Most Wanted Woman

by Maggie Price

  “I’m not a damn puzzle.”

  “To me you are.” He was suddenly aware of how quiet the building was, how dark the balcony outside had been, and how the two of them were alone in a tiny alcove in a very small apartment.

  It was crazy, he thought. He had no business forgetting that something about her hadn’t felt right since the first time he’d talked to her. Or that he’d resolved to keep an eye on her to make sure Etta’s best interests were protected. Still, there was no law that said he couldn’t enjoy the proximity while he was at it.

  And, crazy or not, he wanted to feel her mouth on his. Find out if she tasted as good as she looked.

  He lifted a hand, trailed his fingers down her cheek, along her jaw, then down so that he felt the pulse in her throat beat hard and erratic. He lowered his mouth toward hers, stopping an inch before contact. He watched her eyes darken, heard her long intake of breath. He waited, while his already hot blood surged and he knew they were both suffering.

  His lips brushed over hers, and he felt her tremble. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he settled one hand at the bend of her waist, cupped his other palm against the side of her throat.

  He closed his mouth over hers, teased her lips apart with his tongue and tasted the arousal on her first shaky breath.

  He’d known her mouth would taste like this—hot and tempting. Known her flesh would feel as smooth as soft butter. Had that been why he’d lain awake in bed for hours tonight thinking of her? Had that been why, beneath the urgent concern he’d felt a tug of pleasure when Etta called and asked him to come check on Regan? As his blood burned and time bled away, he found that the reasons didn’t matter. Not while his mouth was pressed against hers.

  When a soft moan slid up her throat, it took all of his control not to bring her closer, to deepen the kiss. Instead, he kept it a slow, long glide, full of erotic promise.

  His kiss was ravaging, not in force but in effect. Desire poured through Regan like heated wine, and she had to tether her body’s instinctive need to mold to his. She struggled to breathe. Her lungs weren’t working properly, only drawing in fast, shallow breaths. Her palms were still braced against his chest and she felt the incredible heat of his body through his shirt. Her skin was on fire, too, almost painfully sensitive. She couldn’t think while her heart thudded and need slammed into her like a velvet fist. And she had to think.

  “No.” She pulled back as far as she could with his hand gripping her waist. Her head was spinning while her breath came in ragged gulps. “I…don’t want this.”

  He arched a brow. “That’s not the message you’re sending, Regan.”

  “You got dragged out here because Etta called you. Because there wasn’t a local cop available.” She closed her eyes for an instant. “I appreciate you coming.”

  “I didn’t get dragged here. And I don’t want your thanks.”

  “That’s all I can give you.”

  Her skin was no longer pale, but flushed. The heat of it pumped her soft, lemon scent into his lungs. Watching her, he slid his fingers around her hand, brought it up and pressed his lips to her wrist. He felt her pulse jerk, scramble. “Our stopping won’t change anything. I’m still going to want you. You’re still going to want me.”

  Her hand trembled against his palm. “We’re still stopping. I want you to back off.”

  It cost him, but he dropped his hands, stepped back. “Want to tell me why we’re stopping?”

  She moved into the living room, putting as much space between them as possible before she turned to face him. “I was wrong to let things between us go this far.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s not what I want.”

  He angled his chin. Holding her, he’d felt her burning as hot for him as he had for her. Even now, traces of a sultry yearning glinted in her eyes and her awareness of him showed plainly in her face. He was a man who knew how to wait, to choose his time and his place in order to get what he wanted. And she was the woman he wanted.

  “Then I’ll be going.” He retrieved his flashlight and the baggy holding the lightbulb, then strode to the French doors. With his hand on the knob he paused, taking her in. She stood in the center of the living room, alone and defiant, her chin angled like a sword.

  He’d known her just over twenty-four hours. In that time, they’d felt a young girl’s life slip between their fingers. Then shared a kiss. Each event had evoked far different emotions, but emotions all the same. Something was tugging at his insides—whatever it was, it was as big a mystery as the woman who’d demanded he keep his distance.

  As a cop, he was skilled at solving mysteries, step by step.

  “Till next time, Regan,” he said, then stepped out into the heated night air and closed the door behind him.

  Clicking on the flashlight, he descended the wooden staircase, then climbed into the ’Vette. His gaze lifted, settled on the French doors with soft light glowing behind them. He wanted another taste of her. A long, slow, deep taste that didn’t stop at just a kiss.

  While he worked on that, he was going to start peeling away the layers and find out exactly what was going on with Regan Ford.

  Chapter 5

  Regan flipped down the Mustang’s visor as the sun inched upward, misting the early-morning air with hints of gold. She wouldn’t allow herself even one glance at Paradise Lake’s vivid blue water. Refused to admit this was the last time she would drive along the patchy asphalt road between Truelove’s Tavern and Etta’s house. Didn’t want to acknowledge the deep-seated ache that came from knowing it had taken less than fifteen minutes to retrieve her running money from its hiding place, then pack everything she owned into the single suitcase that sat on the backseat.

  First rule of a wanted killer on the run: keep your cash handy and travel light.

  Nothing lasted forever, Regan reminded herself when tears blurred her vision. Good times or bad, they passed. Which meant the nightmare she now starred in would end eventually. She only had to get through it, one day at a time.

  What a load of bull, she thought as a dreadful emptiness opened inside her. Payne Creath’s obsession to have her had seeped like a stain into her life, tainting everything. He might be hundreds of miles away, yet she could feel him using the sweeping computer access available to law enforcement to hunt her with the perseverance of a rabid wolf. The nightmare that had become her life would continue as long as Creath’s sick, hateful heart continued to beat.

  And even if something happened to him, there’d still be the arrest warrant hanging over her head.

  She had no way to prove her innocence. No evidence to back up her claim that a decorated homicide cop had murdered the man she loved, then killed her best friend. And when she refused to become his, he framed her for her fiancé’s murder. That left her two very narrow options: keep running, or turn herself in and wind up in a cell with no hope of ever getting out. So, she would run. For the rest of her life.

  Dragging in an unsteady breath, she blinked away the tears. She didn’t want to think about Creath. Doing so only brought the fear back, which clouded her mind.

  Right now, she needed to keep her wits about her and her thoughts sharp. Because she faced a more imminent danger than even Creath catching her scent: Josh McCall.

  In one hammer-beat of her heart, her thoughts careened back to the previous night as she stood in her tiny kitchen, staring up into those steady, measuring eyes.

  This morning in that car, while you worked on Amelia, I could almost see whatever it is inside you that you want to keep hidden. All day, I’ve been thinking about what that might be. Wondering where you’ve been. Where you’re going. Asking myself how many pieces do I have to find to solve the puzzle that’s Regan Ford.

  Josh’s words had sent fear slithering along her nerves. She could have sworn a cold hand had clamped onto her heart. Yet, what had she done a half second later? Kissed the man.

  Kissed him back to be more precise. And found herself fighting off a brushfire inside her
that had been close to flaming out of control.

  After he left, she’d spent the rest of the night making excuses for her behavior. Telling herself if she hadn’t been alone for so long she wouldn’t have felt such a searing, seductive need to be held. To just be held.

  And kissed. God, the man could kiss!

  She shoved her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose, then clenched her fingers around the steering wheel. Just the thought of stepping into his arms again shot a lightning-fast thrill of desire through her.

  Regan set her jaw against the hot need. Letting down her guard with the man—the cop—had been idiotic. Wrong and risky and dangerous. Too dangerous. But it was over and done, and she would never see him again.

  When the Mustang topped the next hill, Etta’s pristine blue house came into view, its white shutters shimmering in the sunlight. Regan felt a hitch under her ribs. She didn’t want to say goodbye to Etta. But she had no choice, not with a former investigative reporter demanding an interview while a cop who eyed her with unrestrained curiosity kissed her blind.

  Then there was the matter of the bulb Josh had unscrewed from the light fixture and dropped into the plastic baggy.

  It hadn’t been thoughts of the peeper leering at her that had misted her skin in a cold sweat. It was knowing that if she’d done something so benign as replacing that bulb after she moved in, the peeper’s fingerprints wouldn’t be the only ones that might pop up in the Sundown PD’s computer.

  She had ducked that close call. No way could she hang around and risk her luck again.

  Although she told herself not to, she glanced at the three-story house next door to Etta’s. The McCall family’s lake home was all cedar and glass, wrapped in the embrace of a porch where yellow roses spilled from a multitude of planters. In the driveway, the pristine cherry-red Corvette that glinted in the sunshine looked as though it belonged in a showroom.

  Giving silent thanks she saw no sign of the ’Vette’s owner, she steered into Etta’s driveway.

  Regan gathered up the tavern’s account book off the passenger seat, then climbed out of the Mustang’s air-conditioned comfort into heat that was already edging toward oppressive. North, she thought idly. She should head north, then veer west. Not only would that route take her away from the worst of the summer heat, it would put more distance between herself and Creath.

  And Josh McCall.

  She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned in time to see Josh step out of the house onto his porch. When his gaze settled on her, his mouth curved. Thinking about the erotic glide of that mouth on hers rocketed a missile straight to her libido. She could have sworn the air’s heat index spiked by twenty degrees.

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn. All she’d wanted was to slip in and say goodbye to Etta, Regan thought as she watched Josh stride across the lawn toward her. Now, she’d be forced to deal with the main reason she had to turn her back on the only home she’d known during the past year.

  “Morning, Regan.” He wore a black T-shirt with a white OCPD logo across the front and a pair of worn jeans. The shirt’s snug fit emphasized the contours of his strong shoulders and broad, solid chest. His dark hair was rumpled and the stubble shadowing his jaw heightened his rugged look.

  With the ledger cradled in the crook of one arm, she slid her car keys into one pocket of her jean cutoffs. “I thought you might be out jogging this morning.” She had hoped.

  “I ran early.” His gaze flicked past her to the Mustang, then settled back on her. “And I thought I might catch you jogging again.”

  “I took a pass on today. See you later.” Regan turned and headed up the walk, bordered by a colorful riot of flowers.

  “Get any sleep last night after I left?” he asked, falling into step beside her.

  “No.” Feeling a tug on her conscience, she slid him a look. He had, after all, gone out of his way to check out the tavern when the local cops weren’t available. “I hope you didn’t have to spend all night at the police station when you dropped off the lightbulb.”

  “The only person there was the dispatcher, so I was in and out. I’ll touch base with Decker this morning, see if they can lift the peeper’s prints. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “Thanks.” She had no intention of telling him she was leaving. Didn’t want him asking why. Or give him reason to look any deeper into her than he already had.

  She took the porch steps two at a time; the instant she reached the top, his hand locked on her elbow, halting her. She looked at him across her shoulder. “McCall—”

  “Question,” he said, nudging her around to face him. He stood two steps below her, which lined them up eye to eye. “What’s with the suitcase in the backseat of your car?”

  “What’s with you asking?” she countered, lifting her chin.

  She hadn’t realized that small movement had put her mouth in direct line with his until he leaned in. That sudden closeness had the breath backing up in her lungs and her pulse throbbing hard and quick. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his woodsy cologne, something virile and strong.

  “I got a taste of you last night,” he murmured, his breath warm across her jaw. “I want another. That won’t happen if you’re not around.”

  “I told…” When her voice went raspy, Regan cleared her throat. The need whispering through her made it impossible to draw in more than a shallow breath. “I told you nothing’s going to happen between us. I thought you were listening.”

  “I heard every word,” Josh said, his breath a warm wash against her flesh.

  “Good. That’s settled.”

  “I also felt you tremble in my arms. What went on between us last night was mutual, Regan. We both wanted it.”

  She closed her eyes against the fireball need to feel his hot, demanding, tempting mouth on hers one more time. “Yes,” she managed. “It was mutual.”

  “So, I wouldn’t say things between us are settled.” His hands skimmed down her sides to rest at her waist. “That’s because I tend to deal with most things in an untraditional manner.”

  Her pulse was drumming. She couldn’t stop it. “I said ‘no,’ McCall.” But holy heaven, she wanted to say yes. “I make it a rule never to change my mind.”

  He gave her a long, level look. “Funny you mention rules. I’ve spent a lot of time figuring out how to work around them.”

  Regan diverted her gaze to the scar winding out of his collar and up the right side of his neck. She wasn’t dealing with some pretty boy, but a man with hard, handsome features who looked as though he’d lived through some rough times, crossed a few lines and wouldn’t mind crossing a few more.

  “I’d think a cop would have a different view of rules,” she said evenly.

  Something flickered in his dark eyes, then disappeared. “We’re talking rules, not laws.” He tilted his head as if to gain a new perspective. “Have you broken any laws, Ms. Ford?”

  She forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to keep her eyes locked on his. “Not a one,” she said, hoping like hell he couldn’t feel the unsteadiness churning inside her.

  “Look, McCall, I need to talk to Etta.” Her body trembling, her emotions tangled, she pulled from his hold. When he stepped alongside her onto the porch, she rounded on him. “Dammit, McCall, your trailing after me isn’t going to change things.” She swept her arm in the direction of his house. “Go do some of those repairs you said you came here to do.”

  He gave her a mild look. “Is Etta expecting you?”

  “She doesn’t require me to make an appointment.” Regan strode across the porch, jerked the screen door open.

  “Turns out, Etta is expecting me,” he said as he moved in behind her and pulled the screen open wider. “Last night when I called to tell her you were okay, she invited me to breakfast. Guess that’s her way of thanking me for going to the aid of a woman at risk.” He stepped around her and into the house, then turned, giving her a patronizing smile. “I don’t mind you trai
ling after me, Regan. You play your cards right, Etta might even invite you to join us.”

  Regan tightened her grip on the ledger and glanced across her shoulder at her Mustang. She was one desperate step away from leaving before she had to spend another minute with this man who stirred her blood and pulled at something deep inside her.

  But, dammit, she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Etta. And she had no intention of doing that in front of Josh.

  Patience, she told herself, jabbing a hand through her hair. What the hell did it matter if she stayed in Sundown another hour or two? It wasn’t as if she had a firm destination. Or anyone waiting for her.

  Shoring up her resolve, she looked back at Josh. “Etta shouldn’t be on her feet cooking,” she said, stepping into the house behind him. “So I’ll stay and give her a hand.”

  “I planned on doing that myself.” Pausing, he sniffed the air. “It smells like she’s already cooking. There’s nothing better than Etta’s biscuits.”

  The warm, yeasty scent of baking bread settled a dull ache in Regan’s belly. She was going to miss the scents, the cozy feel of home. “There’s not,” she agreed quietly.

  She heard the hitch in her voice, saw the curious look in Josh’s eyes just as a ball of black fur skittered into view.

  “Attack cat,” he chuckled, scooping up the scrawny kitten. “Hey, Anthracite.”

  Grateful for the diversion, Regan stepped into the living room, pausing for an instant to lay the ledger on the coffee table. She moved down the hallway, then into the cheery yellow kitchen, its white-tiled countertops sparkling beneath the bright overhead light.

  Dressed in a red shirtwaist dress, Etta sat at the small metal table, sipping from a glass of iced tea. Regan frowned. Etta swore by her morning coffee.