by Liz Talley
She wasn’t prepared for that. For heaven’s sake, she wore flip-flops and hadn’t put on a bra, a fact she knew Adam had discovered in the overzealous air-conditioning. She’d caught his gaze sliding lower. She was a pro at catching guys that way.
His voice interrupted her wayward thoughts. “Rayne? She’s a sweetheart.”
“You’re not a good judge of women, are you? Rayne is one way on the surface but tough as nails underneath. She can fight dirty.”
“If no one comes, don’t worry. The holding cell is clean, and I’ll turn down the AC when Roz leaves.” He glanced again at her breasts. Scarlet felt her nipples tighten even more at his sneaky perusal. She hunched her shoulders a bit, but it didn’t help. She knew her girls were at attention.
“Would I stay here alone?” She hated to sound like a chicken, but being locked up in a cell alone in the building would be creepy. Apprehension tickled between her shoulder blades. She didn’t want to be alone. She hated being alone.
“We don’t get much traffic in our holding cells, so we trade off. I’ll take this one.”
The trepidation melted away, only to be replaced with a new tingling. One that pecked at her thoughts. It tapped out, You. Adam. Alone. No bra.
She couldn’t stay here. Rayne would come through. She was Scarlet’s older sister. Accustomed to bailing her out, although never before in such a literal sense.
Scarlet needed to make bail.
Her apprehension made her angry. Rayne better bail her out. “I bet you’d love having me at your mercy. Love seeing me locked up. I’ve been a thorn in your side since I came to town.”
In his eyes, she could see a small measure of truth of her words before he shuttered his emotions. “That’s absurd and you are being overly dramatic. Again.”
Yeah? She didn’t think so. “I’ll take that phone call now.”
He lifted the receiver. “Have at it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ADAM STUDIED SCARLET as she sat on the lone bunk in the holding cell.
Rayne hadn’t been such a sweetheart. In fact, Scarlet’s predictions about Rayne had been true. She was more than willing to let her sister stew in lockup. Honestly, it surprised him, but he sort of understood. This was her way of giving Scarlet time to think. Or so he thought. He really didn’t know Rayne, and as Scarlet had said earlier, he wasn’t a good judge of women.
From the time Scarlet had slammed down the phone with an impassioned “Fine!” to the present, she’d confused the hell out of him.
Currently, she looked like someone who didn’t give a damn that she sat in the middle of a jail cell.
He looked up from the desk in the holding room. Her bare feet swung to a silent rhythm as she leafed through a battered copy of a March 1997 Glamour magazine he’d found tucked under a pile of Field and Streams in the waiting area.
“Wow, this look really never took off the way they thought,” she said to no one in particular. Or maybe she was talking to him.
He grunted and continued typing the incident report.
“Yeah, raccoon eyes aren’t attractive on anyone, especially skinny pale girls. It’s so corpselike, but I guess some can’t resist the attraction of looking like death.”
“What are you prattling about?”
“Heroin chic. A fashion trend in the nineties. The women were all skin and bones and wore dark eye makeup.”
He tore his gaze from the report and glanced at her again. Nothing skin and bones about Scarlet. She was full-on fleshed-out woman. No more swinging bare feet. She’d tucked them beneath her bottom, leaning over so her breasts fell against the thin material of the top. He had turned the air-conditioning down a bit. But not too much. He’d battled with himself over that, telling himself he hated being hot. But deep down inside, he’d pictured the way her nipples had stood out against the thin material and held the thermostat at a chilly sixty-seven degrees. Guess he wasn’t any better than his dear old dad after all. “Why would anyone want to look like an addict?”
She shrugged. “Why would anyone ever wear overalls and think they’re sexy? But women did it. Fashion appalls me sometimes.”
He shook his head and tried to focus on the words on the computer screen. It was hard with Scarlet’s scent filling his nose. She smelled like a woman. Floral, sweet and innocent. Three things he figured she wasn’t. He liked that oxymoron.
“So do I get a meal or a bathroom trip?”
“Huh?”
She cocked her head. “Or are you gonna shove gruel under my cell door then make me use the empty bowl for my toilet?”
Adam saved the document, then spun in his chair. “Maybe that’s part of your punishment. No meal. No potty.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed the magazine onto the blanket at the foot of the cot. “Seriously. Protesting gives me a high and makes me ravenous. Do you still have my cooler and bag? I have crackers in there.”
“That’s evidence.”
She snorted. “Really?”
He nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you something.”
“I’d prefer it now.”
He stood. “I’ll get it when I’m ready to get it.”
“You really do like having power, don’t you?” The teasing smile and light words were gone. “No reason to lord over me. I’ve been a model prisoner, haven’t I?”
“Define model,” he said, stretching his arms back. “You’ve been annoying, demanding and an absolute diva since I met you. If that’s your definition of model, then we’re all in trouble.”
“I’m not a diva,” Scarlet muttered, shifting her legs and clasping her arms around her knees. “Sure, I can be dramatic, but that’s my job. Comes with the territory.”
She was about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen this side of the Rio Grande. She’d released her hair for the mug shot, flipping upside down and fluffing it. She’d also pinched her cheeks and given him a winning smile when he positioned her against the white background they used for taking the photos. He was surprised she hadn’t asked for a feather boa and better lighting. She hadn’t put her hair back up, so it lay in soft waves, framing her face. The top and shorts left little to the imagination, and her bare toes wiggling atop the bunk sent hot, tight darts of desire to his gut. He wanted to touch her.
Instead, he reached for the telephone and dialed the number he knew by heart. When Drake Marciano said, “Mamma Mia’s Pizzeria,” Adam recited his usual order.
“Be there in twenty, Chief,” Drake said, after repeating the order for accuracy.
“Fine,” Adam said, his stomach already growling at the thought of the feta-and-grilled-chicken pie covered in Roma tomatoes. He was hungry for more than Scarlet.
“I don’t like tomatoes,” Scarlet said.
“So pick them off. And be glad I’m letting you have a piece.”
“I only get one piece?”
“You’ll have to be a good girl to get an extra piece,” he quipped, walking toward the cell.
“If I’m a bad girl, can I get three pieces?” She smiled. It was a wicked smile. He should retreat. Not move toward her. But he couldn’t seem to stop his feet from taking him toward the cell where she now stood at the bars.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said.
“Why not? It’s fun.” Scarlet ran her fingers lightly over the aged bars of the cell. “Don’t you like when women flirt with you? Bet a lot of women around here do. How many have you let out of a ticket?”
“None.”
She raised one eyebrow. “None? I don’t believe you. You said you would have let me slide.”
“I say that to everyone. It’s a strategy I use in order for the subject receiving a ticket or citation to view me as magnanimous or sympathetic. Take your pick.”
A crinkle marred her forehead. “That’s deceitful. Manipulative.”
He felt a burning heat through his groin. He stepped closer. Couldn’t help himself. He inhaled, breathing in her scent. “Maybe it is, but you believed me.”
&nb
sp; “Kiss me.”
He jerked his head. “What?”
“Kiss me.”
He grabbed the bars on either side of where she stood. “I can’t kiss you. That would be—”
“Unprofessional?”
“Yeah, something like that.” He hadn’t expected her to be so forthright. It seemed out of character. She was a smooth talker, not plainspoken. Why the devil had she asked such a thing? “Why do you want me to kiss you?”
“Because I can’t very well kiss you with these bars in the way,” she said. Her words were matter-of-fact, but her attitude was not so light.
He sensed she was testing him. Honestly, he wanted to taste her on his lips. To delve into the sweetness that beguiled him, but the angel on his shoulder said, “Step away. Forget about it.”
He needed to listen to the angel and not the devil who whispered, “Unlock that cell and have your way with that hot piece of ass.”
He gave the devil a mental shove. “I can’t.”
She slumped against the bars. “And I was so close.”
“To what? Seeing if you could reach my keys while I tangled in the bars with you?” He said it half-jokingly, but a little piece of him wondered if she would actually try something that silly. She was an actress. No doubt she’d seen—or starred in—some caper that showed a seductress using her wiles to trick a stupid man to coming close enough to be hoodwinked into giving up his keys.
But she looked strangely serious. “Of course not.”
He didn’t say anything. Simply watched her as she ran a greenish-blue painted nail up and down the steel bar, making a screeching sound.
“More like to see if you could make me feel again.” She’d nearly whispered the words.
Adam stiffened. “Make you feel again?”
Scarlet’s head dropped forward so it was braced on a bar. She looked so not herself. Nothing kittenish about her. No sexy vixen. Not even a smirk or grin. She looked…depressed. “Never mind. I think the sun got to me. Or the fact I’ve been arrested and sitting for several hours in a jail cell. Maybe I’ve already gone stir-crazy.”
“I don’t think a person goes stir-crazy after only two hours, twelve minutes and thirteen seconds.”
She raised her head to meet his gaze. “Then maybe I was crazy to begin with.”
“That’s more than likely.”
She didn’t smile at his teasing words. Just lowered her gaze with a sigh.
What was the matter with her? He liked her moxie, her snippy comebacks, her energy. This woman had deflated in front of his eyes.
“Hey,” he said.
“What?” The shiny curtain of red hair hid her face.
“What did you mean by make me feel again?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, I know how this works. I’ll have to pull it out of you. Women love this game.”
She looked up. “I’m not playing a game.”
“I think you live to play games.”
“You don’t know me at all. You don’t know what I live for. You can’t look at this—” she waved one hand up and down her splendidly curvy body “—and think it defines me.”
“Very true. I don’t know you. I only know what I’ve seen. I’ve seen a woman use her body and her fame to get the results she wants. If you dance the tune, you’ve got to pay the fiddler.”
She frowned, but didn’t say anything.
Silence sat between them, fat and stifling.
After a moment, he broke it, offering the only explanation he could. “It is a logical assumption. Your asking for a kiss is merely a way to manipulate the situation.”
Her expression looked fierce but tinged with sadness. And at that moment, he saw beneath the shiny veneer she wore so well. “You really aren’t a good judge of a woman’s character, are you?”
It was his turn to frown.
“You wanna know why I wanted you to kiss me? Fine. I’m in love with a man. A man who dumped me thirteen months, one week, three days ago. For the past year, I’ve felt absolutely nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. I’m like a frozen tundra with no hope for warmth.”
He didn’t know what in the hell to say to that. Hadn’t expected that much honesty from anyone, especially not a flamboyant actress who seemed to enjoy pulling on various masks to suit any given situation. What could he say to those very honest words?
He couldn’t think of a damned thing.
“Right.” She sighed, obviously seeing his total loss for how to deal with what she’d laid on him. “I feel a little different with you. Like a slight buzz or stirring. I wanted to see if it was something more than irritation or the damn Texas heat. Maybe, just maybe, I’m capable of feeling again. Maybe I can get back on that bicycle and ignore my bleeding knees and scraped palms. I thought maybe you could help me find out if I can survive heartbreak.”
Her words pierced him. Her sincerity stung. He felt a little like lint and about as useful.
“Well, I can’t really. What I mean to say is there is protocol and I’m responsible for representing myself as the…” He trailed off. There was nothing he could say to make her feel any better. Nothing he could do but—
He stepped toward her and reached a hand through the bars, effectively trapping her head.
Her eyes flew open and she reflexively pulled back.
But he didn’t let her.
He was strong and she was soft. Her hair felt like angel wings. Not that he knew what angel wings felt like. But he could imagine.
He lowered his head and caught her gasp of breath with his lips.
And the crack in his control became a chasm. He tumbled through it without compunction.
He had no choice.
He had a mission. To protect and serve. And at that moment he needed to serve the queen of the vampires.
SCARLET CLASPED THE STEEL bars in front of her. Adam kissed her like a thirsty man, clasping her head with both of his big hands. For a moment she felt absolutely nothing.
Her heart sank.
Then something changed.
His tongue dragged across her bottom lip, direct, bold and very, very sexy.
Liquid heat poured into her belly, swirling, bathing her in a wonderful, sweet pool of desire. She closed her eyes and kissed Adam back, sliding her own tongue against his, tasting him, drinking him in as though he was sweet tea. Or full-bodied wine. As though he was life-giving elixir.
He tasted so good.
She moved her hands to his shoulders, sliding them up to the rasp of his jaw then to the nape of his neck. His hair had been trimmed short, yet it was soft against her fingertips.
Like a tidal wave, desire crashed over her. She climbed onto it and rode it, opening her mouth even more, pressing her forehead against the unyielding bars. Adam stroked her jaw with the pads of his thumbs, drawing a hum from deep inside her.
He answered her with his own groan.
“Hey, Chief.” The voice came from the front of the station. And sounded so far away. But it grew closer. “Chief?”
They broke apart.
She grabbed the bars so she wouldn’t conk her head against them. She felt drugged. Out of it. That’s how strong the wave of desire had been. And it had beached her. She felt wrung out and dazed, lying facedown on the sand.
Adam looked much the same way. He took one step backward. Then another, blinking once. Twice. Three times before spinning toward the door of the holding room.
“Hinton? Where are you?” the voice called.
Adam cleared his throat and returned his gaze to where she clung to the cell bars. “Back here, Drake. In the holding room.”
Scarlet straightened, dragged the back of her hand across her lips and whispered, “Holy guacamole.”
Adam shook his head, as if he were denying what had occurred between them. He stepped to the desk, then fell into the chair and tucked himself under the surface so his lower half was hidden. She almost laughed, but it wasn’t quite funny.
She wasn’t sure what it was. The
door to the holding room flew open.
“Whatta you doin’ back here?” the man said, entering the room, holding a pizza box. He had dark hair that brushed his shoulders, a craggy profile and a small beer belly that pooched out beneath the T-shirt emblazoned with a Mamma Mia’s logo. He swiveled his head like a hawk and caught sight of her. “Oh. I see.”
Adam managed a smile. “Hey, right on time.”
“Yo,” Drake said, dumping the pizza on the desk and sliding her way. He literally slid in the checked slip-on Vans he wore. The legs beneath the ragged cutoffs were peppered with dark hair and hadn’t seen much sun for mid-August. “If I commit a crime, can I get locked up with her?”
His words were for Adam, but his dark eyes never left hers.
“Do you know how to do nails? ’Cause I could use a manicurist,” Scarlet said, raising her hands with presto-change-o flourish. She wiggled her fingers. She’d peeled off more teal polish as she leafed through the magazine. She gave him a teasing smile, hoping like hell he bought her light tone and flirtatious manner. She still felt a little shell-shocked from Adam’s kiss.
The man smiled back. “Oh, the things I could do to those hands.”
Adam cleared his throat. “How much do I owe you, Drake?”
“You’re not going to introduce me to the lady?”
“Since when have you ever taken interest in my work?” Adam said. He sounded irritated. Or maybe it was jealousy that laced his words. Or perhaps it was anger. He’d lost control. He’d done something very nonchieflike. Something a little naughty.
And thank goodness he had. Scarlet didn’t think there was any way to repay him for what he’d done. For what he’d given her back. Finally, she’d felt desire again.
She moved one hand to finger the golden slipper, but it wasn’t there. It was in an envelope along with her red watch and hoop earrings. Her personal effects.
“Since you started hauling in sexy vampire queens.” Drake grinned and waggled his bushy eyebrows at her. He was cute in a Big Ragoo sorta way. “Lady Veronica, I’m at your disposal.”
