The Sheriff's Secret Wife

by Christyne Butler

  He froze for a moment, then straightened and turned, resting his hip against the cushioned back of the couch. "It has its advantages, but you knew that when you pulled that stunt."

  "Glad you enjoyed the show." She stood and walked to the fireplace. "Or did you?"

  "You were damn lucky with the cowboy you picked. Unlike last time."

  A shiver of fear had run through Racy when she'd first stretched out on the bar. The last guy she'd performed a Racy Special with had looked clean-cut and nicely dressed, too, but had a predatory gleam in his eye she hadn't seen until it was too late. When he'd crawled up on the bar informing her in a lecherous snarl he was a former cellmate of her brother's, her blood had run cold.

  Thank goodness her bouncers had got there before things had turned really ugly. But tonight she'd pressed on, secure in the knowledge it was Landon's brother with her. Maggie's intended groom was a stand-up kind of guy. Chase was, too. He hadn't laid a hand on her.

  "So what was that? Some kind of payback?"

  Gage's question yanked Racy from her musings. "What?"

  "I'll admit the dancing was a nice surprise. I'm sure the male patrons—hell, I'll bet even some females in the audience enjoyed it. But the 'Special'? You spent more time staring up into the rafters than paying attention to that cowboy—"

  She whirled. Her body blocked the light from the hearth, leaving Gage in the shadows. "You think I did that for you?"

  "Gina told you I'd been spending time on the balcony and you just couldn't resist. I think you have more in common with Tammy than you think."

  "In common with—" The comparison to her waitress who was more breasts than brains brought a swift and unexpected jab of pain to her chest. She didn't know why she cared what this man thought of her, but she did. "I am not a tease."

  "Of course you are. Always have been, always will be." Gage shrugged with careless effort. "Doesn't matter if it's dancing on top of the bar, at the diner…in my living room."

  "Your living—I am not teasing you!" She skirted the end of the sofa and headed straight for him, clutching the blanket around her like a cape. "And I don't tease. I flirt. There's a difference."

  The fire lit one side of his face, emphasizing the darkness of his eyes and the firm set of his mouth. The other half remained in the shadows as his gaze made the journey over the worn material that covered her to her toes.

  Thankfully he couldn't see how revealing the V-neck of his pajama top was or how the hem ended high on her thighs, narrowly covering her bare bottom, but her skin burned anyway.

  She stared back at miles of gorgeous skin, defined muscles and just a smattering of dark hair that faded above his belly button before it appeared again, a straight line into the low waistband of his flannel pants. Talk about a tease.

  "There a difference?" His tone held phony innocence. "Please explain."

  "A flirt is having fun, being playful, offering a hint of what could be, depending on who's on the receiving end. It's harmless."

  "Harmless?"

  She kept talking over his question. "A tease is someone who gets a person all worked up, but doesn't follow through. Someone who makes a promise, then reneges. Who makes the other person believe they're going to—you know—but then they stop."

  "Like I said, you're a tease."

  "Gage, how can you say that? I haven't even touched you tonight!"

  He grabbed her and a heartbeat later she was nestled between his legs. Her hands landed against his chest, the heat of his skin searing her fingertips. The blanket fell from her shoulders to gather at her hips, where his hands held her tight against the hard, hot ridge of him.

  "Do you think you have to touch me?" The rasp of his voice dragged over her skin like the coarse wool of a thick sweater. "Don't you know it's just the sight of you? The bounce of your curls? The sway in your hips or the sparkle in your eyes?"

  Words of protest died on her lips when he pulled her even closer. One hand sank into her hair, holding her in place as he leaned in, his mouth at her hairline.

  He dragged in a deep, gutted breath, his voice a rough whisper. "It's this warm vanilla-lime scent that surrounds you, even now, fresh from the shower. Hell, Racina…you don't even have to be in the room to tease me. Just the memory of holding you in my arms, covering your body with mine."

  Racy reeled. His lips moved over her forehead, his words having a hypnotic effect on her. This was madness. That was as clear to her as the fact they were alone in his house with nothing separating them except a couple of layers of material.

  And a history of being on opposite sides of everything.

  Her fingers bit into his chest, her nails digging at his skin. A soft moan escaped her lips. The desire to taste, to press her mouth to his heated flesh threatened to consume her. He leaned back and placed a finger beneath her chin. With gentle pressure, he forced her to look at him.

  "I remember every second of that night in Vegas. From the moment you won that damn trophy to when I woke up to find you, standing naked, clutching our wedding announcement. The memories are crystal clear. Tell me I'm not the only one…tell me—"

  "I remember."

  Her affirmation came out in a strangled sob he took into his mouth when he kissed her. He cupped the back of her head and thrust his tongue past her lips, to be met full force with hers. A roaring filled her ears at his eagerness. At hers.

  The memories of them together last summer swirled inside her head, springing back to life in a bright burst of rainbow Technicolor, now that she was in his arms again.

  He angled her head, deepening the kiss. The dusky flavor of his mouth danced over her tongue as they tasted each other. Her hands brushed against his chest and collarbone until they circled his neck. He removed his hands from her waist to let the quilt fall to the floor. Then they returned, fisting the cotton fabric of the pajama top. He lifted it, baring her backside to the night air.

  He pulled her up tight against him and she rose on her tiptoes and rotated her hips, so tempted to push him backward and topple the two of them down into the soft leather cushions below. From there it would only take a few tugs on his pajama pants to release him and ease onto the hardness she'd committed to memory even after all these months—

  A loud buzzing had him jerking back, releasing her from his hold. She stepped away, reality rushing in.

  This was wrong.

  She shouldn't be doing this. They shouldn't be doing this. Sex wasn't going to solve anything. Hell, with everything else between them it would only make things worse.

  "What—what was that?" she asked.

  "Ah, that was a sanity check."

  "What?"

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then pulled in a deep breath. "It's my washing machine."

  "You're washing my clothes?"

  "Yeah." He opened his eyes. "You'll need clean clothes when it comes time to get dressed."

  She didn't speak, but her breasts rose and fell as she tried to control her erratic breathing. Did she read an invitation in his eyes? An overpowering longing to get naked and leave the worrying about clean clothes for later?

  Was that longing mirrored in her eyes?

  He closed the distance between them and dipped his head, but stopped. His gaze moved from her eyes to her lips and back again. "I'm gonna take care of the laundry." His words were a soft whisper. "You should get into bed and—ah, try to get some sleep."

  "Now who's being a tease?"

  "I am, Mrs. Steele. It sucks, doesn't it?"

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed a finger against her lips. "Don't. You're really good at this game, Racy. So am I. But I'm tired of playing with you."

  * * *

  The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was a scrap of pink lace, neatly folded, atop a tidy stack of clean clothes perched on the bed next to her.

  Oh, damn.

  A low moan vibrated deep in her throat as she covered her face with her hand, blocking both the sunshine that poured in from
the bay window and the sight of her panties. She rolled into a mountain of pillows and breathed deeply, pulling in a clean, outdoorsy scent that spoke of fresh air, deep woods and crystal clear lake water. Gage's scent.

  She peeked between her fingers at her clothes. He'd done it. He'd actually washed, dried and folded her entire outfit, right down to that silly scrap of lace and strings. He'd told her as much last night, but her mind had been so jumbled with everything they'd talked about.

  And there was that kiss. That amazing, soul-shaking, knee-knocking, world-tilting kiss.

  She hadn't resisted when he'd pulled her into his arms, his whispered words hot on her skin. With every touch and every syllable, he'd pulled her in deeper and deeper and she'd gone willingly. His revelation that he remembered every moment of their time together in Vegas had lulled her into admitting the same.

  Damn, damn and double damn!

  She'd been so careful in not divulging that she remembered anything. Besides being scared Gage would use it against her, she'd been embarrassed at her behavior, too much alcohol or not. Then again, she hadn't been the only one doing the kissing and touching and oh, so much more, that night.

  But it had been more than just the sex.

  Before they'd even got to the suite, they'd shared a magical night. They'd talked about everything from movies to politics to music. The only thing they hadn't talked about was home. An unspoken agreement between them not to talk about the past or the future. Living in the moment had been enough.

  They'd danced and shopped and laughed until they'd cried at a hilarious ventriloquist-comedian. They'd walked the Strip from hotel to hotel, including the one with the enormous fountain she couldn't resist dipping her toes into.

  Hours later, they'd ended up outside a jewelry store. Gage had been looking at the window displays, but it was the bride and groom emerging from the nearby chapel that captured her attention. The look of pure love and happiness on their faces slammed straight into her heart. She'd never experienced that with either of her two husbands and she wanted to feel that joy for the first time in her life.

  And she wanted it with the man standing next to her.

  She'd slipped inside the store and returned minutes later with matching rings. Gage's teasing had disappeared when she'd opened the velvet box—

  Racy pushed the memories from her mind.

  No, she wasn't taking this trip down memory lane. None of that mattered, not anymore. Gage had made it clear last night that, while she turned him on, he wasn't interested.

  And they hadn't even discussed what they would do about their so-called marriage. Was another annulment—a real one this time—doable? Did that include a trip back to Vegas? Was it possible to keep an uncontested divorce out of Destiny's gossip mill?

  Death, desertion and now divorce.

  The deadly three. Wyatt had died on her, Tommy had walked out for greener pastures and now Gage.

  Jeez, could she be any more of a loser? No wonder the man wasn't interested in playing—much less anything else—with her.

  She glanced at her watch and groaned again. Almost eleven. She never slept this late. There was no way she would meet up with Maggie and Leeann in an hour. She needed to pick up Jack, see what condition her house was in and deal with her brothers.

  Rolling over, she grabbed her backpack from the floor. Maggie would still be at church. She punched Leeann's number into her cell phone and waited.

  "Leeann Harris speaking."

  "Hey, it's me." Racy pushed her hair off her face, not even wanting to think about what style her riot of wild curls formed. "Did I wake you?"

  "Are you kidding? I logged in 10K before 9:00 a.m."

  Racy groaned. Her friend was a running machine. She didn't know how she did it. "You make me sick. At least tell me you did it while watching the boob tube."

  "On a day like this?" Leeann's voice raised an octave. "With all that snow and sunshine? It's gorgeous even if it's barely above freezing. Don't tell me your ass is still in bed."

  She kicked at the dark blue sheets that matched Gage's eyes and stood. "No, I'm up."

  "Hmm, I'll bet. Did Maggie tell you about lunch today?"

  She leaned across the bed and grabbed her clothes. "That's why I'm calling. I have to—"

  "Hold on, someone's beeping. Let me make sure it's not my boss. I'm not on the schedule today, but when you work for the sheriff—be right back."

  Silence filled the air. Racy doubted it was Gage calling Leeann. She strained, but didn't hear a sound coming from the living room. A glance at the thick log walls of his bedroom revealed the reason why.

  She quickly pulled on her panties. Okay, jeans next. Damn, they were still warm. She blamed the sunshine. It was easier than thinking Gage had just removed them from the dryer. Easier than trying to pull the denim material over her hips while balancing the cell phone between her ear and shoulder. Ah, success.

  "Hi, I'm back. Maggie's here, too."

  "It's about time you woke up," Maggie's voice sailed over the three-way call. "Were you stuck at the bar due to the weather? You never picked up this morning."

  Racy's stomach dropped to her feet, her fingers frozen on the undone zipper of her jeans. "You called the house?" Were her brothers still at her place? If so, was it brains or booze that kept them from answering the telephone?

  "To see if you wanted a lift to church. Don't think I haven't noticed you slipping in the back the last few weeks."

  Spiritual renewal was the furthest thing from Racy's mind at the moment. Right now, she needed to keep her friends away from her place until she knew what was going on.

  "I was going to suggest we move up our lunch and leave right from church," Maggie continued, "and pick up Miss I-Communicate-With-God-In-My-Own-Way together."

  Leeann huffed at the nickname. "Hey, I get more from my runs in the great outdoors than from a preacher lecturing about the sins of man."

  "Ah, guys, our lunch plans are why I'm calling." Racy grabbed her fringed top and shoved it in her backpack. Her sweatshirt would work fine, but first things first.

  She headed for the window, determined to find a way to release the simple Roman shades. The reflection off the mounds of fresh snow jacked up what promised to be a whopper of a headache. "I'm sorry, but I have to bail."

  "What?"

  "Why?"

  Her friends' voices overlapped. Racy prayed she could get out of this with the smallest lie possible. She reached for the shade's tension string when movement caught her eye.

  Gage stood in the center of a plant-filled, glass-enclosed sunroom. Bright sunshine bounced off shiny green leaves and sweat-sheened muscles. Facing away from her, he bowed deep at the waist, his pajama pants tight across his backside.

  Then he rose and started a series of fluid arm and leg movements, each pose moving gracefully from one into the next, as muscles flexed and stretched. She recognized it as a martial art called Tai Chi. And Gage did it with perfection.

  "Hello?"

  "Racy?"

  "Ah, yeah…I'm still here." She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Her eyes locked on the controlled power of Gage's body, thankful he continued to face away from her.

  "What's going on?" Leeann demanded. "You sound weird."

  "Landon's pulling up to the house," Maggie said. "I'll kick the family out of the car—that's said with love, dear—and Lee, I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes. Racy, we're coming over."

  "No, you can't." Panic filled her. "I don't want you guys at the house."

  "Did you do something stupid last night?" Maggie demanded. "Chase was a perfect gentleman, but if you took your plan a step in the wrong direction—"

  "Hey, what plan?"

  "There was no plan," Racy said to Leeann, and before Maggie could counter her she pushed on. "I just had a rough night and things are crazy."

  "How rough?" Leeann cut in again. "Are you in trouble? Do you need help, official or otherwise? I can be there before Maggie even hits the highway. Wi
th backup, and it won't be Steele because he's off duty."

  "Maybe she wants you to call Gage." Maggie said.

  "Are you nuts? She can't stand the man."

  "There's a thin line between love and hate. If you ask me it's long past time she marched across that line."

  "Not everyone is looking for happily ever after, Mags."

  "Just because you're not doesn't mean Racy feels the same."

  Racy pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "Can I get a word in?"

  "As long as it's the truth," Maggie shot back.