Where had the tigress gone?
She raised her head, her eyes filled with fire, fight and vulnerability, a wicked combination. His heart pounded. Oh, she might look vulnerable, but he didn’t think she’d keep her claws sheathed for very long. No matter how tough she came across, she reminded him of an abandoned orphan, desperate and swallowed by fear. Jesus H. Christ. Did the little hellcat have to look so damned defenseless? So helpless?
“What am I going to do with you?”
“Let me go?”
He snorted. “I don’t think so, little cat.”
Somehow, the minx had managed to creep past his defenses. That astounded him. She might not trust him, but that was a two-way street. He couldn’t let this burning attraction and need to protect distort his judgment.
“Look.” He cleared his throat and started over. “I’m here to help you any way I can.”
She darted a go to hell look at him and flashed her gaze away in an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact. Okay. He got the message loud and clear. She didn’t think much of his offer of protection.
Protective?
If she gave him a chance, yeah, he could do protective. No problem. Protect and serve, that was his motto. His job. The problem was she needed his protection about as much as a pit viper did. He had a feeling little Miss Georgia Peach could face a grizzly and come out the winner.
Guarding her was his job—and he did his job to the best of his ability. He could keep it impersonal. No emotional involvement. Yeah. She was a part of the job, plain and simple.
Sure.
When it came right down to it, the lady was no lady. She was a natural born fighter. Hell, she didn’t need his protection. And she certainly didn’t want it. She’d made that more than plain.
Lust? Okay. That was a different matter entirely. He simply wasn’t going there. He didn’t do lust. End of discussion.
Sex? He did do sex. All right. Where she was concerned, that could definitely be a big problem. His body, hell, his cock, was way too interested in her.
He hadn’t indulged in sex in a long time, longer than he cared to remember. One-night stands didn’t create lasting relationships. He couldn’t even recall the woman’s name or face he’d last got down and dirty with. Bang ’em, walk away, don’t look back. Never look back. A good philosophy, one he stuck to. No emotional involvement, no chance of heartache, no risks.
No ties.
He made a point of being careful. No woman was going to steal his heart or trap him in a loveless marriage or with an unwanted child.
He refused to think about the urgent need chewing at his gut.
Danger clenched his teeth, but the wayward desire didn’t go away just because he wished it so. The ache in his groin didn’t diminish no matter how many times he silently denied he wanted her. Desire gnawed at him. His body throbbed like a toothache.
He admired her beauty, but the inner strength, the fierce warrior hidden deep inside her drew him and held him prisoner. She deserved his admiration and respect. He didn’t think she realized just how much courage and strength she possessed.
The lady also appealed to him on a primitive level. Primitive, possessive, two things he’d never felt for a woman before.
He liked the way she stood toe to toe with him, drumming up her courage to fight him, even when she knew the odds were stacked against her. The fire in her vivid eyes fractured his soul. She was pure honey. That slow haunting drawl drew him like a magnet. It made him crave. . . for things he shouldn’t be hungering for—black velvet sin, hot steamy nights and two bodies entwined in tangled sheets. Nope. He shouldn’t be thinking about or wanting these things.
But he wanted her so badly, the ache wasn’t going away. The wanting, the urgent need to make her his own, scared the hell out of him. Having her wasn’t an option. Not for him.
Okay. So it boiled down to a matter of control.
And he had the control to leave her untouched. Uh-huh. You bet.
Christ, he’d seen first-hand the damage his mother did to his father. He wasn’t about to make a fool of himself, not like his father had over a damned Anglo female. Resentment boiled through him like molten lava. He didn’t need this woman barging into his life and complicating it.
He didn’t want her intrusion into his airtight, sterile little world, thank you very much! His job was his life; his work dangerous enough to keep him on his toes. He didn’t need more excitement. More challenge. And he’d always managed to keep his personal feelings separate from his professional—always. . .
Shit. Who was he fooling? With this woman, professionalism felt like a joke. A silent curse lodged in his throat. He ground his teeth. She could look at him with those big, cat eyes all she wanted. It wasn’t going to melt the ice that surrounded his heart. Hell, no.
Shoring up his resentment, he turned a hard look on her. He might desire her. What red-blooded male wouldn’t? Her sexy mouth alone was enough to make any man’s dick stand up and do a tango.
Given the opportunity, he might bang her. No, definitely, he’d bang her, but he’d walk away, heart-whole, and not look back. Keep to his philosophy. That was the safe, sane thing to do.
Having her once would be enough. That would purge this fire from his soul, the bone-jarring need. Get her out of his system, out of his blood. Yeah, once would be enough.
Danger shifted restlessly, acutely aware she watched him like a bug under a microscope. She watched as he walked over to the coffee maker and took a cloth from a drawer. He wiped the war paint off his forehead and cheeks. Sorely aggravated, he tossed the cloth in the general direction of the bathroom. What the hell, he had nothing to hide. But it irritated him that she looked at him with such obvious suspicion in her eyes.
Curious, Lacey studied him. What was he up to? Her suspicion of him bypassed all other gears and shot straight to overdrive. Oh, when he looked at her with that purposeful glint in his eyes, she knew she could stop wondering. The man desired her that was easy enough to see.
Seeing the paint come off his face eased her mind somewhat. At least now she didn’t feel as if she was facing a savage on the verge of scalping her.
She didn’t know this man. Hell, she didn’t know for sure exactly where she was other than somewhere in northern Montana. The glaring truth stared her in the face. She didn’t know anyone in the area, so there was no one to turn to for help.
It was hell being a stranger in a hostile environment. It only made sense to heed the silent voice urging caution. She wanted distance between herself and this dangerous man.
He did too. Or did he?
For all she knew, he was the murderer. Just because he wore a badge didn’t exactly strengthen her confidence or trust in him. If anything, it served to weaken it.
His height was almost identical to that of the killer, the same ring of authority resonated in his voice. Same hair, long, straight, definitely Native American.
Lacey shivered and fought the silent voice that whispered in her head, asking questions.
What if he wasn’t the murderer? What if she could trust him?
Damn it! She could dwell on what ifs forever and still make a costly mistake.
If she was going to survive, she had to do something. Trust someone. At the moment, Danger was her only choice. She hesitated, then sucking up her courage, drew in a deep breath and reluctantly admitted, “I witnessed a murder.”
Lacey watched him closely, but she couldn’t read any sign of guilt in his reaction. All she saw was the tension ease from his dark face, saw his chest rise and shudder with a deep breath, as though he’d held it pent up for much too long.
He couldn’t be the murderer. He wouldn’t have looked so damned relieved if he was the killer. Would he?
Still, there was no way to be certain.
God, a person could go insane trying to figure this out.
Danger frowned. She was possibly the only witness to his deputy’s death. He needed her and not in the sexual sense. She lowered her
head. He didn’t like that. Refusing to sustain eye contact with him wasn’t a good sign. In his experience, when someone couldn’t look you in the eye, they were usually lying or hiding something.
“Look at me.”
Her head jerked up, and her eyes narrowed at his command. The look she gave him caused his breath to lodge painfully in his chest. Dammit, he felt like a goddamned warden who’d just given a prisoner on death row a walk to the electric chair. She stared at him as if he held a blade to her throat.
Delicately arched brows winged upward over each eye. Hell, she had the face of an angel. He figured she was closer to being the tiger her eyes took their color after.
She stuck out her chin, a stubborn, little tilt that spoke volumes. Squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze head-on, unable to conceal the obstinate streak in her nature. She was back to wringing her hands. “Look, Sheriff.”
“Danger. That’s my name, honey. Use it.”
Her lips tightened. She stared at him and said nothing.
“Please, continue, Miss Weston. Where did this murder take place?”
“I get the feeling, sugar, you’d prefer I just disappear. Kinda makes a girl wonder what you might have to hide.” She sent him a rueful look, her lips twisting with an edgy wryness.
Having patience was part of his training, but this woman would try the patience of a saint. “Let’s get something understood, Miss Weston. I’m in charge. I’m conducting this interview. If I have anything to hide, then it’s official business and none of yours.”
“Very well, Sheriff.” Her tone took on the same stiff attitude as his. “As I said, I saw a murder.”
“You saw my deputy murdered.”
Lacey shook her head. “No. Why did you say that? I didn’t.” Her brows scrunched with confusion. “Your deputy?”
His massive shoulders shifted. He folded his arms across his chest. The muscles of his biceps rippled. She blinked. “You know, handsome, you’re a bit of a distraction towering over me looking so damned fierce. I can’t think when you do that.”
“Fuck! Shit! Hell and damnation!”
Lacey grinned. “Well, understanding that requires no thinking.”
Irritated, Danger thrust fingers through his hair. “If you didn’t see my deputy killed, then who did you see murdered? Did you know the victim? Miss Weston, do you know the victim?”
“Stop shouting at me. It makes me nervous.”
He made her nervous? Hell, she made him twitchy as a joint snake.
“Yes, nervous. You’re never still. One minute you’re perfectly motionless, watching me with cat-like cunning. The next, you’re pacing up and down the length of the room, like now, frustration in every step.”
“Cat-like cunning?” He snorted. “I think you have a vivid imagination, Miss Weston. Very vivid.”
He settled on one corner of the desk, his eyes flicking over her. Perched on the edge of the massive desk like he was placed him above her, a superior position that gave him the advantage of looking down at her, a position he’d chosen deliberately. Idly swinging one moccasin-clad foot, he gave the impression he was relaxed and his thoughts elsewhere.
Lacey knew better. He possessed a keen mind that missed very little, and he was about as relaxed as a mountain lion stalking its prey.
“Who did you see get killed, Miss Weston?”
He wanted answers to his questions.
She didn’t have the answers. “I don’t know who she was.”
The warm, coffee-scented brush of his breath touched her face as he leaned closer and exhaled softly. “She?”
Lacey nodded.
“You’re certain it was a woman?”
“Yes.”
“All right, Miss Weston. Where?”
Lord, can’t he ask me something I can answer?
Lacey bowed her head. “I don’t know.”
She chanced a peek at him through her lashes. His keen eyes honed in on the way she twisted her hands together. Damn man didn’t miss a thing. She clenched them together, stilling them in her lap.
The flat of his hand whipped down, smacking the top of the desk.
Lacey jumped. “Bastard! You did that on purpose.”
He shrugged. Cold, calculated hardness slid over his dark features. “What do you mean, you don’t know where? You were there, weren’t you? Are you sure you even saw a murder? Were there any other witnesses?”
When she didn’t respond, he curled his fingers around her upper arms and shook her. “You were there—weren’t you?”
Both danger and vigilance exuded from him. The man was like a pit bull. He missed very little. He knew, damn well, he intimidated her, Alpha wolf to submissive female. The man was simply too masculine not to want to be the dominant partner in a relationship, even if that relationship was sheriff to suspect.
Lacey fought to hold her own. She’d never have survived the dangerous assignments she accepted if she allowed just anyone to push her around. This man managed it effortlessly. It made her uncomfortable to think he exerted that much power over her. That much control. Be damned if she’d let him crush her beneath his boot—er, moccasin heel.
“Yes. I was there. I just don’t know where ‘there’ is.”
All too aware of the man seated across from her, Lacey searched desperately for a way to convince him she was telling the truth. “I think.” She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip and started over. “I believe—it was somewhere west of here.”
“Ah. West of here. Kind of like you live in the South?”
Wary, Lacey nodded. “Yes. It was definitely west of Rimrock.” “I see.” He rubbed his bottom lip with a thumb-tip.
“Well, don’t you seem overly concerned?”
“If I seem doubtful, Miss Weston, it’s because my grandfather owns all the land west of Rimrock for fifty miles. He’s eighty years old. I can’t see him committing such a violent act as murder. Did you see the alleged murderer? Was he young, old, middle-aged?”
“About your age. Old.”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Sweetheart, I’m just about the right age.”
“For what?”
“For. . .whatever.” He lifted a brow. “Thirty-four is definitely old enough for whatever you have on your mind, little cat. I’m way past the age of consent. So are you.”
God, she hated that man. She truly did.
She hated the way he arched that devilish brow in single-minded mockery. She despised the way he towered over her making her feel small and insignificant. Rat bastard, smug-as-you-please, friggin’ miserable man. And all those other nasty adjectives that described Big Chief.
“Thirty-four?” She curved her lips in a sweet smile. No use being an open book and letting him read exactly how she yearned to choke out his guts.
He folded his arms across his chest, an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. “Go ahead and say it. I think I know you well enough by now to know you have some catty remark to shoot my way or you’re just dying to ring my neck.” His gaze dropped to where she was wringing her hands again.
She choked. “Hmm. You’d best remember Crazy Horse died young.”
Dammit. How did he read her so easily?
“Oh, I’m not forgetting a thing, little cat.”
Lacey frowned. He thought he was so smart. So he was ten years older than her. Big deal. That didn’t mean he was smarter. Damned if she’d consent to anything. Hell would turn into a frozen lake first. The big bulge he was so proud of could shrivel up and fall off before he used it on her.
Heat scalded her cheeks as she saw his gaze touch on her mouth and linger. She wished he’d quit looking at her mouth that way—as if he had plans for it.
Was the man actually flirting with her? Wasn’t there some law against a sheriff putting the moves on a prisoner? Before she could determine an answer, he fired more questions at her.
“What did she look like, Miss Weston? Can you describe her? Did you get a name?”
Lacey slowly unclenched her
fists and fought the urge to jump up and run screaming with pure frustration. Lord, did the man never run down? Her heart picked up rhythm and thudded painfully against her chest. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to rattle her, and the miserable man was succeeding.
He leaned toward her, bracing himself with one hand. “I’m asking you again, Miss Weston, where did this alleged crime take place?”
Lacey drew in a deep breath. It didn’t seem to do much to help her gather her scattered wits. Obviously he hadn’t liked her first answer. Very well, she’d give him another. “A—valley?”
In The Arms Of Danger Page 7
