Take a Chance on Me(24)

More rapid blinking, as if she was suppressing unshed tears. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” She shrugged one small shoulder, her lower lip quivering the tiniest bit. “I keep thinking about him. This morning . . .” She paused, and the delicate muscles in her neck worked as she swallowed. “The Swedish flop reminded me of him. He used to get one every Sunday morning.”

That explained the trip to the bathroom. He stroked a thumb over her jaw, aching to kiss away her grief. “I’m sorry.”

Bright eyes, an impossible shade of green, met his. “It was an accident.”

At a loss for what to say, he curved his hand around her neck, working his fingers gently over the tight muscles there. “That must have been terrible for you.”

She nodded. Her attention shifted, dropping to his mouth. Her pink tongue snuck out and licked at her bottom lip before retreating.

He bit back a groan at the illicit images assaulting him.

Jesus. Here she was talking about her dead father and all he could think about was defiling her. He pushed the impure thoughts away. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head. “I should get back to work.”

He dropped his hand from her neck, refusing to think about how much he liked the feel of her skin under his palm. “Are you sure I can’t help you look?”

“I want to do it myself,” she said, her voice still thick with emotion.

“All right, Princess.” He straightened and crossed his arms. He wanted her to forget: forget about her family and what she’d left behind. He wanted her sass, not her sorrow.

And he wasn’t above baiting her to get it.

He fixed a stern expression on his face and jutted a chin at the car. “Get busy, little girl. As much as I’d love to clean out this garbage pit of a car, I don’t have a Dumpster available. Trash bags alone won’t get the job done.”

She shot up, planting her hands on her hips. “What did you say?”

Yes, there it was: the fire she hid under those layers of Catholic guilt. He cocked a brow. “What’s your objection? That I called you little girl, or messy?”

She threw her shoulders back, thrusting out breasts that were almost lost in Gracie’s too-big T-shirt. “Both!”

“I call it like I see it.” He shrugged a shoulder. “What are you going to do about it?”

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes flashed all sorts of interesting variations of green. She stepped forward and poked him in the center of his chest. “You . . . you . . . ,” she sputtered.

He leaned in close, sucking in the scent of lavender, breathing in her hint of wildness. Jesus, he wanted her. He needed every ounce of control to not take her mouth in a hard, brutal f*ck-you-where-you-stand kiss. Instead he whispered, “You what?”

With another hard jab of her sharp, white-tipped nail, she stomped a foot, temper riled. “You, you jerk!”

“Come on, you can do better than that, can’t you?” He paused, waiting one delicious beat that made her lean in closer. “Little girl?”

“You arrogant, egotistical . . .” With a strangled scream, she hauled back and punched him in the chest, hard enough that some of the air in his lungs whooshed out.

Before she could strike again, he snagged her wrist, caught her around the waist with his free hand, and pulled her close. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink. Body rigid, she met his gaze with fiery defiance.

He searched her face and found what he was looking for under her righteous, indignant temper: excitement. Hunger.

He tightened his hold, pressing along her spine to force her the last couple of inches she needed to be flush against him. He needed one taste of that mouth.

But before he could give in to the impulse that was riding him hard, a police cruiser pulled into the parking lot and flashed its lights.

“Ah, f*ck.” He dropped his hold. Impeccable timing. He’d kill the bastard.

“Are we not supposed to be here?” Maddie asked, her tone a bit breathless.

The black-and-white pulled to a stop and the door swung open. Next to him, Maddie cleared her throat and smoothed down her rumpled clothes.

“It’s fine. He’s just an *,” Mitch said wryly.


Charlie Radcliff stepped from his vehicle, looking the cliché of a small-town cop, complete with mirrored sunglasses.

“He looks . . .” Maddie shifted closer to Mitch’s side. “Imposing.”

He supposed that was one way to say it. Decked out in a tan uniform, Charlie strolled toward them, flashing a cocky-ass grin when he stopped in front of them.

“I just happened by,” he said, in the slow drawl of his that hinted at Southern roots. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Mitch slanted a glance in her direction. She stood military straight, vehemently shaking her head. “Everything’s fine, Officer.”

“Sheriff. You sure about that?” Charlie said, sounding like a complete hard-ass. “Looked to me like you were being accosted.”

“N-no—”

Mitch cut her off. “Would you get the hell out of here?”

“Mitch,” Maddie said, with a low hiss.

Evidently in a devious mood, Charlie stalked forward, placing a hand menacingly over his baton. “What did you say?”