by Aleah Barley
“Let me guess. You just stopped by to find out if everything you’ve heard is true.” Belle rolled her eyes, whatever tender feelings she’d been developing toward the man on her bed began dissipating like smoke. The damp washcloth went flying, hitting him solidly on the forehead.
“You want to know if I’m bendy?” Her cheeks flushed as she remembered a dozen different words thrown at her by so many small town heroes, ‘flexible,’ ‘supple,’ ‘bendy.’ When she was younger, she’d made the mistake of believing them. It always ended the same way; heartbroken, crying into a pint of ice cream. All because some idiot wanted to be able to tell his friends that he’d been with a girl who was double-jointed.
“Too bad, you’re never going to find out. I don’t care if you are Whispering Springs’ answer to Don Juan.”
“I’m not from Whispering Springs.” The man grinned, and suddenly Belle realized that despite all of her objections she was still holding his hand. Part of her didn’t want to let go.
“I’m Graham Tyler.”
There was a short pause, like he expected his name to carry some sort of weight. It didn’t.
“You can just think of me as the boy next door.”
“Next door to who?”
“To you, sweetheart.” He nodded towards the trailer’s window. “I’m your closest neighbor, just over the fence towards Buck Falls.”
“Temporary neighbors,” she said. He was still holding her hand. “Temporary.” She took a step back, pulling herself loose. Her hand felt cold and strange, separated from his.
Belle shook herself slightly, trying to regain some small hint of sanity.
The man was going to be fine. The beating clearly hadn’t done any harm to his body or his ego.
Time to start thinking about next steps. She needed to get Graham Tyler’s ass out of her trailer and off of her lot, while making sure he wasn’t going to change his mind and call the police. She needed to figure out who had done the beating—and who hadn’t stopped them—and she needed to give them a talking to that they’d remember.
Rallying the troops and keeping them in line wasn’t her specialty. She couldn’t give the same kind of heart-rending speeches that her father had perfected so many years earlier, the kind that let a body know what she’d done wrong, why he was disappointed, and what she’d be doing differently in the future.
Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Damn him for dying, and damn him for leaving her without a plan.
All she’d inherited was trouble. And clowns.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I should have been there. I could have stopped them.”
“You’re not responsible for other people’s behavior.”
That’s where he was wrong. Every single person at the fairgrounds was her responsibility, like it or not. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. “They know better, really, everyone’s just been a little stressed since New York City.”
“What happened in New York City?”
The Big Fumble.
“Nothing important.”
Two broken ribs, a twisted wrist, and a trapeze artist who couldn’t do a single pull-up. Belle still hadn’t replaced the circus’s aerialist. It might not have been so bad, except they’d already had two acts vanish in the middle of the night since she’d taken over. Now, they were more than twenty minutes short before intermission. “I’ll get you free passes to the show—as many as you want—to make up for how you were treated—“
“It’s not so bad,” Graham insisted. She didn’t believe him for a minute. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he did need to go to the hospital. The man had been unconscious after all. “Trust me. I could have put a stop to it anytime I wanted.”
“So, you took a beating because you liked it?” Her nose wrinkled up. “What are you? Some kind of masochist? You get off on pain.”
He let out a warm chuckle, and then his hand reached out, snagging her wrist. One quick tug and she was splayed across his lap, his free hand wrapping tight around her waist as he held her gaze with his smoky eyes.
Wildfires of lust ignited across Belle’s body. Her throat went dry. Her heart was beating so damn fast.
He was a good looking man. She found herself concentrating on the way his cheekbones framed an aristocratic nose and stubborn chin. His lips were a deep berry color, less than an inch from hers. A single wrong move and they’d be kissing.
A single right move.
She could taste something sweet on his breath—sweet and tangy—lemonade. The perfect small town refreshment, and then his lips brushed against hers. So soft that she almost thought it was an accident. Then he did it again. Once, twice, three times. She relaxed slightly, enjoying the soft kisses. They were like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
Friendly.
His next kiss was deeper. His mouth opened slightly, and the hand on her waist dropped to her ass.
Definitely not friendly.
A soft moan escaped into the air. Belle bit her lip when she realized that she was the one who’d made the noise. Damn it, she should be pulling away, not enjoying herself.
How long had it been since she’d kissed a man? Two months? Three? Not since she’d left Chicago, which meant it had been four months at least. And even longer since she’d had a good looking guy sprawled out across her bed. That was the only explanation for the way her traitorous body was reacting. After all, it couldn’t be Graham—she’d given up dating clean-cut town boys when she was eighteen years old—it was just the weight of a man’s hands on her; the scent of soap and sex in the air jump-starting her hormones.
Her eyes flickered shut. She didn’t know when she’d started kissing him back, but now her hands were wrapped around his neck. Fingers tangled in the clean white cotton of his undershirt. Damn, the man knew how to kiss. It felt like she was flying—tumbling through the air while the crowd went wild—trusting in him to catch her on the other side.
Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t trust Graham Tyler. They’d just met. He was a Gilly. A stranger. He didn’t belong. Her mouth separated from his and she wriggled backwards slightly, trying to put any amount of distance between them, blinking in surprise as she felt the length of his erection.
“Now you know what gets me off,” his voice was husky, deep, and full of barely controlled desire. “Any questions? Or, do I need to give you another demonstration?”
“What—“ Her eyes snapped open. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be any trouble. Really.”
“Uh huh.” If he gave her another demonstration, who knew where they might end up? Naked and in bed. His hands trailed across her body, callused fingers rough against her skin as he brought her to climax over and over again.
Hoo-boy. Belle let out a strangled groan. Time to stand up. Time to get out of there. She didn’t move.
* * *
Graham Tyler was a polite man. He hadn’t been in his youth. Back then he’d been a rip-roaring hell-raiser who couldn’t be trusted. Since coming back to town, he’d worked hard to rectify that. These days, he was the type who could be counted on to check on a great aunt with a bad hip or escort a tipsy sister home from the bar.
Even at his worst, he’d never touched a woman who hadn’t asked for it, but there was something about Belle that he found absolutely intoxicating.
The way she talked about the circus like it was a living breathing thing and not just a show full of tomfoolery. His thumb flicked out, massaging her side as he held her in place and listened to her breathe.
How long had it been since he’d had a woman in his arms? Too long. He kissed her again, her lips fluttering softly against his mouth.
“I should be going,” he groaned.
He’d come to the fairgrounds for one reason and one reason only; to appease his father and check on the ‘suitability’ of the traveling show; to see if they were dangerous.
The pain in his side and the aching in his he
ad certainly answered that question. He felt like he was about to split in two, and Belle’s weight on his lap wasn’t helping.
The circus was definitely dangerous; full of wild, reckless people without any direction. The smartest thing he could do was send them all packing… Or arrest them. His fingers itched to pull his handcuffs from his back pocket and lock her to the bed until she explained exactly what was going on.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the urge. He didn’t reach for his cuffs. He didn’t ask her to move either. He couldn’t let her leave, not while her slender body was warming his. Out of her shapeless jacket, she was dressed in a purple t-shirt with the name ‘Black Shadow Circus’ plastered across the front above a line drawing of an old-fashioned circus tent.
The t-shirt was too big for her. It hung down almost to her knees, covering the top of her black leggings. Not exactly formal wear, but the thin cotton shirt material allowed him to feel every inch of her body. From the lush curve of her breasts to the toned muscles that quivered under her skin every time she took a breath.
Whatever else Belle did at the circus, she worked hard. Her feet were bare, and the scuffed boots she’d abandoned near the doorway were covered in mud. The scent of fresh hay and sawdust clung to her hair. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to smell sawdust again without going hard.
“I have things that I need to do,” he said. Responsibilities.
“You can’t,” Belle said, and for a moment he thought she was asking him to stay. “Not like that. Your clothes are covered in mud. You’ve got blood on your shirt—and your hands—I’m sure there are other bruises and cuts that I can’t see. If anybody sees you, there will be questions.” She stood, separating from him forcefully. “You need to clean up, and I need to make sure you’re not going to fall into a coma. You need a hot shower and a cup of coffee. Then you can go.”
Like hell, he needed to leave the fairgrounds; to get back to his regularly scheduled life and away from demon dogs, violent men, and the woman who made him want to stay. He pushed himself up onto his feet, biting his lip to keep from swaying. He took one breath then another. He concentrated hard, remaining completely still until the world steadied itself under his feet.
Belle’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. Her hands twisted nervously in her shirt. Was she worried about him? Why? They’d just met.
“Alright.” It wasn’t like he was making a lifetime commitment. He would clean up, and hang around just long enough to reassure her that he wasn’t going to expire on the walk home. “Where’s the shower?”
“Through there.” She nodded towards the far end of the small trailer. “Do you need help?”
Yes, please. His lips twitched up into a smile as he imagined Belle standing in front of him, helping to remove his clothing. Her hands hot on his body as she removed his jacket and shirt. Fingers moving at his waist to undo the zipper at his waistband.
Hell. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs. A fresh bolt of lust crackled under his skin. He was rock hard under his pressed slacks.
Belle was wrong. He didn’t need a hot shower. He needed ice-cold water beating against his back. Cooling the blaze of his libido.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. She looked doubtful. It was understandable. He probably looked like he’d been run over by a truck. It felt like he’d been stomped on by an elephant. It was a familiar sensation. There was an entire period of his life when the first thing he’d done after waking up was check to make sure he didn’t have any broken bones. “I swear.”
“Prove it.”
“Right.” He raised one arm, biting back a groan as he started to unbutton his starched white shirt. If he were at home, he wouldn’t even bother. He’d sleep in his clothes and shower in the morning, but the trailer wasn’t his house and Belle clearly expected more from him.
His heart skipped a beat as he realized that her gaze was locked on his body. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’d never stripped in front of a woman before, not while she remained fully dressed, arms crossed in front of her chest, watching him so intently it felt like she could see into his soul. Long dark lashes fluttered against her golden cheeks. Her breath was coming faster.
“See anything you like?” He pulled his shirt free from the waist of his slacks, summoning every ounce of strength he had left to remain upright.
“That’s some good ink.” She made a quick nod towards the tattoo on his hipbone. “Three colors, intricate lines. Nice work.”
“You like tattoos?” he asked. “Do you have one?”
“I’d show you, but you’re already swaying enough as it is. I’d hate to be responsible for all the blood rushing away from your head.”
“Damn.” He sucked in a breath.
The woman was hot—smoking hot—she was also available if the contents of her trailer were anything to go by. Most women in relationships didn’t hang their panties to dry off their curtain rods. Silk panties. Red silk. He filed that information away for future consideration, not that it mattered.
She was everything he didn’t want in a relationship. Unmoored. Flighty. The exact kind of woman he would have gone after in his wild twenties.
His erection surged against the inside of his pants. “You know, if you really want to make it up to me, you’ll let me buy you a drink.”
It was a bad idea. He knew that as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Belle was just passing through… Any future for the two of them would be impossible. Then again, they didn’t need a future to have a good time. They could have a one-night stand. For a limited time only. Here today and gone tomorrow.
He held his breath, hoping she’d say yes.
“You’re in no condition to drink, and I’m leaving on Monday.”
“Tomorrow night. We’ll get a beer in town.” Graham’s heart beat a little faster. He frowned. It wasn’t like he was taking her to the Winter Social. That was impossible.
Buck Falls’ Winter Social wasn’t exactly a staid occasion—the booze was free flowing and the dancing could go through the night and into the next morning—but everyone in town would be there. Their last chance to gather fresh gossip before the cold set in, and whatever happened—whoever made out with someone else’s wife or ended up naked in Mrs. Perkins’ bushes—would be fodder for discussion until spring.
There was no way he could take some gypsy as his date. No matter how much she heated his blood. He was the chief of police. People looked up to him. He had a reputation to maintain. He couldn’t be seen cavorting with some stranger.
Besides, the dance was still a little over a week away. The circus would be long gone by then.
“I shouldn’t—“ Belle’s gaze moved down another few inches. “Sure.” She swallowed hard. “I could have a drink.”
“Good to hear. I’ll pick you up at seven.” Graham shrugged out of his jacket, then his shirt, smiling when he heard the woman’s breath catch in her throat. He glanced up.
Belle’s eyes were wide. Her face was pale. She didn’t look like a woman who’d just accepted a date with Buck Fall’s most eligible bachelor. She looked trapped.
Maybe he’d been hurt more than he thought. He glanced down, double-checking. A fresh cut ran across one bicep and blood had stained his white undershirt, but other than that everything seemed to be in its proper place. Even his gun—hell, his gun.
“Easy, sweetheart. It’s alright.” His hands moved quickly at his waist, taking off his broad leather belt and the attached holster. He put the heavy weapon down on the bedside table, the dark metal gleaming in the dusky light coming through faded curtains.
Belle’s breath was coming hard. She took a step back, her body hitting the wall. “Are you licensed to carry that?”
“I’d better be.”
“Oh, hell.” She spun, stomping back through the small trailer. Her hands reaching out to rummage through her belongings until she found what she was looking for. When she turned back in his direction, there was a butcher knife i
n one hand.
“This is why people aren’t allowed on the grounds during jump day. It’s always trouble. I want you gone. Now.” Her shoulders were shaking under her thin t-shirt. “Did you come here looking for money?” She laughed. “Because we don’t have any.”
“Easy.” Graham held his hands up outstretched. “This isn’t a hold up.”
“You’re damn straight.” She gestured awkwardly with the blade in his direction. “Forget giving the clowns a talking to. I’m going to give them a raise—“
“I’m not a criminal.” He dug into his back pocket, exasperated, and grabbed his badge. “I’m a cop.”
“A cop.” She jerked backward, the knife clattering out of her hand. Her entire body was swaying now. Clearly, she didn’t find his statement reassuring. “Oh, god. That’s even worse.
Chapter Three
A cop. Belle seethed angrily, stomping through the circus grounds. The clowns hadn’t just beat up some random stranger.
No, they’d really done it this time. They’d attacked the cop.
She stormed past the cookhouse trailer where Dana Jarvis was cooking her special chili, across the grassy knoll where the Gates brothers had set up the dog pen, and banged open the door of the colorful trailer that made up the Black Shadow Circus’s Clown Alley.
Pale makeup and costumes were littered across every surface. This was the trailer where the clowns prepared to make their entrance on performance nights, and where they hung out after the last towns person had gone home. She stomped inside, kicking a ruffled shirt out of her way.
Keith Aldridge was sitting on the couch near the back with a lit cigarette in one hand—against regulations—blowing smoke out an open window. He wasn’t alone.
Half a dozen men had crowded into the small space; important men, performers. The lifeblood of any circus; the folks who could make decisions and get things done. The men who might come together in order to form a mutiny. None of them would meet her eyes.
Keith’s lips pulled back into a thin smile. “How’s it hanging, Belle-Girl?”
