With her heart beating wildly, her nerves screaming, and a sudden headache pounding in her temples, Reve tried to undo her seat belt. Her nervous fingers couldn’t manage the simple task. What was the matter with her? She wasn’t hurt. Didn’t have a scratch on her. Whatever damage had been done to the Jag could be repaired, and if not, she’d simply buy herself a new car and use one of the five others she owned in the meantime.
Why was she shaking like a leaf?
Shock. She was in shock. That had to be it.
A loud rapping on the driver’s side window gained her immediate attention. When she looked through the window, she gasped when she saw the face of a darkskinned savage, with black hair down to his shoulders, and a set of slanted green eyes peering at her. Maybe she’d hit her head and didn’t remember. Surely she was hallucinating. This man couldn’t be real.
Suddenly the driver’s side door opened and the hallucination spoke to her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
Reve gulped as she came face-to-face with the most brutally masculine man she’d ever seen in her entire life. A big, fierce warrior, with an angry look in his moss green eyes, reached out and began running his huge hands over her head, neck, shoulders, and arms.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she cried. “Get your hands off me.”
He ceased his inspection and withdrew his hands. “I was trying to check you for injuries, since you didn’t respond. If you’re all right, let me help you get out and up the hill to my truck. I’ll call a wrecker and—”
“Who are you?” She stared at the guy, noting that although he spoke with authority, he wasn’t wearing any type of uniform. For all she knew he was a serial rapist who just happened to be in possession of a flashing blue police light.
“Sheriff Butler,” he told her.
“You’re the sheriff?” Inspecting him further, she realized he was Native American, at least part Native American. Of course half-breeds and quarter breeds probably weren’t all that uncommon in this area, which wasn’t that far from the Cherokee reservation just over the state line.
“I noticed you have a Hamilton County tag,” he said. “You visiting somebody here or you just passing through?”
“Just passing through,” she replied.
He reached over and undid her seat belt. “Think you can manage to get out, or should I help—”
“I can get out without any help, thank you very much.”
After grabbing her purse off the other bucket seat, she shoved the sheriff aside and managed to exit the Jag, but the minute her high heels hit the soft, uneven ground, she lost her balance. He grabbed her around the waist, the action unintentionally bringing her body up against his rock-hard chest. She gasped, then looked up at him as her heartbeat drummed loudly in her ears. Their gazes locked instantly.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said as he stared at her, his mouth slightly parted.
“Take a picture, Sheriff, it’ll last longer.”
“Sorry.” He apologized, but continued staring at her. “You remind me of a friend of mine. The two of you could be—”
“Twins,” Reve finished his sentence for him.
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Just a wild guess.” She pulled away from him and tried to walk up the steep embankment, but three-inch heels weren’t made for mountain climbing.
Sheriff Butler came up beside her, put his arm around her waist, and all but hauled her up the hill. How totally demoralizing, she thought. Up until this moment in time, she’d never had so much as a parking ticket. And here she was being dragged away from the scene of an auto accident she had caused by her reckless driving. Well, not reckless, just speedy.
When they reached the side of the road, the sheriff released her instantly, as if he had no more desire to touch her than she had for him to have his hands on her. There was something unnerving about the man, something about him that sent off warning signals in her brain. And what disturbed her the most was that her reaction to him—to his touch—wasn’t revulsion. No, it was something else. Something she couldn’t name.
“We’ll get a wrecker out here to bring your car up and take it to the garage,” he told her. “You’re lucky. It would have been a damn shame if your bad driving had totaled your little XKR. I guess that fancy sports car must have set you back at least eighty grand.”
She didn’t like his tone, didn’t like his condescending attitude. Hell, she didn’t like him! He was too bossy, too big, too masculine. “No big deal,” she replied. “The only thing that matters is that no one was injured, not even the deer.”
“Yeah, you’re lucky, all right.” He surveyed every inch of her, studying her closely as if he was memorizing her face and body. “Speeding the way you were doing often leads to serious accidents. Sometimes fatal.”
“I wasn’t driving that fast.”
“My guess is you were doing over seventy-five in a fifty-five speed zone.”
“You guess my car cost eighty grand. You guess I was doing over seventy-five.” Reve crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the sheriff, giving him her best I’m-important-and-you’re-not expression. “Do you know anything for certain, Sheriff, or do you just go through life making uneducated guesses?”
His gaze narrowed as he focused on her. She shivered. That stern, disapproving glare rattled her nerves.
“Get in the truck,” he told her as he headed toward his vehicle. “I’m taking you to my office where I’ll get all the information I need. Then, if I decide not to arrest you—”
“Arrest me!” Reve stormed around the hood of the truck, following him until she could grab his arm. “Now, you listen here to me, you big country hick Cochise wanna be, I’m not accustomed to being treated this way. I can easily contact the governor and—”
He turned around, grabbed her by the shoulders sternly but gently, and said, “Get your butt in the truck. Now. And if you want to call the governor when we get to my office, then you call him. Hell, call the president for all I care. The way I see it, you must have a screw loose to overreact to everything that’s happened the way you have.”
“Are you implying that I’m mentally incompetent?”
“Lady, I’m not implying anything. Now, get in the truck before I pick you up and put you in it.”
Reve jerked away from him and planted her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Nope. I don’t have the foggiest idea of who you are, except that you’re the spitting image of a lady much nicer than you are, by the name of Jazzy Talbot. And I sure hope for Jazzy’s sake that you aren’t some long-lost cousin or something.”
“Is every man in Cherokee County a friend of Jazzy Talbot’s?” The minute the question left her lips, Reve wished it back. Damn, now this infuriating man would realize she knew who Jazzy was. So much for her escaping Cherokee Pointe and any complications from her inquiries about Jazzy.
He eyed he skeptically. “I thought you said you were just passing through.”
“I was. I am. And just as soon as we clear up this mess about my speeding and about the accident, I plan to be on my way. The sooner I see the last of Cherokee Pointe, Jazzy Talbot, and you, the better.”
“Then just shut up, get in the damn truck, and I’ll do my level best to see that you get what you want!”
She loved that he was rough with her, hurting her just enough to make it exciting, to make her heart pound faster and her pussy drip with moisture. He wasn’t like any lover she’d ever had and despite being only twenty—her next birthday in a few months—she’d already screwed at least two dozen guys, including her high school history teacher and a deacon in their church.
What she loved about Jamie was his sense of adventure, his willingness to take a risk. They were kindred souls. Why the hell he wanted to marry her sister she’d never figure out. She was a far better match for him. Laura would never dream of doing what she was doing. She’d never meet her sister’s fiancé at the stabl
es in the middle of the morning, strip buck naked, and fuck the guy’s brains out in one of the empty stalls where anybody might come up on them. No, not sweet Laura. She was far too shy and sensitive, much too much of a Goody Two-shoes to ever be able to satisfy a man like Jamie Upton, who had all sorts of dirty, wicked desires.
It was that chance of discovery here in the stables that heightened the tension and gave her a climax only seconds after he first rammed himself inside her.
“Harder,” she demanded. “And faster.”
He lifted her hips and delved deeply, then withdrew. Just before he started jackhammering into her, he bit her shoulder. Bit her hard enough that she cried out in pain. But she loved the pain. She felt it in every fiber of her being. Every muscle. Every nerve. God, she wished he was bigger, wished every thrust brought the pleasurable pain that she craved. But he was big enough, hard enough, and wild enough to give her another orgasm. It was building now, her body tightening, the sensation increasing with each millisecond that passed. She bucked up against him, encouraging him to hold back nothing. She wanted to come again before he did—or at least by the time he did. She wanted it to be so fierce and hot that the top of her head would come off. It had been that way the first time they’d hidden in her closet at her parents’ house and tore at each other like a couple of animals.
“Damn, girl, you’re wild,” Jamie told her as he increased his movements to a frenetic pace.
When he groaned deep in his throat, she knew he was fixing to spew into her. Her pubic lips swelled even more and moisture gushed out of her. And the very second he burst inside her, she unwound like crazy. Screaming with release, she clawed at his back, still covered by his white tuxedo shirt. While the aftershocks rippled through them, he collapsed on top of her, then rolled over and onto his side. She purred like the satisfied kitten she was, then rose up over him just enough to lick a wet trail from his right shoulder to his navel.
“You want to lick me clean, don’t you, you little she cat?” Jamie grabbed her head and shoved her face against his penis. “Do it, darlin’. Get a good taste of me.”
She struggled against his hold, but he was bigger and stronger and she couldn’t escape. Sheridan Willis growled, bared her teeth and opened her mouth. She could bite him. Bite him hard. That’s what he deserved. But, God, it would be such a shame to put him out of commission, even temporarily. She licked her lips, then placed her tongue on the tip of his sticky, deflated sex and licked off the mixture of their combined juices.
Chapter 5
“She’s insane even to consider going through with the marriage,” Andrea Willis told her husband in the privacy of their guest quarters at the Upton home.
When Laura had told them at lunch today that Jamie had explained—to her satisfaction—about his sudden absence from the engagement party last night and that the wedding was definitely on, everyone seemed as shocked as the bride’s parents. Although a sweet, sometimes even docile child, Laura had always been difficult to understand. God knew Andrea had tried to bond with their eldest child, but it had proved an impossible task. Of course she loved Laura. Who wouldn’t? But having to deal with the girl’s ongoing emotional and mental problems often proved too much for Andrea.
“Never, ever use the word insane when you refer to Laura!” Cecil Willis glowered menacingly at his wife, his lightly tanned face splotching with color.
Andrea felt herself pale as she realized why he had gotten so upset over her use of the word insane. Most of the time she didn’t think about that reason, preferring to wisely let the past stay buried, but apparently the past seldom left her husband’s mind. Especially not where Laura was concerned.
“Cecil, I did not mean to imply that Laura is actually crazy, the way…Laura’s just emotionally fragile. She’s a true purebred, like her father.” Andrea patted her husband’s shoulder soothingly. “All I meant by my remark is that I find it incomprehensible that she’d actually marry Jamie knowing he went to another woman the very night of their engagement party. Not when the entire town knows where he was.”
“I intend to talk to her, but I doubt it will do much good. I’m afraid if I forbid her to marry him, it will only make matters worse. She’s been doing so well these past few years. I’m afraid if I press the issue, she might have a breakdown again.”
“We’re definitely in a difficult situation,” Andrea agreed. “If we forbid her to marry him, it might push her over the edge. But we both know that if she marries him, sooner or later his philandering ways will destroy her emotionally.”
“If this was another century, I could call the bastard out, challenge him to a duel, and kill him,” Cecil said.
So like her husband to consider a once legal solution to protecting one’s honor and acquiring justice when a family member had been wronged. Cecil was an old-fashioned Southern gentleman to his very core. Generations of good breeding went into making that kind of man, just as generations of good breeding produced the Kentucky Derby-winning thoroughbreds the Willis Farm produced.
“If I thought killing Jamie Upton would solve the problem, then I’d load the gun and hand it to you.” Andrea sighed. “But we know what his death would do to our Laura.”
Something alerted Andrea that they weren’t alone. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard the door open or not, but when she glanced at the threshold, she saw her daughter Sheridan standing there. Beautiful, vivacious Sheridan, with her big brown eyes and chestnut brown hair so like Andrea’s own. Her baby girl was a wild hellion, but as mentally stable as they came. No temper tantrums. No crying jags. No emotional breakdowns. Sheridan was made of tough stuff. And like her mother, when she saw something she wanted, she reached out and grabbed it.
“Whose death are you referring to?” Sheridan asked.
“How long have you been standing there, young lady?” Cecil frowned at his daughter.
“Long enough to know that you two were discussing murdering Jamie Upton.”
“We were doing no such thing,” Andrea told her.
“He is a total bastard, isn’t he?” Sheridan grinned. “And much too much man for our sweet Laura.”
“Despite the fact that we all agree on Upton’s unworthiness, it doesn’t alter the fact that Laura’s in love with him,” Cecil said. “I had so hoped she would find a nice young man, someone who would appreciate her and—”
“And take care of her,” Sheridan finished her father’s sentence.
“Yes,” Cecil replied sadly. “Someone who would take care of her.”
“She doesn’t need a husband for that, Daddy. Not when you do such a great job of it yourself.”
“Sheridan, don’t start with that nonsense,” Andrea warned. Since childhood, Sheridan had been jealous of Cecil’s relationship with Laura, and no matter how much she tried to persuade their younger daughter that her father loved her just as much as he did Laura, she refused to believe it.
Cecil looked pleadingly at Sheridan. “You know full well that Laura needs—”
“Oh, yes, I know. Laura needs more attention. Laura needs more love. Laura needs more praise. Laura needs everything and I need nothing. So that’s what you’ve given me, Daddy, absolutely nothing.”
“That isn’t true and you know it.” Cecil reached out for Sheridan, but she easily sidestepped him. “Sweetheart, I’ve adored you since the day you were born. I’ve always been proud of you for being such a bright, strong, competent young lady.”
“That’s me all right. Strong and competent. And what has it gotten me? Not your time and attention. If I’d been more like Laura—more emotionally and mentally unstable—maybe you’d have paid attention to me.”
“Don’t ever refer to your sister as mentally unstable!” Cecil bellowed.
“Why not? That’s what she is, and we all know it. She’s had more than one nervous breakdown. My big sister is looney tunes, and that’s a fact.”
Cecil Willis lifted his hand to strike his daughter. Andrea stepped between him and Sheridan just in
time to prevent disaster. Realizing what he’d been about to do, Cecil dropped his hand to his side and hung his head.
Andrea turned to Sheridan. “Your father is overwrought. He would never strike you. We’re both very concerned about Laura marrying this terrible young man.”
“Would you be so worried if I were the one marrying him?”
“Yes, of course we would be. What a silly thing to ask.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, don’t worry, Mother. After Laura marries Jamie and has a severe nervous breakdown within six months, you and Daddy can pick up the pieces and try to put Humpty-Laura together again.”
Before Andrea could reply, Sheridan whirled around and left the room.
“We’ve failed both of them,” Cecil said. “And it’s all my fault.”
Andrea put her arm around her husband’s slender waist and hugged him. She loved this man more than anything on earth. There had never been anyone else for her.
“You didn’t fail them. You’re a good father to both of your daughters.”
No, Cecil wasn’t at fault, Andrea thought. All the blame lay elsewhere, with a woman long dead. A woman responsible for all the heartache their family had endured.
“Am I free to go?” Reve asked Sheriff Butler, who had detained her for nearly three hours at the sheriff’s department, located on the first floor of the Cherokee County courthouse. Of course, being a responsible officer of the law, he’d taken her by the local hospital’s ER before dragging her here. Just as a precaution, he’d told her. More to humiliate her, she’d decided. This big moron had taken it upon himself to try to bring “Miss High and Mighty” down a peg or two. While she’d been twiddling her thumbs waiting for him to release her, she’d overheard him say those very words to one of his deputies.
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