Wait a second. What the hell was she doing?
She was not lusting after the local sheriff.
She held tight to the vow, killed the volume on the television, and pushed to her feet. “You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“No trouble. It’s the least I could do after scaring the crap out of you last night.” He glanced at the remaining boxes that littered the entryway. “More to burn?”
“Those are getting picked up by the local shelter, but I’m sure I’ll have some more things for a fire by the time I’m finished. I was just killing a little time before tackling the upstairs. They’re going to be demolishing the house next week.”
“So soon?”
“The sooner the better.” He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at her as if he didn’t buy the comment. “This house really is an accident waiting to happen. It’s falling apart at the seams.”
“It could definitely use a little work.” He eyed the peeling wallpaper. “At the same time, there’s something to be said for a house that’s stood this long. When was this place built? Seventy, eighty years ago?”
“Eighty-eight.”
“And you’re going to tear it down and start from scratch just like that?”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s got character.”
“I guess it does,” she said, eyeing the wooden floor and deep gouge that she’d made with one of the roller skates she’d bought with her birthday money when she’d turned ten. Her sisters had scraped together most of it, but then she’d come up short and James Harlin had offered up the five dollar gold piece he’d kept in his top drawer.
He hadn’t made a big deal out of it. He hadn’t even said a word. He’d just left the coin on her pillow and since he’d never been much for anyone making a fuss, she’d kept her thanks to herself.
Instead, she’d laced up her skates and sailed down the hall, past his bedroom so that he could see her and how happy he’d made her, and straight into a nearby wall. The edge of the skate had dug into the floor when she’d tried to break her fall and left a mark that had been there ever since.
She’d sprained her ankle that day, but it had been worth it. For those few moments, she’d felt invincible gliding down the hall on her new skates courtesy of the most important people in her life. She’d felt special. Loved.
“It’s not such a bad house.” She stiffened against the sudden warmth inside of her. “But it’s cheaper to start fresh than try to renovate.” Tearing down the house was the practical thing to do.
The right thing.
Which was why she’d made the decision in the first place. She was through acting on emotion. Been there, done that. No more.
“I really should get to work,” she started, eager to ignore the strange feelings pushing and pulling at her. The past with her granddad.
The present with Hunter and his see-all blue eyes.
“I could help,” he offered.
See? Nice.
Her gaze hooked on the dark shadow of his jaw. His eyes seemed brighter somehow, understanding, and her stomach hollowed out.
“No, no,” she finally managed when she found her voice. “You’ve done enough.”
“It’s no problem. I’m already here and I’ve got a little time before I check in back at the station.” He reached for the mic on his collar. “Marge, this is Hunter. I’ll be out at the Tucker place if you need me.”
“Roger that, Sheriff,” came the female voice. “And don’t forget to eat that snack I packed in your glove compartment if you know what’s good for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jenna arched an eyebrow. “I thought Marge was the dispatcher, not your mother.”
“She thinks I need to eat better. I guess a slice of cold pizza and a bag of chips doesn’t work for her.”
“I know the feeling,” Jenna said, glancing at her phone and the message light that blinked. “Callie’s been on me lately, too, since she moved out.” She motioned to the sorbet. “I’m supposed to be making healthier choices but I just can’t seem to shake the Doritos.”
“Corn is a vegetable.”
His grin was infectious and for the next few seconds she found herself wondering what it would feel like to rub her finger across the roughness of his cheek. To feel that friction on her hand. Her neck. Her breasts …
“Time to get to work,” she blurted. “I really don’t need any help.”
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
“You really don’t have anything better to do than help me?”
“I’m a public servant. That’s what I do.”
He certainly wasn’t offering because he was just as turned on as she was.
Her head knew that, but damned if her body had gotten the message. Her skin tingled and her muscles tensed and her lips twitched.
Just get it over with.
That’s what her gut said.
Kiss him and you’ll see it isn’t all that great and then you can stop acting like a sex-starved idiot.
Because that’s the way it always was with the nice guys like Hunter DeMassi. She’d tried it, hoping to turn the mild spark into a freaking inferno, to find a good guy that turned her on as much as the bad boys in her past, but it always fizzled out way too fast and she was left with a big fat nothing.
Just a guy that she wasn’t the least bit attracted to who sent her flowers and candy and declared his love via crop duster.
Guys like Chuck. And Kevin. And Johnny. And Marty. And Spencer.
Ugh … No wonder the entire town thought she was a hoochie. She had way too many men in her past.
So what’s one more? Just go for the smooch and get it over with so you can get back to work.
Stepping forward, Jenna reached him in a split-second and then she did what she’d been wanting to do since she’d first opened the door that night.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him.
CHAPTER 9
Hunter DeMassi had been kissed by a hell of a lot of women over the years.
But none had ever felt quite like this.
Like her.
Jenna’s soft, full lips covered his. Her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders. She canted her head and licked the seam of his mouth.
Instinct kicked in and he opened up before he could think better of it. Her tongue dipped inside and touched his and his initial shock faded in a wave of raw, consuming hunger. It had been so long and she felt so good. He’d been on the wagon for too many months now, contenting himself with a few fantasies in the dead of night because he wasn’t about to kill his reputation by hooking up with one of the women down at the local bar. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy him completely. He needed something more. Something real.
Her.
He leaned into her, pressing her up against the nearby wall. His hands slid around her waist. His fingers pressed into the lush curve of her bottom, drinking in the warmth of her body that seeped through the thin material of her T-shirt. The cedar planks were cool against the backs of his hands, but it did little to soothe the heat that rushed through him like a spark through a field of dry, rain-deprived grass.
A soft moan vibrated from her mouth as she curled her hands up around his neck, her fingers insistent at the base of his skull. Her legs shifted slightly apart, cradling the hard-on that throbbed to life beneath the fly of his beige slacks.
His cock pushed, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin as he explored the cavern of her mouth. His tongue tangled with hers, probing and tasting. She was sweet. So deliciously sweet.
And hot.
* * *
He pulled her even closer and deepened the kiss, drinking her in like a man starved for water after an afternoon spent breaking the toughest bronc. But he couldn’t get enough of her. She wasn’t close enough and so he held her tighter. He couldn’t taste enough and so he kissed her even deeper, longer. His heart pounded and his nerves buzzed an
d his fingers itched to slip beneath the waistband of her shorts and feel her warm, damp flesh pulse against his fingertips.
“You taste so sweet,” he gasped against her lips.
“It’s the sorbet,” she breathed.
“It’s you.” His mouth covered hers again as his hands slid around to plunge beneath the hem of her shirt. He cupped her lace-covered breasts. Her nipple jutted through in one spot and rasped the center of his palm.
She moaned into his mouth and her body arched. Her hard, hot nipple pressed forward, greedy for more.
For sex.
The wild and wicked kind that made him want to take her right now up against the wall. No time to shed their clothes. Just her with her shorts tossed aside, her body warm and wet and welcoming. Him with his pants down around his ankles, his cock hard and greedy. Marge with her voice loud and grating, lecturing in his ear …
The thought stalled as the old woman’s voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and shattering the haze of lust that surrounded them.
“We just got a call from Marvin VanSickle. He said Gerald’s in the store looking at buckshot. He thinks he’s stocking up to go after Haywood. To give him tit-for-tat.”
Hunter tore his lips from Jenna’s and her eyes popped open.
“What’s wrong…” she started, but the words died as Marge’s voice echoed again.
“Sheriff? You there?”
“Yeah,” he said, pressing the button on his lapel. “I’m here. Send Bobby over to the sporting goods store to see what’s really going on. I’ll be right behind him.”
“Roger that,” she said and the radio went silent.
Tamping down on the disappointment welling inside him, he stared down at the woman slumped against the wall. Her lips were full and swollen, her eyes wide and shimmery. Worry furrowed her brow and his gut tightened.
“It’s okay. We’ll get there before they kill each other.”
“Who?” His voice seemed to snag her attention. She shook her head. “What?”
“Gerald and Haywood. Relax.” His fingers kneaded into her shoulder. “I won’t let them kill each other.”
“What?” She shook her head again, “Oh, yeah. You should go and keep them from doing anything stupid.”
“I can come back later and give you a hand…”
“No, no. You go. I’ve got it covered here. Go,” she added, her voice firmer. Licking her lips, she seemed to gather her control. “And thanks.”
His gaze hooked on her mouth, on the soft tremble of her bottom lip and his throat went dry. Either it had been way too long since he’d had a good kiss, or she was a helluva lot better at it than most. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You started it.”
“I was talking about the door.”
“I wasn’t.” He grinned before planting another quick kiss on her quivering lips. And then he turned and walked away before he did something really stupid.
Like touch her again.
Or kiss her.
Or fuck her.
And that would be so bad because?
It wouldn’t have been if he’d been the same man he’d been years ago.
And she’d been the same woman.
While she’d been talking about the house, he had the gut feeling that she wanted to change more than just her surroundings, even if she had been the one to kiss him first.
It was just a hunch, but it kept him walking anyway. Hunter knew how hard it was to walk the straight and narrow. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to derail her.
Not yet, that is.
But if she tried kissing him again … Well, a man could only take so much.
CHAPTER 10
WTF?
She’d kissed him.
Of all the crazy, ridiculous, regrettable things she’d done in her lifetime. From climbing onto the back of Mack Connally’s restored Harley and losing her virginity to the baddest boy in high school at the tender age of fifteen. To telling off old lady Bertha Walters Sawyer in the middle of last year’s Founder’s Day picnic because she had refused to eat the potato salad that Callie—aka a Tucker—had brought. And all the rash stunts in between.
She’d kissed him.
Not that it would have been any better if he’d kissed her. It was the kissing, itself, that posed the biggest threat.
Okay, so it wasn’t the kissing. There was nothing wrong with kissing. Kissing was fine. Great. No, the problem here was that she’d liked kissing him.
She’d liked it too damned much.
Her lips tingled and her mind raced and her hands shook.
Kissing him should have been a huge letdown. The way it had been with Chuck. And before that, Kevin. And Stan. And the half-dozen other nice guys she’d done her damnedest to fall in love with. The anticipation was always there. The hope that lightning would strike and bells would ring and the angels would sing and finally, finally, she would find it with a decent guy instead of some noncommittal bad boy.
But they’d all been a huge letdown.
That’s what tonight should have been. That’s why she’d done it in the first place. To give herself a big reality check.
But then she’d kissed him and now she wanted to do it again.
Uh-oh.
The doom whispered through her and denial kicked in.
Damn straight she wanted to do it again. She was crazy horny. Past the point of rational thought. Beyond reason. She could have kissed a poodle in her current state and she’d have sworn it was Ryan Reynolds/Brad Pitt/the super-hot guy who bagged groceries at the Piggly Wiggly and rode a Harley.
It wasn’t Hunter DeMassi, himself.
Hell, no.
Guys like the sheriff—the kind, thoughtful, door-fixing kind—didn’t press her buttons. She didn’t lie awake thinking and fantasizing and wanting one when she should be sleeping.
Sleep?
Fat chance she decided later that night as she lay awake and stared at the ceiling.
She tossed the covers to the side, climbed out of bed, and headed for the cluttered attic.
A half-hour passed and she finished boxing up the pile of fifty-year-old newspapers that filled one corner of the massive room and turned to the stack of suitcases and trunks that sat nearby.
Grabbing one dusty leather trunk, she set it on the floor, popped the latch, and flipped open the lid. Hinges groaned and dust billowed. She blinked against a sudden burning and stared at the contents. A mess of clothes. Some shoes. An old baby doll. A pair of ancient reading glasses …
The list went on as she unearthed each item and either tossed it into her KEEP box, or the one that read TOSS.
If she couldn’t sleep, and she certainly couldn’t go back for seconds, then she had to do something.
* * *
“Last I heard it wasn’t against the law for a man to buy bullets.”
“A case of bullets,” Deputy Bobby Sawyer McGuire pointed out, motioning to the boxes stacked on the glass countertop above a display of handguns.
“Nine boxes,” Gerald Sawyer insisted, “is not an entire case of bullets. Why, it’s a full box shy.”
“One measly box is nothing. What could you possibly need nine boxes of bullets for?”
“Not that it’s any of your damned beeswax,” Gerald told the officer, “but Lorelei just bought a new SUV.”
“And?”
“And we’re talking top-of-the-line Lincoln Navigator with a touch screen and heated seats. You know how much extra I had to pay for those seats?”
“What do heated seats have to do with bullets?”
“Hold your britches. I’m getting there. See, the SUV is black,” he announced, as if that said it all.
“And?
“I’ve got more than a dozen oak trees hanging over the driveway. That means birds. And lots of birds means lots of bird shit. And lots of bird shit means I won’t just be washing that blasted Navigator on my day off. I’ll be rinsing it off at least a few times a week. Maybe more. I cain’t very well do that
in my condition.” He indicated the bandaged foot stuffed into a flip-flop. “I can barely walk, so I figured I’d just sit on my porch and take care of the bird situation. A few hundred rounds into those trees and it’s bye, bye, birdie.”
“So all this is just so you can shoot birds?”
“Not the birds themselves. I’m shooting at the trees, which stirs up a ruckus, which gets rid of the birds.”
Bobby’s gaze narrowed. “That’s it? All this is just to clear out your trees?”
“Damn straight it is.”
The deputy’s gaze narrowed. “And you’re not even the slightest bit anxious for a little payback where Haywood is concerned?”
“If I wanted to give that no-good Tucker what was coming to him, I’d toss one of them grenades I brought back from Iraq through his front door. Blow off a few body parts the way he did me. Come to think of it, that ain’t a half bad idea—”
“Forget it,” Hunter cut in. “Haywood’s already in custody. There’s no need for grenades.”
“Or damn near a case of bullets,” the deputy added. “You don’t seriously think we’re buying this whole bird shit business, do you?”
“It’s the God’s honest.” Gerald crossed his heart and tried to look devout. “Though it does say in the Bible that vengeance is mine.”
“God’s the one doing the talking in the Bible,” Bobby countered. “That means, he’s the one carrying out the vengeance.”
“That’s one way to interpret it, I s’pose.”
“That’s the only way.”
“Says you. It really depends on who is talking.”
“God’s talking,” Bobby insisted again.
“Not right now. I’m talking, so mine refers to me. Yours truly. The Big G. And whose side are you on, anyway? Last I looked, you’re every bit a Sawyer. The both of you. You ought to be taking up for me.”
“We’re on the side of the law,” Hunter said.
“That’s right,” Bobby added. “We took an oath, and don’t be thinking just because your last name is Sawyer that you’re above the law. We’re on to you and—”
“Let him be,” Hunter said, glancing at the receipt the clerk had handed him when he’d first walked in. So Gerald had forked over a little too much just to get rid of a few birds? The man could still be telling the truth. And even if he wasn’t, Haywood was in custody so he was safe should Gerald have an ulterior motive. “Make sure you watch where you’re shooting,” he told the man. “It’s too early for hunting season when it comes to dove and quail. You wouldn’t want yourself facing a stiff fine for an illegal kill. Maybe even some jail time.”
Tempting Texas Page 5