“Turn toward me, please.”
He’d taken off his sunglasses and it was as if a mask had been removed. He was damn gorgeous in a Robert Redford/Clint Eastwood sort of way. His eyes searched hers, presumably for signs she’d been swigging cough syrup. But the perusal didn’t feel accusatory. It felt raw. As though he was peering inside her soul. Inside to where her self-doubt hid along with her insecurities.
She pushed her sweaty bangs back and pretended she was on set.
Now Veronica portrays impatience. She needs to get rid of the cop. She can’t allow the cop to see who she really is.
But it didn’t work.
His green eyes were clear and searching. They unnerved, and she wanted to escape them.
“See? I haven’t been drinking anything other than a Diet Coke.” She looked down at the sunglasses she held. She should put them on. Protection from his all-knowing eyes.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, sliding his hand under her chin and tipping her face so her gaze was forced to meet his. His touch sizzled. Like, seriously scorched her bare skin. He jerked his hand away and a frisson of unease crept into his eyes.
He wasn’t supposed to touch her outside of the initial frisk. She knew that. Or she thought she knew it. But it had seriously felt…sexy. Almost like a caress.
Veronica will not react to the cop’s touch. She must retain control. Even if she wishes to slide her hands up his shoulders, even if she wishes to taste the mouth of the man who could tame her, who could—
Please. Who got hot and bothered by a cop on the side of the road in some backwater town?
She had to be suffering from heatstroke. Or low blood sugar. Anything to explain her reaction to Mr. Tall Blond Jackass.
She needed him to give her the damn ticket so she could head toward Aunt Frances’s bed-and-breakfast. Away from whatever strange thing pulsed between her and this cop. She’d driven too long without sleep and had to be partially delirious from road tripping.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough drunks to tell you’re clean. Wait here.” Officer Hinton spun on one motorcycle boot and stalked toward his cruiser. She was accustomed to following direction. Just not that of a pompous cop, so she sidled toward the open door of her car and sank onto the leather seat she’d abandoned moments before. She jabbed her sunglasses on her nose and tapped her fingernails against the steering wheel in an impatient manner.
She heard him approach. Heard the crunch of gravel beneath the boots. Heard the sound of a ticket being torn from the pad he’d carried.
“Here you go. Please note the ticket must be paid by the date on the bottom. There is also a court date listed if you wish to contest the citation.”
He handed it to her. No flourish. Matter-of-fact.
“Slow down and be safe.”
Bite me.
She took the ticket, slammed the door and cranked the engine of the secondhand-but-still-gorgeous convertible BMW. She also tugged the seat belt across her chest and clicked it. She didn’t need another ticket, thank you very much. But the devil inside her wouldn’t allow her to slink away like a meek mouse. No, the devil inside her bade her to crumple the ticket and toss it onto the floorboard.
The devil inside her usually won.
She flashed a blinding smile at Officer Adam Hinton as she pitched the wadded ticket toward the fast-food sack that held gum wrappers and gas receipts, along with the remains of her noon meal. “Thanks for the welcome home.”
He blinked. He hadn’t put on his mirrored glasses. “Home? Wait—” He looked at his notepad. “Summer Rose?”
She saw the dawning.
“You’re Rayne’s sister. But your stage name is Scarlet. The actress from the vampire show.” His gaze swept her, taking her in. She wasn’t wearing heavy makeup. No dramatic kohl-rimmed eyes or overly plumped red lips. No catsuit. No bra that pushed her boobs so high she could prop her chin on them. She looked very little like the vampire queen who ran the fictional Collinstown. And very much like a regular twenty-six-year-old.
“Wow. Your powers of deduction are better than I thought. You had my name right there and everything. A real brainiac.” She gestured to the clipboard in his hand. She was being a smart-ass but didn’t care. She was pissed at him for embarrassing her with the whole DUI test and for making her react to his touch. How damn weak was she? Getting turned-on by a random cop? Pathetic. And that made her mad.
Because he had no right to make her feel anything.
She wasn’t ready to embrace any frisson of desire. Not ready to welcome that small pique of interest. Not ready to move past the ache she clung to deep, deep down in her heart. She was dead to love.
She fingered the charm on the gold chain about her neck and begrudgingly looked into the cop’s eyes.
She’d crumpled his ticket, then insulted him. The veneer of control he wore like a shield had cracked. He looked not quite so in control. “I would have let you off with a warning. I’m a friend of Rayne’s new husband. But since you seem as much of a bitch as the character you play, I’m glad I didn’t.”
Scarlet gasped. Yes. Gasped. “How dare you? I’m reporting you to the police chief. This is an outrage, a—”
“Good luck with that.” He slapped a hand against the hood of the car and turned toward his cruiser. “Have a nice day.”
Scarlet moved her hand to make the universal sign of disdain, barely an afterthought for most New Yorkers. But she stopped herself. He was an officer of the law and this was Texas. So she grabbed the steering wheel instead and pressed the accelerator.
It was totally immature, but as the gravel spun beneath her wheels, Scarlet felt a momentary flash of satisfaction. She hoped the bits of rock hit his polished boots and scuffed them. Damn him. Calling her a bitch. She wasn’t a bitch. She played one, but wasn’t one. Officer Tight Ass was wrong.
Okay, sure. She had it in her. All women did. But he’d been the one to play the power card and force her to be frisked and humiliated on the outskirts of town. So she’d been mouthy. What of it?
Bastard.
Scarlet’s car ate up the two miles of dilapidated houses, appliance-repair shops and boarded-over junk stores that dotted the highway leading into downtown Oak Stand. As she rolled, she grew even more aggravated at the cop and his stupid speeding ticket. She didn’t care how damn sexy he looked in his uniform. Or how his touch had heated her blood. A friend of Brent Hamilton? That figured. Brent was a creep extraordinaire with gorgeous baby-blue eyes and a body that would make a nun toss her habit. He’d romanced most of the women in town. In fact, the last time Scarlet had been in Oak Stand, he’d tried to hook up with her.
Ugh. She had to talk some sense into her flighty sister before Rayne got hitched to a player of epic proportion. Brent spelled heartache and she had already had enough of that in her life. Scarlet knew what was up. Brent had hoodwinked her sister with his greasy smile and hot bod in order to hitch his wagon to Rayne’s rising star. As soon as she had mentioned the M word, Scarlet knew she would have to do more than protest from afar. She needed to go to Texas. Thank goodness she was on hiatus. Small favors.
But the cop had said new husband.
Scarlet’s mind stutter-stepped. Surely, Rayne and Brent weren’t already married. Her older sister had said maybe sometime in September. It was still August. Very hot, sticky, sweltering August.
Rayne wouldn’t get married and not tell Scarlet. No matter how badly their last conversation had gone.
Would she?
The town square materialized in front of her windshield, withered green and stereotypically small. Large oak trees hunkered in the shady park that centered the