His Private Pleasure. Donna Kauffman
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“What are you doing?” He almost leaped out of his skin when she snugged up behind him.
“I wasn’t sure the citizens of Canyon Springs really wanted to know their sheriff favored smiley-face briefs.”
Jesus. How had he forgotten about that? He knew exactly how he’d forgotten. One look at those party girl lips and far-too-knowing eyes and a guy could forget his own zip code. He scooted so his butt faced the wall, putting her a few merciful feet away from him at the same time. “I know I owe you a lunch, but—”
“Yes, you do. Wait right here.”
“But, I can’t go in there like—” It was too late. She’d disappeared inside.
She was out a moment later, dangling a navy-blue sweater from her fingers. “Here, tie this around your waist.”
“Where did you get that?”
“From the coat rack. It was all the way in the back. Probably left here ages ago. Listen, I deal with these sorts of little crises all the time. You can always drop it back off later after you’ve changed clothes.”
He fished his wallet out. “Fine. Great.”
She frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked as he peeled off a twenty dollar bill.
He took her hand and placed the bill in it. “For services rendered. Have a nice lunch on me. I have to get back to work and change. I don’t have time for—”
“Oh. I see.”
How she could put such a wealth of meaning into a couple of tiny words, he had no idea. And why he cared what the hell she thought of him, he also had no idea.
She folded the twenty very carefully and stuck it behind his badge, then patted his chest. “Thanks, anyway.” She turned to walk away, then stopped and looked at him in that direct way she had. “Listen, I really am sorry if I caused you any problems. I don’t know what got into me back there. I just—” She broke off, then shrugged and smiled at him. For the first time, that bright confident light didn’t suffuse that ocean of blue in her eyes. “Have a nice life.” She turned and walked away. On those impossibly sexy heels. She didn’t look back.
Dylan swore under his breath. Just another eventful day in Canyon Springs, he told himself. Except there were no eventful days in Canyon Springs. He’d come here specifically to embrace the sameness of life that was Canyon Springs, New Mexico.
And then she’d strolled in and reminded him of just how invigorating change could be.
Before he could question his decision, or his sanity, he tied the sweater around his waist and said, “Wait.”
3
JUST KEEP WALKING, Liza. She really had to work on her impulse control. Because God knew she’d totally failed in that department over the past half hour. And here was the perfect opportunity. She really wanted to stop, find out what sexy Sheriff Jackson had to say. She wanted to say outrageous things to him and watch that little divot in his chin appear, watch the light flash in those yummy caramel eyes. “But no,” she said under her breath, “you’ve wreaked enough havoc for one small town in an afternoon. Time to move on.”
Only she really didn’t want to do that, either. In fact, this past hour was the most fun she’d had since leaving Natalie and Jake’s ranch in Wyoming eight days ago. Hell, since leaving her condo in L.A. a month before that.
She had no idea what had gotten into her—okay, that was a lie. Sheriff Dylan Jackson had gotten into her. Her poor little libido had whimpered pitifully, and the next thing she knew she was letting his mother believe she was a Vegas showgirl. Although, and she doubted Dylan would be impressed with the significant difference, she hadn’t actually told Avis anything that wasn’t true. Liza had quit her job. And she didn’t know where she was staying tonight.
But, dear Lord, she knew where she’d like to stay.
He was an ex-Vegas cop, her little libidinous voice whispered. Not a small-town boy with those inconvenient, uptight small-town morals. Certainly not if he’d created a showgirl as his imaginary girlfriend. Liza smiled to herself. Maybe he enjoyed saying outrageous things, too.
All the more reason to keep on walking. She was supposed to be “finding” herself. Not finding a man to play with. But, dammit, one nice afternoon playing with Sheriff Dylan Jackson would sure as hell take the edge off.
She slowed, just fractionally, as her resolve wavered. Fortunately for her, it was just enough of a pause to allow Dylan to catch up to her. Her conscience clear—after all, she hadn’t actually given in to her impulses, right?—she turned to face him. Dear Lord, she thought, feeling her skin heat up. Even with a silly blue sweater tied around his waist, he was every woman’s pure, unadulterated authority-figure fantasy come to life. She’d never harbored any domination fantasies…but, hey, she was adaptable.
“If you’d like, I can go to the auxiliary meeting and explain everything to your mother,” she offered.
She almost laughed at the look of horror that flashed across his rugged face. “That won’t be necessary.”
Liza folded her arms. It was that or reach out and trace those lips. They were so distinctly defined, almost hard looking. But she’d bet they were quite clever, that he knew just how to use them for maximum effect. Like now, she thought. The frown he was delivering was very effective. If she was the sort to be put off by that kind of thing. Which she wasn’t.
When he didn’t say anything else, she took a step back. “Well, then, I’ll be on my way.” It was a distinct invitation for him to stop her, to say whatever it was that had prompted him to follow her down the street. She could see the urge to do so warring with the resolve to simply nod, wave and wish her a safe trip. She knew all about that little internal tug-of-war. She lost those battles more often than she won them. She didn’t use to mind. She wished she minded more now.
“Where are you headed?”
Good compromise, she thought with admiration. Not exactly a capitulation, but not a decisive victory, either. “Why?” she asked. “Did you want to escort me out of town before I get into any more trouble?”
His lips quirked, and for a moment she thought she’d be treated to another one of those I-dare-you-to-be-bad smiles. “I have a feeling that nothing stops you from getting into trouble if that’s what you want to do.”
“Why, Sheriff, I’m not sure you meant that as a compliment. But if you meant to say that I get whatever I set my mind to having…then you’d be right.” Stop flirting, get in your car and head out of town. But this was fun. He wasn’t like the flavor-of-the-month men she’d helped Hollywood churn out by the fistfuls.
The fact that she’d actually fallen for one of those prefab flavors still irked her. She’d never been susceptible to developing emotional attachments to the men she dated, and still had no idea why in the hell Conrad had been any different. Actually, he hadn’t been any different. It was she who had been different. Needy. Emotional. Devastated when she’d found out he’d been sleeping with his own flavor-of-the-month. The fact that it had happened just as Natalie thought she was finding her real true love hadn’t helped matters any.
“What makes you think Canyon Springs is a pit stop and not my destination?” she said.
“Call it intuition.”
“The same kind of intuition that told me your Vegas dream girl was a figment of your imagination?”
He flashed her that smile, and her thighs actually went liquid for a moment. Damn, but he was potent. She could have done amazing things with that smile in her old line of work. The very idea of convincing Dylan Jackson to take a screen test had her suppressing a smile of her own.
“I have a fairly vivid imagination,” he assured her, his smile shifting to a cocky grin. “But I didn’t need to rely on that.”
Oh