Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  He startled her when he finally choked out, “Well . . . uh . . .”

  She punched his arm, trying to speak lightly even with a boulder of mortification crushing her stomach. “Oh, good grief. I was joking, Ethan. Go back to sleep.”

  She rolled over and stared dry-eyed into the darkness. Well, that was productive. She bit her lip. What had possessed her? It was always a mistake to deviate from the plan. She needed the erotic valentines to soften him up. Then and only then would she a take a chance on revealing her “mystery poet” identity. She was banking on the fact that he had some level of affection for her, as well as the fact that he was a guy and therefore predisposed to being seduced.

  She hadn’t gotten past that point in her imagination. If she seduced him and he still didn’t want to fall in love with her, well . . . it was just too damn bad. In that scenario, he deserved to die alone and miserable. Ha.

  She ignored the ache of hurt in her stomach. Offering herself to a man while ensconced in his bed seemed foolproof. But clearly, Assistant Chief of Police Ethan Oldham was made of sterner stuff.

  What if he doesn’t want you at all, Jane? What if he’s never been attracted to you? What if he thinks way-too-tall women with not an ounce of feminine wiles are just plain boring?

  She buried her head in the pillow and swallowed a groan. She ached to feel him slide between her thighs and bury his thick, warm flesh inside her. The yearning was so strong, it brought tears of frustration to her eyes.

  She blinked them back angrily and listened intently to see if Ethan was snoring. Was he still awake? Had she shocked the crap out of him? Had he believed her when she’d said she was kidding?

  Even from three feet away, she couldn’t tell. Her eyelids drooped, and she yawned twice in a row, practically popping her jaw in the process. The last thing she remembered before slumber claimed her was hearing her name whispered in the darkness.

  Ethan knew the moment Jane’s breathing settled into a regular cadence. He’d give his right arm to fall asleep as well, but her ingenuous invitation had put an end to any chance he had of sleeping this night.

  He eased from the bed, extracted some clothes from a drawer, and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He felt punchy, not only from lack of sleep, but from what she had said. You could make love to me.

  Holy hell. What if he’d barked out an affirmative before she had a chance to rescind her invitation? If he’d been quicker to respond, not so paralyzed by shock and indecision, he might at this very moment be buried inside her, thrusting wildly, giving them both pleasure beyond their wildest dreams. Thinking about it made his hands shaky, his mouth dry, and his dick hard.

  He groaned softly and headed for the kitchen. The headache he had was one that caffeine probably wouldn’t cure, but it sure as heck couldn’t hurt.

  Three cups of coffee later, the first pale hint of dawn was lightening the sky outside his window, and he decided it was late enough to check in at the station. After a half hour on the phone, first with his own guys and then with the ladder and hose boys, he had more questions than answers. But in the meantime, he’d secured permission to take Jane back to her apartment to pack a suitcase and recover her valuables.

  Her building had been under surveillance all night. In many situations, an arsonist returned to the scene of the crime. Not that this was arson in the truest sense of the word. More like serious vandalism.

  At nine o’clock, Jane was still sleeping. He tiptoed into the bedroom, unable to resist the temptation of studying her unobserved. She had thrown back the covers. His oversize, shapeless clothing should have made her look unattractive. But he couldn’t see a thing to criticize. She was beautiful.

  Her hair, now dry, fanned across his pillow, the mix of colors from vibrant gold to warm brown to pale honey far more interesting than plain blond. Her features were delicate: high cheekbones, a narrow chin, and a small, straight nose. She’d worn braces in middle school, and now her lovely smile had the knack of leaving him breathless.

  He must have made a noise, because she stretched and blinked sleepily and sat up. “What time is it?” Her voice was husky, her fair skin flushed.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “After nine.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Ethan! Why did you let me sleep so late?”

  He shrugged, unrepentant. “You needed the rest.”

  She tossed back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and snatched hastily at the waistband of the pants as they threatened to come off. Ethan had one quick glimpse of a creamy hip.

  He cleared his throat. “I talked to the fire chief. He’s giving the okay for you to go in and get clothes, your purse, whatever else you need.”

  She frowned. “And when can I start the cleanup?”

  “Maybe later today. He’ll let you know. I couldn’t remember your cell number, so I gave him mine.”

  She stood and faced him, shoving her hair out of her face. “Thank you. If you’ll give me a ride over there, I’ll get out of your way.”

  He took a step closer and was intrigued when she backed up a half step. Though she projected an air of calm, in her eyes he saw confusion and wariness. Did she feel a fraction of the pull that was tormenting him?

  He cleared his throat. “It’s no trouble, Jane. I’m supposed to be off today, but once you’re settled, I want to take a look at the evidence that was gathered last night and this morning. I trust my guys, but this punk has made it personal.”

  He gave up the fight to keep his distance. He took her face in his hands and dropped a teasing kiss on her nose. She was trembling, and since he had turned the heat up several degrees, he had to assume her condition was caused by something else. Him? He’d like to think so.

  She had her arms wrapped around her waist. “I’ll feel better when we know who did it.”

  He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “We’ll get him. Don’t you worry.”

  Jane was moments away from jumping Ethan’s bones when the phone rang.

  It took him a full three seconds to release her and reach for the receiver on the bedside table. His movements were slow and jerky. She used his momentary distraction to escape to the bathroom.

  Staring in the mirror was a mistake. She looked like a bag lady on a three-day bender. Her hair was fluffy, for lack of a better word, clearly the result of falling asleep when it was still damp. And her pale face, devoid of makeup, was in bad need of some lip gloss, which was one thing Ethan’s well-stocked bathroom couldn’t supply.

  She slid her feet into her ruined slippers and grimaced. The sooner she got home the better.

  Ethan was not happy when she bade him goodbye at the back door to her building. He’d fed her breakfast and chauffeured her home. But that was the extent to which she was willing to impose on his good graces.

  She was wearing one of his coats, and she felt awkward and in serious need of some privacy to regroup. “Thank you for all your help, Ethan.”

  He got out of the car despite her protests. “You shouldn’t go in alone.”

  She grinned wryly. “There’s no structural damage. I’m going to change clothes, get what I need for the short term, and then probably go over to Mr. Benson’s and talk to him about how to proceed.” Last week she hadn’t bothered him. But this cleanup would be far more costly and complicated, and she wasn’t familiar with her landlord’s insurance coverage.

  Ethan folded his arms across his chest, leaned a hip against his car, and pinned her with a narrow gaze. “You shouldn’t plan on sleeping here tonight.”

  She lifted her chin. “If they give me the all clear, I certainly will. I’ve got a big job ahead of me and no time to waste.”

  “The place stinks,” he said bluntly.

  “Bad smells never killed anyone.”

  She saw him grind his jaw. “You could still work all you want and at the end of the day sleep at my place.”

  She gave him a sweet smile. “People might talk, Ethan. We don’t want
to give them the wrong impression . . . you know, since we’re just good friends.”

  Ethan stewed about her parting shot for the rest of the day. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think her words were a challenge. Almost as if she was pissed he hadn’t made love to her. But that didn’t make sense. She had been joking about the sex thing. She’d told him so.

  Or had she been trying to backpedal last night when his stunned astonishment made him slow to respond? Oh, hell, women were impossible to understand.

  No one raised an eyebrow when he showed up at work. He’d been known to come in on his days off—perhaps not the best idea in the world, but when you’re bucking for a promotion, it had made sense to him to put in some extra hours here and there.

  The job was as good as his—nobody disputed that. But his workaholic ways had become a habit.

  He had gone over all the evidence from last night’s fire and was entering some stuff in the computer when a knock sounded at his door. Ordinarily, the door stayed open. He thought it was a good policy. But today, off the clock, he’d opted for privacy.

  Grimacing at the interruption, he sighed and swiveled his chair. “Come in.”

  The young officer hovered in the doorway until Ethan waved a hand. “Have a seat.” Randy Temple was a fine young officer. He’d come to them from somewhere like Kansas or Nebraska. After a vacation in the Smoky Mountains, Temple had decided he wanted to relocate.

  His fellow officers liked him. He was confident but not cocky, and he was rock-solid both in ability and in gut instincts. Ethan considered him one of the best—the kind of man you could rely on in a crisis and know he had your back.

  Ethan leaned back in his chair, keeping his posture deliberately casual. Temple seemed . . . odd. Not agitated—that was too strong a word—but something. And he had yet to be seated.

  Ethan was puzzled. “What can I do for you?”

  Temple glanced into the hall. “May I close the door, sir? This is a private matter.”

  Ethan’s stomach tightened. “Of course.”

  Finally, the younger man sat down.

  Ethan schooled his face to impassivity. “What’s up?”

  Randy Temple took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask your permission to date your sister.”

  Ethan blinked. In a million possible scenarios he might have invented, this didn’t make the list. “Date my sister . . . ?” He heard the incredulous question in his own voice.

  Randy nodded gravely. “I want you to know that I respect her and that I would never do anything to hurt her. You’re my superior officer. I didn’t want this to be any kind of thing between us.”

  The sheer earnestness on the younger man’s face poked Ethan’s funny bone, but he dared not let any amusement show. “I appreciate that, Temple.” That was as far as he got. What was he supposed to say?

  Randy’s posture relaxed a millimeter. “I’ve gotten to know your sister a little bit . . . you know, when she’s been bringing the meals. She’s a very special woman.”

  Ethan nodded absently, wondering how in the hell he had gotten trapped in this awkward conversation. “Um, Temple . . . you do realize that my sister is considerably older than you?” He felt honor bound to point that out, though he would never divulge Sherry’s exact age.

  Randy shrugged. “Yeah. I figured as much. But it doesn’t matter to me at all.”

  From the fervent note in Temple’s voice, Ethan surmised that a serious crush held his junior officer in thrall. Well, hell, it would do Sherry good to know that a man saw her as appealing and available. She lived like a nun.

  He gave the other man a terse nod. “It’s not for me to say. Sherry’s her own woman. She makes her own decisions. But I have no objection.”

  Randy’s tense expression finally lightened. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  On Monday, Sherry pulled up into the parking lot at the police station and gave herself the usual pep talk. She was gaining confidence, but it was still difficult to walk in there and be chatty and friendly. She was a very private person. It was a habit she’d developed in the devastating days when she’d found out she was pregnant at seventeen.

  Everywhere she went, people had whispered behind her back. Some of the chatter was merely curious and interested, not cruel. But she hated knowing that her every move was being watched. And she began withdrawing in order to protect her out-of-control emotions and her tiny unborn baby.

  Early in high school she’d been one of the popular girls. But that had fallen by the wayside as soon as she and Barry got pregnant. After that, school had become a prison sentence rife with whispered gossip and pitying looks.

  It had been easier to stay inside her head, as it were. She communed with the infant growing inside her, bonding long before the moment of birth.

  Barry had been on the periphery of her life. He was a typical awkward adolescent, ruled by his hormones and sports. His parents saw Sherry as the bad-girl seducer, and though they finally consented to allow their wonderful Barry to marry the mother of his child, they’d made no secret of their distrust of Sherry.

  It was a hell of a way to grow up fast.

  A horn honked nearby, startling her, and she jumped out of the car. Here she was daydreaming while the food in the back was getting cold.

  Last week she had served meals on Tuesday and Thursday. The food was such a success that everyone, Ethan included, begged her to make it a Monday-Wednesday-Friday affair. So here she was, wondering if she was biting off too much to chew.

  Officer Temple seemed to have knack for knowing when she would arrive. Already, he was striding across the parking lot, his handsome face wreathed in a smile. He greeted her and waited patiently until she loaded him up with several large containers.

  In the conference room, they worked together side by side. He was helpful and courteous, and he had a sly sense of humor. They had everything ready ten minutes early, so she poured him a glass of tea.

  As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed, and she felt an odd sensation of warmth. She smiled and picked up her own glass. “I have to thank you again, Officer Temple. You’ve been a huge help. But I don’t want to keep you from your important work.”

  He took a sip of tea. “I’m happy to do it. It puts me near the front of the line.”

  His gentle teasing and the warmth in his eyes made her flush. “It’s nothing special,” she insisted. Today she had prepared turkey tacos with all the fixings. It was a healthy alternative, and once the guys and gals loaded up their tacos with plenty of extras, they would never miss the ground beef.

  He tipped back his head to drain the disposable cup, and Sherry saw the muscles in his throat contract. She looked away quickly. So it startled her when she felt his hand on her forearm.

  His expression was intent. “Ms. McCamish, do you think we could call each other by our first names?”

  She bit her lip. “Well, sure.”

  His smile made her want to squirm. “Sherry,” he said softly. The way his tongue wrapped around the two syllables left her unsettled.

  She lifted her shoulders. “Kind of an old-fashioned name. No one uses it anymore.”

  He cocked his head, and she could swear he was staring at her mouth. “I like it,” he murmured. “Why don’t you give mine a shot?”

  “Hmmm?” She was admiring the tiny flecks of amber in his brown eyes.

  “Call me Randy,” he said patiently.

  She licked her lips. Where in the heck were her customers? She started to speak, and her dry throat almost choked her. After another quick sip of tea, she spit the single word out hastily, her voice a mere whisper, “Randy.”

  His beaming smile was a bit over the top. But it warmed her nevertheless.

  At that moment, a crowd of uniformed men and women jostled good-naturedly through the door, putting an end to the odd interlude. For the next hour, Sherry scooped and served and cleaned up, overconscious of the man at her elbow making her job easier, anticipating her every move.
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  By one o’clock, the rush was over. She retrieved her containers and stored the small remaining amounts of meat, cheese, etc. Despite the boredom of eating the same meal twice in one day, she would polish off the leftovers this evening. Being thrifty was too deeply ingrained a habit for her to do otherwise.

  She glanced at her companion. “These aren’t heavy now that they’re empty. I know you have work to do, and I can handle this.”

  He ignored her and helped carry everything out to her car. When it was all stored in the back, he opened her door and waited until she was seated. Then he leaned down, one arm resting across the top of the doorframe, the other propped on the open door.

  His smile had disappeared, replaced by the serious, intense gaze she’d noticed earlier. “Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?”

  Her mind went fuzzy and her stomach pitched. She couldn’t quite wrap her brain around what he had said. “Excuse me?”

  Still he didn’t smile. “I’m asking you out on a date,” he said quietly, utterly patient.

  The saliva in her mouth had mysteriously dried up, and her tongue had lost the ability to form even simple words. “I, ah . . .”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you already have plans?”

  “No.” Well, heck, that was not what she’d meant to say, not at all.

  A small smile bloomed in his eyes, but the line of his mouth remained stoic. “So will you? Go out with me?”

  She was pretty sure his gaze had strayed ever so briefly to her breasts. “Do you know how old I am?”

  He shook his head. “Do you want to tell me?”

  She didn’t. Not really. “Thirty-eight. And what are you . . . about twelve?” She winced. That was rude and uncalled-for. But he had really rattled her.

  He didn’t take offense. “I’m twenty-nine. Is that a problem?”