If Wishes Were Horses

by Joey W. Hill

  Great Lord, but she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and it was not an easily recognized or ordinary beauty. It called to him as strongly as the call between lifemates in the wild. This was something he wasn't going to leave alone, as much as he was sure she wanted him to do so.

  Justin Herne revered women. He knew without any arrogance that he couldsexually possess almost any woman whose heart was unclaimed. He knew how to touch them, how to listen without guile, and he had a pleasing face and form. He didn'tuse it unless it was for honest purposes. But what had happened in that small cottage

  on the edge of a dark forest defied anything he had ever experienced. He wanted to feel remorse or shame. That would be less disturbing than this drive to do it again, take her, hammer into her, overwhelm her defenses again and again until she accepted it, accepted him. He wanted to lose himself in her, in that sexual mystery that was this particular woman.

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  He certainly believed in unseen forces guiding Fate, but to have it so directly applying itself to his life in a way he had not anticipated or prescribed was very unsettling.

  He left Laura Crittenden and her aunt reviewing some sample books and went back to the main glass counter. He waited for her to come to him.

  * * * * *

  When Sarah returned to the front foyer, Herne stood behind a glass counter, watching her. He had his admittedly fine ass braced against a stool, his legs stretchedout before him, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes lingered on the swell of herbreasts, the curve of her waist, the gun strapped to her side. His intensity gave her thatanimal sense of him again. He deliberately perused her as a lover, not a shopkeeper, and she knew he wanted her to be aware of it.

  A moment of silence settled between them, and if he felt uncomfortable or nervous in her presence, he didn’t show it. But did she really expect a man with the brazen confidence to trespass into the police chief's house and ravish her to be unsettled by “morning after” thoughts?

  “You're like an elf,” he said, startling her. “One of Tolkien's elves. Tall, slim, ethereal.”

  She'd had a metabolic disorder all her life, an inability to put weight onto legs, arms and a torso that shot out and up at an early age. When she was a child, her father called her his Black Beauty, then after the Academy, his Secretariat, his thoroughbred. Shemade sure the gristle that was there was tough muscle and contented herself with the knowledge she had two things that caught a man's eyes. Her hair and her boobs. Her lanky body hefted around a pair of beautifully shaped 36B breasts, a slightly large size for her underweight figure. Thank God they hadn't been C's or D's, or she would have looked like a freak. The weight would have toppled her forward.

  “You have a wig missing off a mannequin head in your costume area,” she said. “Was that a recent sale?”

  “Shoplifter. They get past me sometimes when it gets busy in here. There's one on order to replace it.”

  She held his gaze a moment.

  “So what inspired the shop? Figure it was a good way to pick up women, cater to all that stuff men really think is bullshit?”

  “You could say that. But my favorite method of picking up dates is breaking into their homes after midnight.”

  “That’s a dangerous thing for a man to admit to a cop,” she retorted. “Mine is catching men with smart mouths speeding on back roads and beating the hell out of them.”

  “That’s a dangerous thing for a cop to admit to anyone.”

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  She would not laugh, she told herself firmly, no matter that the gleam in his eye had her wanting to do just that. “Don't you ever do any guy type things, Herne?” She swept her gaze over her surroundings, turning on her heel in a circle. “Arranging lingerie, conducting aromatherapy workshops. Don't you ever watch football, grunt, scratch your genitals like a normal male? Makes me kind of doubt there’s a guy in there.”

  She turned around and he was right behind her, six inches separating the two of them. She hadn’t heard him move from behind his counter, and could only conclude he sprouted wings and vaulted it. She managed to keep a nonchalant expression, though her pulse spiked to one-ninety.

  “You're baiting me, Chief Sarah.” His hand caught in her ponytail, and his hip pressed against her side. “And you're the only woman in a very, very long time, outside of a religious rite, who actually knows what's in my trousers.”

  Damn, he did that well. Asserted his testosterone and stroked her ego in onesmooth movement. The man could conduct an orchestra with nerve like that.

  He cocked his head. “You know, I have an ice blue silk teddy in there with sheer white stockings and heels dyed to match. The garters have jeweled clasps. You'd lookgorgeous in it, Chief Sarah.” His gaze coursed over her. “You'd look gorgeous in anything.”

  She arched a brow. Her attention had been caught by that particular garment overall the others in the lingerie room, so she hadn’t gone anywhere near it. The man was an accomplished shopkeeper, that was all. “I suppose it has a thong back?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “A male indulgence.”

  “I get hemorrhoids. Often. It would chafe.”

  A sparkle went through his beautiful eyes, making her suddenly, desperately wish she was here for some other reason. “It's the softest fabric imaginable. And I don'tsuppose I'd let you wear it long, anyhow.”

  Heat swept up straight from her center to her throat at that low, intimate voice. She'd never thought a man could purr. This one did. Not like a tame house cat, but likea mountain lion.

  “Back off.”

  He deliberately lifted his hands, took two steps back behind his counter. Lacing his fingers together on the glass, he leaned forward, bringing that heady male cologne scent and his dark eyes to within six inches of her face. Even leaning forward, he was an inch taller than she was. She refused to back up, though every muscle tightened to painfulrigidity, except her thighs, which had an infuriating tendency to loosen at his nearness.

  “Tell me, Chief Sarah, how many respectable citizens of Lilesville do you thinkspent last night handcuffed to their beds, their kneecaps brushing their ears while they screamed for more?”

  Anger management was part of cop training, but every officer learned to deal with it in his or her own way. Hers was visualization. In the space of three slow blinks she

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  imagined in great detail taking Justin Herne by the neck, bashing his head through the display case and letting his unconscious body lie there sprawled among the delicate nipple chains and elegant slave collars.

  The purple velvet one with teardrop diamonds and a yin yang silver pendant would look great with a cocktail dress she had. She noted it cost seventy dollars.

  Sarah smiled at him. If she were a wolf, light would have glittered off her fangs.

  “It happened, Herne,” she said, taking a step forward so her hips were against the counter and they were nose-to-nose. She was proud to hear her words come out in an even, steady tone that she hoped matched the expression on her face. “Maybe it was more over the top than either of us expected it to be, and maybe that’s making us both edgy.” She straightened, stepped back. “We’re adults. It’s over, and I say we leave it at that. “

  I don't think so. It pissed him off, but not at her. His anger left, sliding down the

  same drain as hers.

  He straightened, and it called to his mind two martial arts combatants, bowing at the end of a match that left each with an increased respect for the other.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “You didn't deserve my crudity.”

  “I shouldn't have cursed at you, Mr. Herne.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I don’t regret last night. In fact, I thought—”

  “Don't think too much,” she said, moving away as Laura and her niece came to thecounter to discuss their order.

  Wrong tactic. His police chief had sh
ields, and she would erect them as fast as hiscock was rising at the sight of her in her snug knit shirt and tan shoulder holster. Her jeans were not overly tight, but they hugged her ass and made him want to bite into the crotch, into the arousal he felt certain soaked the undergarment beneath. Her color washigh, the pulse beating fast in her neck. During their exchange, her nipples had become prominent, despite the padding of her bra.

  He had taken her down, this warrior who had trembled in his arms and made himforget anything but how much he wanted her.

  He had been a Wiccan priest long enough to discern the difference between thepost-high of ritual and the mundane planes. He had schooled himself to a rigid discipline of recognizing it, because it was too easy to get lost in the euphoria of Their power. When he came into her home, the lingering awareness of the Rite had brought him the strong smell of her arousal, his elevated animal instincts honing in on her. They let him know she would open to him, and a part of him had seized the knowledge, ridden up and over any civilized veneer he pretended to have, because she was his. Theirs was a true call of flesh to flesh, whether it be in the service of the Lord and Lady, or just for a strong powerful fucking, a mutual possession. He even felt it this morning at the sight of her, the smell of her. She hadn’t showered yet. The surge of possession was so strong it had made him turn nasty, go for the low blow. His warrior goddess.

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  He doubted she had much interest in the crotchless panties she was fingering, but they were producing some delightful images in his mind. By the Goddess, there were times that his choice of profession was a detriment. He was glad for the plywood door at the back of the display case, otherwise his erection would have put to shame any sexual aid in the store and likely scared Laura and her niece into the next county. Hemanaged a focused and warm smile for them as he gave them their receipt for theirspecial order items, but he knew he wasn’t fooling the older woman. Laura’s gazeflickered between him and Sarah’s rigid back, and she had a knowing smile as she and Janet took their leave, wandering out onto the porch with comfortable female chatterand the expected giggles about the gargoyle.

  Sarah did not immediately turn around, even as they left the porch and made their way into the parking lot. Her fingers still rested on the silk of the panties, absently moving as if she was using her repetitive strokes on the soft texture to soothe herself. She didn’t realize that there was a small mirror on the far wall for checking out jewelry choices. If she had known, he was sure she would not have allowed him to see her staring off into space, a bleakness in her eyes.

  “Do you have a faith, Chief Sarah?” he asked quietly.

  Her shoulders tensed. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because I think you do, and you seem a little disappointed in it right now.”

  “Well, most things don't live up to your expectations.”

  “Last night did.” He watched her still profile, the fair brow and straight set of her firm mouth. “I'm hard as a rock now, just thinking about it.”

  She did turn now, her eyes remote. “You're a pretty savvy salesman, Herne.” She jerked her head toward the parking lot. “She comes in here to buy some skimpy nighty to impress her groom and you’ve got her paying for a whole production number.”

  “Tell me, Chief, do you always whip out the jaded cop routine to shore up your defenses, or do you have something more fresh and original?”

  Sarah stiffened. “About as original as dodging an accusation with a personal

  insult.”

  He pressed his lips together, and she had the distinct impression he was suppressing amusement. “Very good,” he said. “Well then, I guess I could mention that their first joining is supposed to be sacred.”

  “Do you think, for anybody getting married these days, it's the first time?”

  “It’s their first time as husband and wife, lifetime mates. That makes it sacred, and special.” He leaned back against the stool, crossed his arms again in that way that drew her eye to the fine lines of his upper body. “Yes,” he nodded, “it does bring me more sales if they see it that way, but it also gives them something as well. The marriage ceremony will pass in a haze of apprehension of last minute details.” His eyes widened and his voice altered to mimic a breathless bride. “Will Grandpa So-n-So get drunk at the reception? Will the caterers remember to pour the champagne at just the right time?”

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  His voice returned to its normal tone, and he pinned her with the intensity of thoseblue eyes. “That night, when it’s just the two of them, that will be the first time it willsink in, those vows they exchanged. Not just the words, but the meaning beneath them. They'll know from here forward, it’s the two of them.” He blinked, once. “A good salesperson only sells a person what they truly want, and what will benefit their lives. If you do anything else, you're no better than Dr. Feelgood, peddling his sugar-water cure-alls.”

  “Until what God has brought together, time and job stress rend asunder,” she retorted, fighting to draw a breath against the fist of emotion squeezing the air from her lungs.

  “Is that what happened to you, Sarah? Your man couldn't handle being married to a cop? Or you couldn't figure out how to lower the shields when you left the office?”

  The emotions surged up from her unconscious as if he had reached into her heart

  and yanked them out, as brutal as a pulp horror film. She took a step back into the cozy coffee room. She had a brief impression of his expression, of his arrogance and annoyance with her changing to something else, but she didn’t want to see it. She turned away, overwhelmed by feelings gone from flatline to overdrive, galvanized by the truth of his words like the slamming pressure of a foot on the gas pedal of a race car.

  “Sarah —” he was right behind her.

  “If you touch me, I'll break your fucking fingers. I swear to God I will.”

  She felt his hands hovering just outside her shoulders, their aura of heat awakening her skin. He withdrew. She knew he did not fear her threat. Somehow he understood

  how vital it was to give a person the space to collect shattered shields and lash them back together. She wondered what had happened to him that he knew that.

  “I came to get you,” she said, turning to face him. She knew her face was too tense, too pale, from the look of concern in his eyes. Don't be sensitive, I' ll fly apart. Be an asshole. Make him one. “Police business.”

  It took him a moment to digest that, change gears. “Last night? Sarah—”

  “No. Not exactly.” She hoped. It would be beyond a nightmare if he was somehow involved in this murder, and he had been in her bed. She wished he would call her Chief Wylde, wished she had the right to make him do so. She wanted to march pasthim and leave, but that was no longer an option.

  “I'm here to ask your help on a case, if you're up for it.”

  He looked startled, and it gave her some satisfaction to keep him off balance. “I can't imagine what crime could have occurred in Lilesville that would require my expertise.”

  “It's in Marion, just over the line. It looks like a ritual murder.”

  It didn't hit him at first, and she knew that was a point in his favor, unless he was a better actor than she thought he was.

  “A murder, here?”

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  “Maybe. We're not sure. I figure you might be our resident expert on some of the paraphernalia that was used. This hasn't hit the press yet. We've kept it off the radios. We want to identify the victim first.”

  “You want…the body is still there?”

  Color drained from his face. Sarah mentally cursed herself. In a small town, murder was not an everyday thing, and no matter how together Justin Herne had been in her bedroom, what she saw now was a rattled civilian. She would have done more handholding if she were asking anyone else to go look at the scene as an expert. A prime example of why it was so easy for the personal t
o fuck with professional judgment.

  “Hey. “ She made herself reach out, touch his hand which had clenched into a white knuckled fist at his side, an unconscious reaction of defense. It wasn’t as hard as she expected it to be. She had to suppress the unusual desire to lace her fingers in his and create a stronger link. “I could really use your help. I won't make you get any closer than you feel like getting. You don't—” she bit back impatience with herself. “I can't make you do it. You have a choice. You're just quicker than calling someone in from Gainesville.”

  He looked down at their hands, and he surprised her by turning his over and closing his fingers around her smaller hand. His strength was there, but unsteady, as if he drew some of hers into him from their shared touch. He took a deep breath and suddenly she understood.

  She knew that look, had seen it on faces before. This wasn't the first time he'd seen someone dead from violent means, and it hadn't been long for him, if that gray pallor under the skin meant anything.

  “No.” He shook his head, pulled his hand away. “If I can help, I will. We're a community here, Chief. Whoever this is, he or she deserves any help we can give. Let me just post a sign on the door and lock up before we go. I'd rather you drive, if youdon't mind.”

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  Chapter 6

  The drive to the murder site was awkward. In the silence, Sarah regretted her sniping comments. He hadn't deserved it. Oh, maybe he had, the way he had bowled her over, but his tension was palpable next to her. It was her job to deal with it.

  “You have a nice place, Mr. Herne.” There. She had been pleasant, though it was an effort.

  He made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a faint chuckle. “Mr. Herne. I've