TEMPERATURE'S RISING

by Donna Sterling

  Dee's grip on Callie's hand had grown painfully tight as she watched the sheriff with wide, anxious eyes.

  Moments later, he stepped back into the room, closed the French doors and securely locked them. "No one out there now. It was probably just kids up to some prank."

  Dee let out a dramatic sigh of relief and released her death grip on Callie's hand. "Better keep your room locked, Ms. Callie," advised the sheriff as he returned his gun to his holster. "You've got a lot of folks riled up over your investigation against Doc Forrester. I'm not saying anyone would do you harm, or even wish it, but they don't take kindly to anyone messing with one of their own."

  One of their own. A pang of hurt went through Callie. She used to be "one of their own," too. But that had been too many years ago to count for much now.

  "Folks are fairly used to putting up with Grant Tierney. They do it mostly for Agnes's sake, and because he's been buying up so much land around here," the sheriff continued. "But the doc is a great favorite. Never know what some people might do if they hear you're nosing around for something to use against him."

  "Thank you for the advice, Sheriff," Callie said in a rather cool tone. She heard rustling in the closet, and said with renewed urgency, "I'm sure you and Dee can't wait to get back to your beds, just like I can't wait to get back to mine."

  She'd meant it as a hint to hurry them on their way.

  Instead, they both glanced toward her bed. Looks of mild surprise formed on their faces.

  Too late, Callie realized that the bedding remained neatly made. No one could possibly have been sleeping in it. She felt warm color wash into her cheeks. "I, uh, fell asleep on the sofa," she mumbled in answer to their unasked question.

  They then glanced at the sofa. Her peach satin camisole hung haphazardly from one cushion, and her lace-edged panties lay sprawled on the floor beside it.

  The warmth in Callie's face deepened, but she offered no explanation. She could fling her panties and camisole wildly around the room if she wanted, couldn't she?

  She then noticed Jack's boots lying on the floor beside the sofa, partially concealed in a shadow. Her heart turned over, and she shot a quick glance at both Dee and the sheriff.

  Neither seemed to have noticed the boots, though. "If you see someone moving around the yard tonight, don't worry," the sheriff told her, reaching for the doorknob. "I'll be patrolling the grounds in case the intruder comes back."

  Patrolling the grounds. Callie froze in dismay near the door as Dee and the sheriff shuffled past her into the hallway. How could Jack leave the inn undetected with the sheriff patrolling the grounds? And if Jack stayed until morning, Dee or her boys would surely see him leave. The entire population of the Point, including Grant Tierney, would know that Jack Forrester had spent the night in her room!

  "Uh, Sheriff, I don't think it's necessary for you to waste your time patrolling the grounds. I was outside earlier, and I … I might have made some noise. That's probably what my downstairs neighbors heard."

  The sheriff frowned doubtfully. "They reported the disturbance pretty late. About what time were you down there?"

  "A little after midnight, I guess."

  "What were you doing down there after midnight?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  "What was I doing?" She cleared her throat. "I was … looking at the stars. There's no place like the Point for stargazing, you know."

  "Isn't that the truth?" agreed Dee. "I didn't see many stars out tonight, though. Too cloudy."

  Callie clenched her hands so hard her nails dug into her palms. "Yes. It really was a challenge to find them."

  The sheriff frowned in deep reflection then shook his head. "Couldn't have been you the folks downstairs heard. Must have happened after you went in. Someone had to push that bench against the house. It didn't walk off the patio by itself."

  "The bench?" She'd forgotten about the blasted bench! "Oh, you mean the patio bench, against the house." She forced a laugh as she desperately searched her mind for an explanation. "I moved it there."

  The sheriff blinked. "You moved it there? Why?"

  "Well, I spent so much time searching the sky for stars that my, uh … back started to hurt. My back goes out sometimes, you see, and I need a hard surface to lean against. So I—"

  A choking noise, like someone losing the fight to hold back a laugh, ripped from the direction of the closet.

  Callie raised her voice to mask it. "So I pushed the bench against the house and sat there. I just forgot to return it to the patio. I'm sorry. If I hadn't been sleeping so soundly when you woke me, I probably would have put it all together sooner. It's just a big misunderstanding, and there's no need for you to patrol the grounds, Sheriff, so please, please, go home."

  "I'm so relieved to hear that it was you, Callie," Dee cried. "I couldn't believe that we had a prowler."

  "I guess I'm glad to hear it, too," the sheriff muttered rather crossly. "Feel like a damn fool, though, pulling out my gun and searching the balcony like some TV cop."

  "No, no, I'm very grateful," Callie assured him. "You could have saved our lives. And your strategy in asking for my father's name—well, that was brilliant."

  Another choking noise came from the closet, but Dee's enthusiastic agreement overrode it. Looking somewhat mollified, the sheriff followed the innkeeper down the stairs.

  Callie shut the door, leaned against it and breathed out a long, tremulous sigh of relief.

  The closet creaked open and Jack stepped out. He was wearing his black jeans, though he'd left them unfastened at his lean waist, and his shirt was slung negligently over one bare, broad shoulder. A smile curved his mouth and sparkled in his amber eyes as he sauntered toward her, furry chested, brawny and sinfully handsome.

  "Oh my, Ms. Callie," he murmured as he approached, his warm gaze playing over her face and hair and short, black velour robe. "Better lie down on the bed and let me massage your back, seeing how all that aggressive stargazing threw it out."

  "That's not funny."

  "Oh, I agree." He leaned a hand against the door, just above her head, and angled his face intimately toward hers. "A problem like that can keep you flat on your back for quite some time. Good thing I have the next couple days off to doctor you through the, uh, hard times." He swept his hand in a lingering caress down her face. "And there's bound to be plenty of those."

  The gathering heat in his gaze, the huskiness of his voice, the musky, masculine scent of his skin all conspired to keep her breathless and achingly aware of how intimate they'd become in the past hour.

  What had she been thinking? She hadn't been thinking at all! She'd been mindlessly responding—to him, his charm, and the potent sensuality that sizzled through her blood whenever he touched her.

  "You have to leave," she whispered, preparing herself to pull away. But then he slid his fingers into her hair and stroked her face with his thumb, diluting her willpower by alarming degrees.

  "I don't have to leave," he countered in a gruff whisper. "I've got all night, and all day, and all night…"

  "Jack," she groaned as he kissed the side of her throat, sending heat waves rushing through her. "This was a mistake." She caught his face between her hands, thrilling to the hot, abrasive feel of his jaw, remembering the rasp of it against her nipples. "It was my fault, I know. I shouldn't have taunted you like I did, with that silly game."

  "You can make it up to me." He slid his hands around her waist, then up and down her velour-clad body. "We'll play my game now," he whispered against her mouth. "It's called, 'Please, Jack, please … make love to me.'"

  He distracted her from her protest with a long, coaxing kiss. Her arms reflexively went around his neck. His hands caught at the robe's sash and tugged it free.

  With a tortured groan, she came to her senses, pulled away from him and bunched the front of her robe with both fists to keep it closed. "I can't make love to you anymore," she cried, breathing heavily.

  His brows knit in a prote
sting frown. "Why not?"

  "It isn't right!" And wanting you this much scares the hell out of me. "I'm investigating a case against you, Jack."

  "And you just now thought of that?"

  "Yes." Misery sluiced through her as she belted her robe and backed away from him. She'd been unfair—taunting him, taking the game as far as she had, then stopping. "I'm sorry. I got carried away by all that talk about when we were young, and how you'd wanted me." She looked away from the heart-stopping intensity of his gaze and raked a trembling hand through her hair. "But we're not kids anymore, and I can't risk compromising the case, or the integrity of my firm, or my professional reputation by carrying on with the target of my investigation."

  He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb in an eloquently insolent pose. "I don't see how making love to me can do any of that."

  "I'm working for an attorney, who also happens to be my sister." She paced to a safer distance away from him. "Ethical considerations get very complicated, and if Grant Tierney felt his lawyer's team had conspired against him in any way—" She abruptly cut off her explanation.

  Again she'd acted without thinking. She shouldn't be discussing these concerns with him. She picked up his soft leather boots from beside the sofa and handed them to him. "Get dressed. Please."

  "We'll keep our relationship private, Callie." He obstinately tossed the boots down onto the carpet. "It's no one else's business. But even if someone does find out, they'll probably assume you're acting in the best interest of your client. You know, trying to pry information out of me."

  She turned an affronted gaze to him. "Is that what you think I was trying to do—pry information out of you?"

  "Of course not. The only reason I mentioned it is that a few of my well-meaning friends warned me against trusting you too much. They heard you were driving my car around today, and I guess Gloria saw me kiss you, so—"

  "So now everyone thinks I'm seducing you to get information?"

  "I don't think seducing is quite the right word. I mean, anyone in their right mind couldn't possibly imagine I'd resist."

  "I wasn't the one who stood beneath this balcony and made chimpanzee calls!" she heatedly reminded him.

  He winced. "Not chimpanzee."

  "Are you trying to pry information out me?"

  "Have I asked you any questions at all about the case?"

  "Not yet."

  "And I won't, either. I don't need to pry information out of you. I had people calling me at the hospital all evening, telling me about the photos you took from Gloria, the conversations you recorded, the court records you checked and the gumbo that didn't have shrimp in it."

  Her jaw involuntarily lowered. "You knew about all that, and you still came over here?"

  He ambled toward her, his golden-brown gaze warm and intent. "None of that has anything to do with you and me."

  "Yes, it does," she replied with a catch in her voice, backing away. How could she reprimand him for coming here tonight when she had done so much worse? She'd gathered weapons to use against him, then taunted him into making love to her.

  And now she was discussing her concerns for her professional reputation, when she'd come to Moccasin Point with the express purpose of destroying his!

  She'd never been as confused in her life, and her chest felt ready to burst with contrary emotions. "Get dressed. You've got to leave."

  "No one has to know I'm here, Callie, or that I've ever been here."

  "Everyone will know! Your car is here, and so is mine. Someone is bound to notice that, and realize that you've been somewhere nearby … like, in my room! I'm surprised the sheriff hasn't already noticed."

  "I've parked your car in the back garage and closed the door. No one will notice it's there. If anyone asks in the morning about when we switched cars, just say you left my key in my car, and you're not sure when I took it."

  "You make it sound so reasonable, but I'm the one who would be hurt if the secret leaks out. What do you have to lose?"

  "You."

  The heated earnestness in his stare confused her all the more. Her heart revelled in that heat, in that earnestness, while her rapidly declining reason warned her to run the other way. He wanted her now, but sex was only sex, unless she allowed herself to believe it was more.

  And she wanted to believe it was more. She wanted to believe he felt something deeper for her than lust. Something stronger and finer and lasting.

  The panic she'd felt while they'd been making love clawed at her once again. She'd spent twelve long years building up her defenses so she'd never emotionally need a man in her life again. She couldn't let those vital defenses melt away in the heat of Jack Forrester's lovemaking!

  She turned blindly away from him, ready to snatch his boots up, thrust them in his arms and push him out of her suite.

  Before she'd taken a full step, he caught her by the shoulders. "What are you afraid of, Callie? Don't tell me it has anything to do with your professional reputation. You weren't thinking about that while we were naked on the floor."

  Her heart stood still. She couldn't argue with that.

  "You panicked when things got too hot," he charged. "Why?"

  "The … the sheriff was beating on the door," she hedged.

  He shook her slightly. "Before that."

  She stared at him in dismay. Of course he'd realized she'd panicked. Don't be afraid, he'd told her. It's only me. An ironic reassurance, since he was the only one who frightened her this way, the only one with the power to lay her heart dangerously open.

  She swallowed hard and blinked away a sheen blurring her vision. He was wearing her defenses down too thin! "Go home, Jack," she begged.

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I can't leave now, or someone will see me. We have to give Dee and everyone else time to go to sleep after the prowler scare. For all we know, the sheriff could still be out there."

  Callie swallowed a groan. He was right. But how could she risk letting him stay for even a moment longer?

  She felt too vulnerable now, with the virile scent of his heated body filling her head, and his hands squeezing her shoulders in a restless, needful way. Worse, though, was her inclination to read profound emotions into the sexual intensity radiating from him.

  "Our best chance is if I leave just before dawn."

  Which would give them another few hours.

  She recognized the implacable set of his jaw and shoulders. He'd made up his mind to stay. The sheer familiarity of his willfulness touched her with traitorous affection.

  How she missed her wild comrade at arms, and the rough-and-tumble girl she'd been, and the easy friendship they'd taken so for granted.

  She forced through a tightened throat, "I'm sorry, Jack, for leading you on like I did. I'm so sorry! I never should have kissed you in the first place. I never should have gotten—" her voice broke into a whisper "—intimate with you."

  "God, Cal, don't cry!" Looking shaken and troubled, he pulled her into his arms while she staunchly resisted tears of guilt and emotional confusion. "It's okay," he breathed against her hair. "Believe me, I understand. Nothing you've done has hurt me in any way." He rocked her in a tight, warm, bearlike hug that profoundly comforted her.

  After a while, though, his rocking slowed into stillness and she became breathlessly aware of her face pressed against his bare, muscled shoulder, her torso molded to his and their heartbeats thundering through the thin fabric of her robe.

  "The only problem is," he said in a hot, torrential whisper against her ear, "you have gotten intimate with me. It's too late to change that." He drew back and held her face between his palms. "So how could another few hours hurt?"

  The ardent heat in his stare blazed straight through to her heart, trapping the air in her lungs and rekindling a need deep within her. "Come to bed with me, Callie," he hoarsely pleaded. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do, I swear."

  She couldn't, at the moment, think of anything she di
dn't want him to do. In fact, when he gazed at her that way, she fiercely wanted everything.

  "Only for tonight," she conceded in a wavery whisper, "and then never again. Never, ever, ever…"

  He hushed her with a deep, hot, melting kiss.

  * * *

  8

  « ^ »

  He'd left her, as promised, before dawn.

  She'd been so physically and emotionally exhausted that she barely recalled his leaving. She'd fallen asleep with his strong body curved around her. When his warmth had separated from her, she'd reached through the darkness to pull him back.

  He'd kissed her and whispered something soothing. Then he'd asked where to find his car key, and she'd mumbled, "Purse."

  She'd fallen back to sleep missing him.

  In the clear light of day, the stupidity of it all boggled her mind and kept her tense through breakfast in Dee's quaint dining room with other guests at the inn.

  No one mentioned last night's prowler scare or Jack Forrester leaving the inn shortly before dawn. Callie assumed he hadn't been noticed. Thank God! If he'd been caught, word would have spread this morning like wildfire, and she would have dreaded this afternoon's picnic more than she was right now.

  He would be there. Today. At the Labor Day picnic.

  Apprehension flooded her. How would he act toward her with the community watching? How would she react to him? Could she look at him without outwardly responding to the incredible intimacies they'd shared last night? He'd made love to her in so many ways—with his mouth, his hands, his body. Every time, her climax had taken her somewhere new and wonderful. Every time, her emotional response had deepened.

  Had their lovemaking meant anything to him other than a good time?

  She almost choked over her coffee at the question. Of course not! It hadn't meant anything more to her, either, and she was glad of it. Damn glad.

  Jack probably had more women to choose from than a sultan's harem. He'd probably pursued her for the simple novelty of it. Or the challenge, considering their history together. Or to influence her investigation.

  All of those possibilities hurt too much to contemplate.