by Jill Shalvis
His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he kicked off his shoes and socks.
Then shoved off the rest of his clothes.
And my, oh, my, Cassie thought, her body humming already, he looked amazing naked. She splashed him again for the sheer pleasure of watching water running down his big, strong, sleek form in little rivulets she suddenly wanted to lick off. Broad, tanned shoulders, hard chest tapering to a narrow waist, powerful legs … and what lay between those thighs made her breath catch. "Coming?"
"Oh, yeah."
Oh, yeah. With any luck, they'd both come.
She needed this, she decided. She deserved it. And afterward, she'd feel better. More relaxed. They could go back to ignoring each other. But damn, he looked good strutting into the deliciously cool water without so much as a wince, never breaking eye contact, until, a few feet from her, he vanished into the water.
With the lack of a moon, she couldn't see where he was headed, but she wasn't stupid. Braced and ready, she let out only a cool smile when he surfaced again, slowly, confidently, only a fraction of an inch in front of her.
He shook his hair back. Water ran down his jaw. A jaw she suddenly wanted to touch. Strange, that urge. Sex was a tool and only a tool. A stimulus. A muscle relaxant. A great way to guarantee a good night's sleep.
Nothing more.
So this urge to be tender bugged the hell out of her. Forget tender. She wanted hard and fast, and then she wanted him gone. To facilitate the matter, she put her arms over his shoulders, letting him do all the work to keep them afloat.
It also slid their bodies in direct contact. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and everything in between. And oh, baby, was there a lot in between. Her nipples brushed the light hair on his chest. His legs entangled with hers. And his erection… Mmm, she slid it between her legs, loving the feeling of having him there. He was hot, pulsing. Huge. And it wasn't easy to keep her eyes open on his, to keep her thoughts straight, when her entire body had melted so that she had no bones left.
"Cassie." One large hand danced down her spine, cupped her bottom and pressed her against his hot, hard body as he supported her weight. "I'm ready to hear about the restraining order," he said very quietly, keeping them above water with no apparent effort.
"I…" He had his hand on her ass, his penis between her legs. "Um…" Her heart was pounding dully in her ears. Her nipples had long ago pebbled to hard, needy beads. And between her clenched thighs she was creamy. Rational thought escaped her and he hadn't done anything yet. "What?"
He let out a slow, knowing smile.
Damn him and his unbearable control. Well, she had enough left to know she had to destroy it. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she shifted even closer so their mouths were just touching. "So. You really want to…" She wrapped her legs around his waist, thrilling to his quickly indrawn breath. "Talk?"
Now both hands held her bottom, hard, his fingers squeezing. She was so close to him they'd melted together. And because she'd spread her legs wide, wrapping them around his waist so satisfactorily, the tip of his penis … oh, yes, nearly slid home.
Nearly. Because he held back. Everything. "You want me?" he asked, his voice rough and serrated, his mouth so close to hers, but not close enough. His hands still gripped her bottom, holding her slightly away, so that his wonderfully hot, hard, huge erection only teased the very center of her universe.
"I think that's fairly obvious," she answered.
"Then talk to me."
"Uh…"
Looking fierce and hot, and so damn sexy she wanted to gobble him up in one bite, he stroked her again. This time his chest lightly brushed her nipples, and she could barely breathe.
"Maybe you skipped the birds and the bees lesson," she said. "But you should know, talking has little to do with wanting you."
He looked down at her breasts, two hard, aching points brushing against his chest, and groaned. Slowly he lifted her up a little, dipping his head so he could rub his jaw across the very tips. "Can Pete find you here?"
No, she wouldn't talk about this, even if he'd forced a pathetic, needy whimper from her throat.
"Cassie?" Another little stroke with his not-so-little penis. Her entire body quivered, dancing on the very edge of an orgasm she wanted with all her heart.
"Can he?" he growled.
She stared down at his mouth, wanting it on hers. At the look, he groaned low and deep. His fingers, still supporting her, glided farther down her backside and dipped between her legs. Unerringly found her flash point.
Unable to help herself, she thrust against him and he groaned again, the sound melding with hers. She'd never had an orgasm without purposeful, calculated thought before, and yet here she was, quivering on the very edge without a thought in her head other than … more, please, more.
They weren't very far out in the water. Not too far to miss the fact that her cell phone was ringing. She stared at the spot where she'd left it while he stared at her.
"You get a lot of calls?" he asked hoarsely.
"Very few now that I'm off work." She closed her eyes, then jerked them open when she felt his mouth slide over hers in a far too brief kiss.
Bending his head, he sighed and rubbed his jaw lightly over her breasts, making them both moan again. "Get it," he said and with one last perfectly aimed stroke with his fingers, gently unwrapped her legs from around him. "It might be important."
Walking out of the water, feeling him alongside her, Cassie wondered at the amazing control of the man. She wondered how he'd gotten that way, and— And all else fell from her mind as she scooped up the phone from her towel. She'd missed the call. But the caller had a New York area code that didn't belong to her agent. And then the phone rang again … same number. "Hello?" she said.
"Hello, Cassie," said Pete. "I'm here and you're not."
Cassie looked up into Tag's face and felt the blood drain from her own.
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
"You haven't called," Pete said in a congenial voice. "Even though I know you had some … car trouble before you left. Why didn't you call, Cassie?"
Very aware that Tag stood less than a foot away, still as gloriously naked as was she, Cassie didn't say a word. Pete's voice gave her goose bumps, as did his casual reference to how he'd slashed her tires.
"We're friends," he went on. "Friends, Cassie. And we're so much more than that, too. Did you know I haven't come to find you, not because I couldn't, but because I wanted you to come find me?"
His words disturbed her, made her feel sick. She'd liked this man, had let him into her life, and that her instincts had been so far off, so wrong, cut deeply.
"We belong together, you know this," Pete said in her ear. "We were meant to be. I'm going to make it happen."
Her skin crawled. "No—"
"Yes." His voice hardened. "You can't treat me this way, Cassie, vanishing from my world like this. It's not okay. Friends don't do that to one another."
"Friends." Suddenly she felt cold, so very cold, and she grabbed for something to cover herself. That it happened to be Tag's T-shirt didn't stop her; she shoved it over her wet head and body, then wrapped her free arm around herself. "Funny you use that word. I don't have any."
"Cassie." His voice was low now, conciliatory, quick to soothe. "Just tell me where you are, I can make it all up to you."
He was insane. And she hadn't seen it until it had been almost too late. "Don't call me again, Pete." She clicked off, tossed the phone down by her sandals, and stared off into the night, telling herself he still had no idea where she was or he'd have come for her by now.
Tag came up beside her. He was still looking at her with his sharp, probing gaze, still naked and apparently unconcerned about that fact. She knew male models, tons of them, and had never seen a man so comfortable in his own skin. He was beautiful, and the way he looked at her … in another place and time she might have been tempted to let herself weaken for him.
Who was she fooling? She had weakened for him, had very nearly trusted him with anything he wanted to do. Good God, what was wrong with her? He was a sheriff, of all things, a man with authority and power over her if he so chose, and more than that, he was his father's son. No doubt Sheriff Sean Taggart couldn't be trusted any more than Richard could be, and yet she'd nearly…
He pulled his jeans over his still-wet body but didn't fasten them. He looked like a Greek god standing there next to her, staring out into the night.
Until he turned to look at her. Those eyes of his weren't a god's. They were a cop's. "Pete."
"Yes."
"Another threat?"
"He's upset because he can't find me."
"Well, thank God for small favors." When she didn't answer, he sighed, put his hands on her and pulled her close. That her body wanted to be even closer felt like a betrayal. "You're not going to ask me for help," he guessed.
"No."
"Then I'm going to ask you." He shook her lightly until she locked gazes with him. "Let me help you, Cassie. Please. Let me do this for you."
"I don't need—"
"No, you don't want." His hands slid up her arms, cupped her face. "You're independent, I get that. You're proud. I get that, too. But you're not stupid. You need help. We're friends, if nothing else, and—"
"Oh, no." She let out a short mirthless laugh and backed up. "Not you, too."
He narrowed his eyes. "What, is the word friend a trigger word for you?"
"I'll admit, we're … almost lovers. Sparring partners, maybe. But not friends." When he stepped close again, she took a shaky breath because her heart suddenly and inexplicably hurt. "We're not. We'll never be that."
She saw surprise flash across his features and, damn it, hurt, too, but that wouldn't stop her. It was a dog-eat-dog world and she had to stay on top. "A man can't be a woman's friend, not—"
"That's bullshit."
"—when—" she continued coolly while shaking like a leaf inside. "Not when all he wants is sex."
He stopped cold, stared at her. She could see the shock in his eyes. Then he pulled away, turned his back.
Oh, yeah, she'd hit the mark that time. He felt guilty as hell, and that should have been tremendously satisfying. But the victory felt hollow.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"It's nothing personal."
"Like hell." But he merely slid his hands into his pockets. "You came back here to Pleasantville to hide. That's fact. You came here even with bitter childhood memories because you knew one thing … you knew you'd be safe."
"You don't know a single truth about my past."
"I would if you told me."
She wasn't going to tell him anything.
"Fine," he said angrily. "I'll have to guess then, and you have no one to blame but yourself if I'm wrong."
"You've already heard what I was like."
"I have." He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes dark and intense. "But as I've already told you, I think the truth is radically different."
He didn't believe the gossip. So what did he believe?
"You were right to come here." He still looked toward the lake. "You'll be safe. You'll come to the station and let someone know if you feel Pete has managed to track you."
"Yes," she told his sleek, still-wet back. The back she'd wanted to touch, wanted to put her mouth to.
She'd tell him anything if he'd go away and leave her be, with her burning eyes and burning throat. "I'll come to the station if I need help."
With one short nod, he bent, scooped up her towel and tossed it to her. He looked at her for a long, long moment, then his lips curved slowly. Solemnly. "Be careful, Cassie."
And then she was alone. Just as she'd wanted.
* * *
Well, hell, Tag thought, stretching out in the hammock in his vast front yard, studying the stars. He'd certainly learned a few things about himself at the lake tonight, hadn't he. And none of it was anything to be particularly proud of.
First, he'd apparently proven to Cassie that all men were scum. Every one of them. Not that she hadn't apparently already formed that opinion, but he'd definitely enforced it.
What had come over him? Lust, he admitted. A red haze of lust.
She was being stalked for crissake, and what had he done? He'd stripped down to his birthday suit like a hopeful high school kid and dove into that water without a single thought.
Oh, yeah, he deserved her disdain, every ounce of it. But she hadn't deserved his momentary lapse in judgment.
Well, he could fix that much at least. On his way back from the lake he'd gone to the station and done what he could for her, not that she'd appreciate it. He'd arranged for drive-bys at her house. He'd alerted his deputies to the possibility of trouble. And he'd put in a request for a copy of the original report and the restraining order.
She wouldn't thank him, he knew that, but at least he had his head on straight now and wouldn't be distracted from what he had to do.
He wouldn't. No matter how glorious she looked nude, swimming like a mermaid beneath the stars, her satiny skin glistening like a feast as she frolicked unselfconsciously. Her body—a mind-blowing study in curves and feminine delights—was perfection, and he'd seen every bit of it tonight. Rock-hard mauve nipples made for sucking. Rounded hips begging for his hands to grip tight. Long, tanned legs, and the treasure in between that had made his mouth water with hunger.
Just the thought could bring him to his knees, so he stopped thinking.
But he didn't stop dreaming, not that night, and not the next.
He did, however, a few days later, take his weekly phone call from his father, something he would have gladly skipped if he'd only put in Caller ID as he kept meaning to.
"You feeling better?" Tag asked him, knowing his father had been suffering from rheumatory arthritis, and knowing the man would never admit it.
"I'll live, unfortunately. You keeping the streets clean of stupidity, son?"
Tag let out a silent sigh and rubbed his temples. "What do you think?"
"I think I shouldn't have retired. Heard Cassie Tremaine Montgomery is back in town. The slut."
Tag went utterly still. "She left here right after high school. What was she, maybe seventeen? Don't you think you're being a little harsh?"
"What do you know about it? You were at college when she left. Trust me. Keep your eye on her."
That didn't seem to be a problem. What was a problem was the fact that he wanted to keep more than his eyes on her. He wanted his hands, his mouth and his body on her, as well.
"What's happening at work?" his father asked. "The usual," Tag said. "Just a D.U.I. at the moment."
"Any ongoing cases?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
"Sure?"
Tag counted to ten. "Positive."
"Okay, then. I've got to go."
"Sure. But in case you were wondering, I'm fine."
"I know you're fine. If you weren't I'd hear about it. It's work I want to know about. You'd best be doing a good job, upholding our family name."
Or what? Tag wondered wearily. He'd swing his authority around like a belt? He rubbed his temples. "I'll talk to you next week."
"You haven't been out to see me."
Tag hadn't, that was true. He hadn't been able to take the hour or so of verbal abuse he'd no doubt have to sit through before being dismissed like a worthless underling.
He bit his tongue on the harsh words he wanted to say. He wouldn't act like his father. "I've got to go, Dad." Hanging up the phone, he gave in to a brief moment of self-hatred for not telling his father to just go to hell.
Pretty pathetic. Thirty-two years old and he still had a deep desire to have a picture-perfect family life with warm, loving people around him.
Or one loving person. The one he hadn't found yet—his fantasy wife. The thought made him huff out a mirthless laugh because, he was no closer to finding her than he was to really living
in Mayberry, U.S.A.
* * *
Kate arrived, and Cassie had to admit she'd never been happier to see anyone in her entire life. Her cousin hadn't changed at all; she was still the voice of calm reason to Cassie's wild heart.
Physically, they were opposites as well, and Cassie had always admired Kate's long, thick dark hair, her perfect heart face, her sweet smile. Although she hated people thinking so, Kate was sweet everything, and being around her calmed Cassie's restless soul in a way few others could.
On Kate's first night back in Pleasantville they stayed up late, sitting on the floor of the nearly ready Bare Essentials, gorging on pizza and M&M's, going over the plans for their grand opening.
Maybe it was the bottle of wine they shared, or maybe it was simply the sheer delight of seeing each other after too long an absence, but they laughed and talked and listened to music until well past midnight.
Cassie had to give her cousin credit. Kate let Cassie keep the conversation safe. Meaning they talked about Kate. Bare Essentials. And gossiped happily about the people in Pleasantville.
Then the clock struck one and Kate's smile faded as she studied Cassie. "You know I love you, right?"
Ah, hell. "Yep." In case Kate wanted to talk serious, she cranked up the radio to ear-splitting level.
Kate simply lifted that superior brow Cassie was certain had intimidated hundreds of others. "You could tell me anything," she yelled over the music. "You know that."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah." Kate put her hand around her mouth and shouted, "So fine you have purple bruises beneath your eyes." She flicked the radio off. "Delicate ones, of course, because you're the only woman I know who could skip makeup and eat junk food for a week and still look amazing. But I know you, Cassie." She softened her voice and reached for her hand. "Whether you like it or not, I know you're not okay."
"Kate—"
"You haven't asked for your mail." She reached into her purse and came up with a handful of letters. All addressed to her. All from Pete. "You should be giving these to the local authorities."
"The authorities here know about him." Deciding she was done with this conversation, Cassie stood and stretched, and caught sight of a car pulling up out front.
