That Thing Called Love
Page 29
Hell, she was even wearing a white sailor cap, its wide turned-up brim tilted rakishly off-kilter atop a froth of curls that clung in wisps to its brim and her cheekbones.
And sure enough, she was a blonde. Shooting his friend a sideways glance, he shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”
“It’s a gift,” Johnny said over his shoulder as Gabe stopped and leaned against the cruiser’s hood. Continuing to the Corvette, the deputy raised his voice to address its driver, saying easily, “Hey, sailor. New in town?”
“No newer than you, Angelini,” the woman replied in a low, husky voice that ruffled Gabe’s nerve endings. “Considering you and I moved here around the same time.” Her shoulder hitched lazily. “’Course, I’ve moved on, while you...well, here you still are.” Her gaze cut to Gabe and she gave him a leisurely up-and-down examination that, to his disgust, elicited a down-and-dirty level of sexual awareness he thought he’d left in the dust long ago. “I’d say the honor of new in town probably goes to your friend there.”
Johnny came to attention. “Macy?” he said incredulously. “Macy O’James?”
Hearing the name, Gabe’s own interest was piqued, and he gave the woman a closer inspection. They’d never met, but he’d sure as hell heard of her. Macy O’James, Sugarville’s own wild child, heartbreaker—and ultimate pariah. From his first day in this little eastern Washington prairie town, he’d been inundated with tales of Macy, a girl whose morals were no better than they should be and who had left a trail of wreckage in her wake when she’d blown town for L.A., where she’d starred in a series of music videos. Steamy videos, it was always amended. Depending on who was relating a story to Gabe, she was Sugarville’s version of Pamela Anderson/Carmen Electra/Paris Hilton. Except—and this was always grudgingly admitted—Macy mostly kept her clothes on.
All of which he had supposed was marginally titillating. It was a helluva lot more so now. Because, looking at her lounging provocatively against her red convertible, the sun shining on the creamy expanse of those long legs and limning the curves of pink lips that were currently crooked in a sardonic smile, it was easy to understand the town’s preoccupation with her exploits. Once upon a time, he, too, had allowed girls like her—sexual girls with magnetism to spare, too pretty and knowing for their own good—to consume too many of his waking hours.
Well, hey, that was then. This was now. No skin off his ass what she did. He believed in live and let live, in allowing people to be who and what they were. While he had a self-acknowledged issue or two with good-time girls, having been, loosely speaking, raised by one, he’d do his best to accord O’James the same courtesy he’d show anyone else.
Settling more firmly against the hood, he crossed his arms over his chest, watching as she gave his friend a sultry smile.
“Hello, Johnny,” she murmured to the deputy. “Long time no see.” She raised a slender brow. “You planning on writing me a ticket for going a few miles over the speed limit?”
Her tone was negligent, but even as Johnny appeared to consider the question, the hint of dare-ya attitude beneath her casualness rubbed at Gabe’s edges, abrading the Zen calm he prided himself on. The realization was surprising, and more than a little annoying. Yet even so, he couldn’t stop himself from watching her.
As if sensing it, she turned to him and slowly slid her sunglasses down her slender nose. Her eyes were big and green. Or possibly hazel; it was hard to tell for sure with the sun hitting her from that angle.
Whatever the color, they were set for stun when she trained them on him. And it bugged the bejesus out of him that if he were any other man, he’d find the ploy’s effectiveness factor off the charts.
“Well, you’re certainly taking in the scenery,” she said. “Here. Let me give you the nickel tour.” And, her elbows bent close to her waist and slender-fingered hands held palms up in the air, she spread her arms and slowly pivoted to display first the view from the left, then the back, then the right.
And they all looked good.
Turning face-front once again, she gazed at him from up under her lashes. “Like the view, sugar?”
He shrugged. “Not bad.”
One corner of her mouth curved up. “To say the least.”
But inside Macy wasn’t smiling. That was the trouble with this burg—you couldn’t live down your reputation no matter how long you’d been away or what you had accomplished in your absence.
But she’d had years of practice slapping on an insouciant expression and she did so now as she considered Johnny’s sidekick.
My God, he was huge. The guy was six-six if he was an inch and must weigh in at about two-thirty.
Nary an ounce of which was fat. Unexpected heat scalded her veins, and her heartbeat performed a quick pitty-pat. In a knee-jerk attempt to negate the awareness she felt, she consciously bumped up the wattage on her bimbo meter. Slicking her tongue over her bottom lip was inadvertent. But the aren’t-you-just-so-big-and-strong look she gave him was definitely deliberate. “And you are...?”
“This is Gabe Donovan, Macy,” Johnny said. “Sugarville’s fire chief. Gabe, this is Macy O’James.”
“Sugarville’s celebrity tramp,” she murmured.
Johnny, bless him, winced. While he’d always been hot for anything in skirts back in high school, he’d still been a fairly decent guy.
Fire Chief Donovan, on the other hand, merely gave her a clipped nod as if he wasn’t the least bit surprised. And for some reason that stung. For a nanosecond when she had met the guy’s intense gray eyes, looked at his big, hard body, she’d felt...something. Something that made losing it in almost the next heartbeat a crying shame. It was clear, however, that whatever-it-had-been had zero chance of going anywhere now that he knew who she was.
But that felt a bit too boo-hoo, I’m-just-a-poor-
misunderstood-waif for a woman who had learned young that life was messy, life was unfair, but you sucked it up and dealt with it. Her shoulders squared. Well, guess what, pal? I’m not wild about you, either.
And she wasn’t, whether the guy was a big hot number with pretty, cool eyes or no. Not when he’d taken one look at her and embraced the role assigned her by the good people of Sugarville without even bothering to find out if there was any validity to it.
Not when he made her feel like that girl the town loved to hate.
As if, she reminded herself, I give a great big rip. She was what she was. She had no regrets.
None.
But she did know she’d had enough of this. Tilting her chin up, she looked at Johnny. “So,” she said. “What’s it gonna be? Yes or no on the ticket?”
“I’ll give you a pass this time.”
“That’s my preferred option,” she agreed, opening the car door and sliding inside. She started up the car with a roar and slid it into first gear. “See you around, boys.”
And without sparing either man another glance, she eased her Corvette off the shoulder and headed down the road toward home.
ISBN: 9781459234543
Copyright © 2012 by Susan Andersen
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