrupted his x-rated reverie.
“I don’t know what ulterior motives you think I have,” she told him, straightening in her chair. “I just want to do a thorough job.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “By the way, I noticed something today when I was looking at those old reports. All of the…bodies were found somewhere near where they were originally taken. The same place they were taken from. Don’t you wonder how he could have managed that if he were just some itinerant? He’d have to know how and when to get in without being seen.”
Cole frowned. Maybe he should have read the reports himself. “You’re very thorough.”
“I was hoping after I’ve had a chance to analyze my notes I could steal some of your time to ask you questions.”
Okay. He’d play along.
“I think that can be arranged, although I’m not sure what I can tell you.” He took a long swallow of his drink. “I assume you’re planning to talk to the parents?”
She nodded. “The ones that are still around here.” Her eyes challenged him. “Don’t worry, I know how to be sensitive and circumspect.”
“I’m sure you do.”
She pushed herself up from her chair. “I appreciate you bringing my BlackBerry to me, and I don’t want to seem rude, but I do need to get to work.”
“No problem.” He unfolded himself from the couch. “I’ll just stick this bottle in the kitchen.”
“That’s all right. I’ll take it.”
She reached for it at the same time he moved to hand it to her, and the skin to skin contact nearly fried him. Again, she startled him by jerking away and moving back two steps. Her hands shook as she opened the door.
When he moved aside, he was standing so close he felt her breath on his skin. An idiotic impulse seized him, and before he knew it, he did the dumbest thing ever. He lifted his hands to cup her face, thumbs stroking her high cheekbones, and very gently lowered his mouth to hers.
She was stiffer than a board, her mouth unresponsive. The hand holding the bottle popped up, and for a moment, he was afraid she’d hit him with it. But he didn’t retreat nor did he increase the pressure on her lips. One of his hands slid easily down her back and cupped her ass, firm beneath the thin material of her shorts. She relaxed under his touch, her lips softened, her body hummed with silent vibration, and his erection gained a mind of its own.
Then, without warning, she tensed again, shoved hard at his chest, and jumped back. Her face was pale as snow, and her eyes were looking every place but at him. It took him a second to realize she was frightened. Panicky. What the hell was going on here?
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, taking a step onto the porch. “I had no right to do that. I was way out of line. It won’t happen again. But Dana, there’s something—”
“No.” She clutched the bottle to her like a security blanket. Or a weapon. “There’s nothing. It’s best if we just forget all about this. Good night, Sheriff.”
So it was back to formality. Okay. He’d have to figure out how to regroup here. More than his hormones were stirred. Miss Dana Moretti had secrets, and he meant to find out what they were. Because in a tiny space of time she’d crawled under his skin and sparked something deep inside him. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had done that, and he wasn’t about to let this thing go without figuring out why that was.
“Good night, Dana. Call me when you want to talk. I’ll make time.”
He was gone before she could say anything else.
For a man who’d been more than circumspect in his love life since taking this job, he suddenly seemed to be losing his mind. And over a woman who had what looked to be a bad case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He’d seen enough of it in the service to easily spot it.
So what was her story? What had traumatized her to such a degree? And what, if anything, did it have to do with the child murders now twenty-five years old? He’d really have to watch himself with her. He might be irritated that she was digging into those old cases, but they were sure to be spending a lot of time together. The last thing he wanted to do was send her over the edge, which was always possible when flying blind.
He sat in his truck for a long while, watching the house, seeing her shadow behind the living room curtains standing totally still. Was she watching, too?
Grinding his teeth, he cranked over the engine and backed out of the driveway. He had the feeling his life was about to get way more complicated than he wanted. Maybe he needed to have breakfast with Tate again. Or take him up on the invite to dinner.
****
Dana stood like a statue in the living room, staring at the curtains as if she could see through them to the man still sitting in her driveway. His empty soda bottle hung limply from her hand. The thunderous beating of her heart banging against her ribs and the pulses throbbing hard in all her private places sounded so loud she was afraid he’d hear them outside. Her entire body felt as if she’d been zapped with a hotwire, then dumped in a freezer.
Slowly, she brought one hand to her mouth and touched her fingertips to her lips. She could still feel the imprint of him there, like the mark of a branding iron. That had been a huge mistake, but the remnants of the dream had still clung to her. She’d nearly put herself in a bad place with him.
Then the panic had clawed its way up, freezing her insides. Gripping her. She knew she was frightened of her reaction to him. It wasn’t just the lightning bolts of awareness that shot through her every time they touched. It was something more. For the first time in her adult life, her body was giving her the kind of signals she’d always hoped to have. Signals that meant she desired a man. Even though it petrified her, she wanted to respond to it.
Because he makes me feel safe.
How ridiculous was that?
Still, she knew that even if she was brave enough to let herself see where those feelings took her, she’d never be able to deliver. She was a fraud. But she could
hardly tell that to sexy Cole Landry. And he’d ask questions she didn’t want to answer.
God, she was such a mess.
She wondered what his real motivation had been for coming here tonight. He could have had one of his deputies deliver her BlackBerry, but he was curious. She saw it in his eyes. And determined to sidetrack her if he could. Was his kiss meant to throw her off balance, or was it something else? And if it was something else, then what?
Jesus. She was driving herself crazy with all this double think.
With a sigh, she stuck the empty soda bottle in the recycle container, pulled out a chair, and sat at the dining room table. It was time to stop thinking about Cole Landry and the unsettling way he made her feel. She had more important things to do, like analyzing the information she’d gathered so far.
Maybe she’d find the answers she so desperately sought, and in discovering them, she’d turn into the real human being she’d always wanted to be. A woman who didn’t suffer from an endless string of nightmares. One who suddenly really wanted to find out if Cole Landry could be more to her than just the resident sheriff of Salado County.
****
Cole clenched his fists on the steering wheel as he drove along the highway heading home, the memory of the kiss still sharp and vivid. He could still feel the silken softness of her honey-blonde hair beneath his hands. Worse than that, the dream was still so clear in his mind, the image of her naked body playing hell with his testosterone level. The vein in his neck throbbed, and his cock was trying to break free of its restraint in his jeans. He should wear a sign that said “Stupid.” He should…what? Apologize? Damn it, he already had, but he wanted to do it again anyway. And more.
He was still about three miles from home when his radio crackled to life. He keyed the mic and lifted it to his mouth.
“Landry.”
“Sheriff, this is Grace.” Grace Hathaway had been working night dispatch since long before Cole became sheriff. There was little she couldn’t handle, but tonight her voice had an edge to it. “We’ve got some trouble.”