by Jill Shalvis
"No." Unable to stand the empathy and compassion in his eyes, she covered hers. "Damn it, you really caught me at a bad time, Tag. Just go away, okay?"
"I can't. I can't seem to stop thinking about you." Shocked, she dropped her hands and stared at him, then let out a laugh. "That's funny."
"Really? Why?" He snagged her hand, brought it to his mouth. "Because you think about me, too?"
She would have yanked her hand away but he'd opened his mouth on it and was doing something to her finger with his tongue that made her unable to speak. Then he sucked her finger into his mouth.
Her breath caught. "I … I think about a lot of people."
"Me?"
Still watching her, he bit the pad of her finger, just lightly, but she felt it all the way to her toes. "Maybe occasionally."
His tongue swirled over the pad of her finger before working its way to the inside of her wrist. Her tummy danced. Her nipples beaded.
"Do you want me, Cassie? Right this minute, do you want me?"
She forced out a laugh even as she felt her body weeping for him. "Of course not. You barge in here, you—"
"You're such a bad liar."
Her mouth had been getting her into trouble since the day she'd figured out how to use it, and today was no exception. "Okay, you're right," she said sarcastically. "Oh, Tag, I want you. I want you to make love to me. All night long—"
His mouth covered hers in a kiss that stole her breath. "I'm going to pretend you meant that," he said when they came up for air.
"You can pretend all you want," she said, daring him, then remembered … daring Tag was not a good idea.
With a triumphant glare of his eyes, he cupped the back of her head with one hand. The other traced a finger over her throat to right between her breasts. "Not aroused at all?"
"Absolutely not."
"And yet your nipples are begging for attention. My attention."
"Maybe I'm cold."
"Ah." Nodding agreeably, he swept his big, warm hands down her back, then beneath the material of her too-large T-shirt, spreading them wide on her bare skin. "Let me warm you then, since you're not aroused at all."
His warm, warm fingers lightly ran up and down, causing a shiver when they just skimmed the very sides of her breasts. "Better?"
"Um … yes." She cleared her throat. "Much better, thank you."
"You're not turned on at all, right?"
"Just still slightly chilled, that's all." But a delicious languid feeling had begun to overcome her, and damn if her hips didn't want to arch to his. Just barely, she managed to contain herself, and bit her lip to keep any moans she might feel the urge to utter to herself.
"What was that?" His mouth lightly brushed her ear, causing another shiver. "Was that a … moan?"
She locked her knees together. "Don't be ridiculous."
He cupped her bottom, then gripped her hips to his so that she could feel how hard he was, and he was gloriously hard. His mouth was still doing something mind-boggling to that sensitive spot just beneath her ear and she let her head fail back to give him better access.
"Cassie?"
"Hmm?"
Now his hands slid beneath her sweats, and finding her without anything beneath, he groaned. "Warm yet?"
"Getting there," she murmured, loving the way his fingers cupped and held her butt so that the hardest, neediest part of him was gliding over the softest, neediest part of her.
"But not turned on, right?"
She'd planted her face in his throat so she could smell him better. Realizing she was nuzzling up to him, her eyes flew open. She stared at his tanned, sexy throat. "Uh … no."
He let go of her. Then suddenly her sweats were down around her calves. Before she could grab for them, Tag sank to his knees in front of her. Hands on her hips, he stroked his thumbs over the quivering skin of her belly, then lower. "I'm turned on by you," he said hoarsely, putting his lips to the very top of one thigh. "So turned on I can think of nothing else." Now his thumbs met and together they slid over her mound and slowly, slowly, spread her open to his gaze.
She was drenched.
He looked up into her eyes, his glittering with triumph. "Don't worry, I'm not the kind of man to say I told you so."
"Bastard—" But the word backed up in her throat when he leaned forward and licked her like a lollipop.
"Oh, my…" that was all she managed to get out, sinking her fingers into his hair and holding on tight. It was that or fall.
Then he opened his mouth and took her in with a sucking motion that rocked her world. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. She sure as hell couldn't stand, so she crumpled to a boneless heap.
He caught her. They rolled on the carpet like a couple of wrestlers, fighting for space, struggling to remove clothes, biting, kissing, swearing, laughing.
And then he had her flat on her back, arms held over her head. His body, hard and satisfactorily naked, pressed into her. "Still want to fight?"
Slowly she shook her head.
"Want to give me a hit on what you do want to do?"
He had it on before she could say anything else. She had barely spread her thighs for him when an impossibly powerful thrust sank him inside her to the hilt.
And then she was lost. She was always lost when she was with him, just as, when he stroked them to a simultaneous orgasm in less than five hard strokes, she was found.
How devastating was that?
* * *
They spent the next few nights in the same manner, with Tag attempting to talk to her, Cassie resisting, distracting him with other things—namely her body—and both of them ending up wearing each other out every way but yesterday.
Unfortunately, they couldn't seem to stop. Cassie couldn't seem to stop. The devastating tugs on the strings to her heart just kept getting stronger every single day.
At least she was sure she hadn't seen Pete again, but what she had seen was worse. In the grocery store, no less than four people she recognized but didn't personally know smiled at her. Smiled. At the gas station, the mechanic came out and offered to pump her gas—and he didn't want anything for it.
Then she caved and, at Stacie's insistence, went over there for dinner and found her child a messy, sticky delight. She actually got talked into bowling afterwards—bowling!—because Stacie had just joined a league. And then, because apparently a weekly bowling night complete with greasy fries and cherry sodas appealed to her in a way she hadn't imagined, she joined the league, too.
Insanity.
Then, when she thought she couldn't get more conflicted, Kate dropped a bomb, saying that already Bare Essentials was such a success that it deserved a chance to become more than a revenge vehicle. She asked Cassie to stay to run it. Permanently. She said Cassie couldn't be a model forever, and she was right. She said Cassie was made for such a thing, and she was right. She said Cassie seemed happier and more content here than she'd ever seen her and… Cassie was deeply afraid to admit that Kate was right yet again.
So why did she feel such an inexplicable weight on her chest? She could hardly breathe because of it. Home alone late one night, she moved through the living room to the den, off of which was a sliding-glass door that led to the surprisingly large, lush, five-acre-long backyard.
There was a lovely wooden deck opening up to that land, on which sat the hot tub that had become her best friend. She needed that friend now as her every muscle was screaming with a tension tighter than she'd felt when she'd been stalked right out of New York.
The water was already hot, and if she'd had any energy left she might have whimpered in gratitude but her head was working on a more important issue.
Her biggest worry of all wasn't the town or the people in it. It wasn't Kate or the store. It wasn't even Pete.
It was Tag.
He wouldn't come tonight—she'd asked him not to. He would want to talk, want to share, want to … well.
She wanted to be with him, but for her, it was all
physical. It was, damn it. It had to be, it was all she could give.
But why? cried a very small, very in-the-minority voice in her head. Why did it have to be so shallow, like everything else in her life? Why couldn't it be different? Deeper? More meaningful? Real.
Because she didn't know how to do that. She didn't know if she even believed in it.
So physical and shallow it would stay. And while that had been enough for Tag up until now, she was terrified things were changing. She was terrified he wanted more. And if he didn't get more, she was terrified he'd walk away.
At the bare minimum, he wanted to talk about his father. He thought he had to atone for that long-ago night in some way, and of course he didn't.
His father had told him … what, exactly? God, the humiliation of that night hadn't eaten at her in a long time, but it was eating at her now.
She cranked on the jets of the hot tub. Kicked off her sandals. Stared at the water. Had Sheriff Richard Taggart told his son how Cassie had dressed for the prom? What was it he'd said back then… Oh, yes, he'd said she'd dressed like she wanted it.
Had be also told Tag where Biff was heading with her?
And what had Tag really thought about that night? Why did she care? "I don't," she said out loud, and dropped her pants. Reached for the buttons on her shirt. "I don't care—" But she did, and her voice caught. She cared about all of it. She cared about the store. She cared about the people she'd come to know—Stacie, Daisy, Diane. Damn it, she even cared about the stupid cat.
But mostly she cared about a man she wasn't sure about. With a vicious yank, she pulled off her blouse and stepped into the hot tub, sinking with a hissing breath into the hot bubbling water up to her chin.
Putting her head back on the edge, she stared up at the stars. What if all these feelings were hers alone? What if he was just out for a good time, using her body as she was using his, and after she left he'd happily move on to the next woman?
Oh, God. That thought tore her apart and she put a shaking hand to her mouth. No. No, this couldn't be happening. She couldn't be falling for this place, for the people in it. For Tag.
No. She'd leave, soon as she could. Pack up and go, and if New York still wasn't safe for her, she'd find somewhere else to go, somewhere where there were no strings attached, no—
"Meow." Miss Priss butted her jaw with her stubborn little head.
Which for some reason made Cassie burst into tears.
* * *
Tag worked late, mostly because his head had not been into his paperwork for weeks now and he was helplessly behind.
The extra hours in the quiet station didn't help much. He had too much time to think. And what he was thinking about was crowding around his head, fighting for space.
His father. They hadn't spoken again, and Tag wasn't sure they would.
Then there was Kate, who'd actually called him today to see if he could check on Pete's whereabouts. Tag had been checking daily to no avail. No one had located Pete and he could only hope the L.A. rumor was true.
And then there was one stubborn, ornery, strong-willed, wildly passionate woman he couldn't seem to get enough of. Cassie Tremaine Montgomery. Not his fantasy woman, that was certain, but somehow … better.
She'd asked him not to come to her tonight, and he'd had every intention of keeping himself busy without her. Only there had been something in her voice that had disturbed him, something … lonely. She was hurting, and she was alone.
In spite of all they'd given to each other—and taken—she was still struggling to keep him at arm's length. She still wanted to separate the physical from the emotional. He'd been all for that, until he'd realized he wanted both. He wanted it all.
And he wanted her to know that.
Tonight.
* * *
She didn't answer the front door, but since the sunshine-yellow Porsche was blinding Tag from the driveway by moonlight, he knew she was home.
The front door was locked. Good girl, he thought, and walked around the side yard to see if he could find her outside.
The swing out there was empty. But from where he stood he could hear the jets of the hot tub, and continued on that way.
He was caught up thinking about the things they could do to each other in the hot tub, so it took him a moment to assimilate what he was seeing.
Cassie sitting in it. Long, wavy hair piled on top of her head. Bubbles surrounding her gorgeous body, hiding it from view.
And she was quietly sobbing her heart out. "Cassie." He was there in a heartbeat, kneeling on the deck behind her, reaching for her shoulders. "Cassie. Oh, baby."
She jerked at his touch, whirling around and backing away into the center of the tub while doing so, making him realize with the sound of the jets and her own grief, she hadn't heard him approach.
"You," she said in such a way that told him exactly who was at the center of at least some of this.
"Me," he agreed. "Tell me what's wrong."
She wiped at her face. "What's wrong is you're trouncing on my privacy again."
"Cassie." Knowing she was hurting made his heart hurt. "Come closer."
"No."
"Come out then."
"No."
She was still right there in front of him, but she'd suddenly retreated into herself before his very gaze. He had no idea what was going on in her head. And damn if he wasn't very, very tired of that. "Fine. I'll come in."
"Don't be silly, Sheriff. You'd wrinkle your uniform."
Ah, the uniform. The center of every single argument they'd ever had. Well, he was done with that. Done with all of it. Frustrated, he kicked off his shoes.
She craned her neck and stole a peek, probably hoping he'd left. Her eyes widened when his hands went to his belt. "What are you doing?"
"Getting rid of the brick wall between us." He shoved down his pants. Kicked them away with his shoes. Ripped off his shirt.
And stood there in front of her bare-ass naked. "Not a sheriff right now, am I?"
"It's just a shirt. A pair of pants."
"I know that." He put his foot in and refused to hiss out a breath at the hot water. "I'm just not sure you do."
"Put your clothes back on."
"Not until you understand."
"Understand what? That you're butting in where you're not wanted?"
"Understand that I'm just a man. A regular man." He sank in to his waist and walked toward her, stopping when they were only a breath apart. "A regular man who's falling in love with you."
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
Shocked to her very core, Cassie stared at Tag for one long heartbeat before whirling away. Splashing. Trying to move. Damn the water now, because it slowed her down. She needed out. She needed to run. Not because he was a cop. Not because he'd invaded her space.
But because he'd used the L-word.
Not fair. Definitely foul. Definitely hitting below the belt.
Oh, God. She needed air—
Long, wet, strong arms encircled her from behind. Pulled her back against a warm, bare chest.
"Cassie." His mouth was at her ear, his voice low and anguished. "Don't."
She kept fighting him. And as a woman who'd learned to fight very young, she was good. She was fast. She fought nasty.
"No," he murmured, sliding one arm across her front, the other low on her belly. "Shh."
Shh my ass, she thought, and fought harder, satisfied when water sloshed out of the tub, more satisfied when she elbowed him and heard the "Oomph" of his breath whoosh by her ear. But even as she fought, she felt hyperaware of two things.
One, she was naked.
Two, so was he.
And all that nakedness was rubbing against each other—her back to his chest, her butt to his groin—and her anger was staffing to turn into something else entirely, something beyond her control, something … something she no longer wanted to run from.
But there was the principle of the
matter, she couldn't forget that. He'd betrayed her by adding all this emotion to the pot. "You shouldn't have said that. That you were … that you might be…"
"Falling in love with you?"
Because she'd stopped fighting, he carefully loosened his hold but didn't take his hands off her. They were standing in the middle of the tub, her back to his front, the bubbling water lapping at their hips. She became very conscious of the fact that her breasts were plumped up by his arm, that his other arm lay across the front of her so that his hand rested across the very top of her thighs.
"I didn't say it to hurt you." His arms tightened, as if in a hug. "It's just the truth and I wanted to share it with you."
She stared down at his big, tanned hand spread wide on her softer, whiter skin and recognized that by just his touching her, she felt very female, very special.
Damn him. "Sharing is overrated."
"Yeah, you're right, it can be overrated. With the wrong person, that is." Slowly he turned her around in his arms. Let her look into his face, where she could see the hurt she'd put there.
Her gut pinched. He'd given her so much, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She wasn't that selfish that she couldn't give him something back, just a little something. "I don't care that you're sheriff," she whispered.
"Okay. Define 'don't care'."
"I mean I'm getting used to seeing you in the uniform, okay? I'm getting used to it even if it means I can't drive my car as fast. And…"
"And…"
"And … I guess I should say, I know you're the same with or without the stupid badge."
"Ah." His mouth lowered to within a fraction of hers. "Are you sure about that?"
Her breath caught when his body slid against hers. Lord, he had such a beautiful, hard, sinewy, tough body. "Um…"
"Maybe we should make sure. Tell me, for example, do I kiss the same with or without the uniform?" He put his mouth to hers, ripping a helplessly hungry sound from her throat.
At that, he deepened the kiss, dancing his tongue to hers in a way that made her dig her fingers into his arms and press even closer to the body she couldn't seem to get enough of. Obligingly, he leaned into her as the kiss spun out of control, leaned and leaned until suddenly they both fell back into one of the double seats of the hot tub, splashing water, laughing a little, but diving right back into the kiss.
