I SHOULDN'T BE DOING this.
Oakwood Chief Deputy Angie Carter had been trying to talk
herself out of trouble, and the dingy pool hall, for over
an hour.
The voice in her head knew what it was talking about.
She'd let things go too far, which made her an idiot.
Playing with fire like this would only get her singed.
But tonight, her let's be reasonable voice wasn't having
its say.
Her hand slid higher, on a mission she couldn't stop. Up
miles of strong muscles and across the soft, warm cotton
that covered the chest leaning into hers. His arms pulled
her more solidly against him. Her fingers tangled in his
dark brown hair.
I shouldn't be doing this....
Oh yes, you should. "Mmm." His warm lips nibbled from her
ear down her neck. "So this is what a lady sheriff tastes
like."
"Not..." She gasped as his hands skimmed the undersides of
her breasts. "Not the new sheriff yet. But still —"
His mouth settled over hers, swallowing the second
thoughts he wouldn't let her finish. At thirty-five she
was ten years his senior, more experienced both in the
department and in life. With more at stake. And he...he
was too young, and too handsome, and far too good at
kissing to heed warnings she'd stopped listening to hours
ago.
I'm not going to do this.... "N...No." She pushed away
from the wall of muscle pressed against her, the craving
to lose herself in its heat nearly her undoing.
Hell yeah, she wanted this. She'd wanted it for months.
But what she wanted and the crumbs life actually threw her
way were two different things. A gem of reality she'd
learned three years ago, when the life she'd had by the
tail had crashed and burned around her.
She pulled away. A traitorous sigh escaped when his lips
grazed her cheek. "No more. We shouldn't... We can't —"
"Feels a lot like we can to me." His eyes twinkled with
mischief, but he loosened his hold and let her slide to
the far corner of the booth.
She glanced around the shadowy bar, relieved that the
Eight Ball was deserted. It was late at night in the
middle of a work week, and every other sane person in town
was home in bed.
"No one's here to see your fall from grace, darlin'." He
followed her gaze. His deep chuckle made her ache to pull
him closer again. He looked too amazing in his Wranglers
and vintage Harley-Davidson T-shirt. Too much like
something she could get used to wanting.
Why did he have to find fun in everything he did? Why did
she have to envy him the talent?
The lightness he brought to every situation — even the
tough ones they often faced on the job, or as they did
volunteer work with some of the more mixed-up kids at
Oakwood's youth center — was a constant temptation.
Terrifying was a better word for the way his laughter drew
her in.
Why hadn't they left well enough alone? People didn't
stumble over friendships like theirs every day. He was
easy to like, easy to hang out with, this man who'd
cornered the market on forgetting the past — the very
thing she longed to be a pro at herself.
Then she'd gone and let herself want more. "Tonight was a
mistake," she sputtered.
A real stupid move, and she wasn't stupid.
Not anymore. "Mistakes aren't always bad, Carter." He used
her last name, the way officers addressed each other. Like
a peer on the force. A good buddy.
Only this was the buddy she'd just been crawling all over.
And he never called her Carter in that lazy, sinful way
when they were on duty.
She applied the back of her hand to her lips and wiped.
Sipped her now-warm beer. If she couldn't taste him
anymore, she'd have a shot at damage control.
"I'm ten years older than you are."
"Damn straight! I like my women more experienced and ready
to teach me somethin'."
"Don't be an ass." If whatever this was between them was
about sexual experience, he was a dirty old man, and she
was the jailbait.
He tipped back his own longneck bottle and raised an
eyebrow at her get-real glare.
"Okay," he conceded. "Maybe I like a challenge. Pushing
limits can be a whole lot of fun."
"If getting fired is the kind of limit you're looking to
blow, then I'm your girl."
"No one's getting fired." His settled his shoulders
against the cushioned seat with a thump.
"Lighten up, will ya?" There wasn't much punch behind his
complaint. Without looking her in the eye, he toyed with
the label he'd shredded off his beer. "Why is everything
so damn serious with you? You've got so much moody bottled
up inside, you feel enough for ten people. Probably why
we're such a good fit." He chuckled. "Lord knows, there's
no other woman in town who'd get me within ten feet of
talking about feelings."
And there it was.
That hint of something beneath the good ol' boy facade.
Tony Rivers played Mr. Good Times like a Hollywood star.
But turbulent currents ran beneath all that practiced
nonchalance. There were glimpses of passion and
determination, always at the most unexpected times. A
sense of responsibility and duty to others that
contradicted both his party lifestyle and his youth. A
spark of intensity flashing behind come-here-baby brown
eyes that sucked her in even quicker than his smile.
And he was poking fun at her moodiness? "Serious is the
only way my life works." How she made it through the
day. "I work hard, and I don't make careless mistakes like
this."
"Not being the most controlled person in the room might be
fun for a change. Why not give it a chance?" His lips
curled playfully. "Who knows, darlin'. You might just like
a bit of carelessness in your life."
"Carelessness is something I can't afford to develop a
taste for. I'm leaving." She cringed at the schoolgirl
waver in her voice.
She stood, her frazzled nerves screaming to sprint, not
walk, toward the door. His hand caught her wrist, and her
skin tingled with excitement, same as any other time they
touched.
"I'm sorry." All teasing drained from his voice.
"Look, you're right. This was a mistake. The last thing I
want to do is cause you trouble, but..."
His unfinished sentence vibrated between them. Words
beyond good friends and easy camaraderie. Words that would
shove the craziness they'd started tonight over the
invisible line between careless and too far.
How many times had they almost had this conversation? How
many months had she let this drag on, as they flirted with
the ugly way this could turn out for both of them?
Against her better judgment, she let her gaze caress his
face. The bar's dim lighting and the un-characteristic
worried expression Tony wore had produced a sight few in
town would believe. Roughness edged the jaw of Oakwood's
golden boy and shadows eclipsed his nonstop cheerfulness.
The restraint it took not to smooth away his frown made
her ache.
They'd only talked about his parents once or twice, but
she knew enough, and had guessed plenty more. He'd lost
them both too young — his mom, when she'd split only a
year after he was born; then his dad, killed while on the
job as sheriff six years later. And ever since, he'd made
a point of not letting himself want anything or anyone he
couldn't walk away from with a shrug and smile. Keeping
everyone at a comfortable distance while he was the life
of the party was more Tony's style. A warped world view
Angie couldn't help but appreciate. She hid behind her
man's uniform and her career. He overindulged in shallow
relationships with women. The end result was the same.
Sometimes she wasn't sure who was lonelier. "Let me go,
Tony."
"Come on, don't leave like this. It won't happen again."
His grip on her arm tightened. "We see each other at work
nearly every day. You've been friends with my family for
years. We're going to have to figure out what to do when —
"
"There's nothing to figure out. There is no when!" She
pulled free and slammed the door shut on her
indecision. "And you're damn right this will never happen
again. I'm your superior officer, Deputy Rivers. That
means hands off, for both of us."
She made herself walk out of the Eight Ball. She didn't
need this. She didn't need him.
She'd rebuilt her life from nothing. She'd regained a
speck of the peace she'd thought she'd lost for good. Her
job as a deputy, and then chief, had saved her. Her run
for sheriff was the future.
It was enough.
It had to be.