“Two can play at that game,” Laura whispered provocatively
“What are you doing?” Clint murmured, aware that their suspects were watching them on the dance floor.
“Why, playing the part of the loving wife,” Laura purred. She raised herself up on her toes to brush a kiss along the side of Clint’s mouth, pleased to feel his arms tighten around her, to see his dark eyes filled with raw need.
Unaware that the music had stopped, she pulled his head to her and pressed her lips ravenously over his. Clint’s hands curved over her hips in primal exploration, squeezing gently and sending liquid heat through her body. Her heart pounded in her ears until she realized it wasn’t rushing blood she was hearing.
Applause from the restaurant patrons jolted them back to reality like a bucket of cold water. Laura quickly turned her shocked expression into a smile. She couldn’t let Clint know that her kisses had been anything more than part of their assignment.
“I think we’ve made our point,” she said, turning on her heel. “Although I must admit, if I’d known that cowboys kissed so well, I’d have visited Texas long ago.”
Dear Reader,
I’m convinced I adore cowboys because watching them on television taught me how to speak English. Although I was born in Toronto, Canada, my parents were from Estonia and I grew up speaking Estonian.
I learned English by playing with all my friends who spoke Greek, Italian and an assortment of other languages (Toronto is very multicultural) and by watching TV with my dad—hence my second passion for television.
My father preferred Westerns, and I spent many an hour watching these shows, falling in love with the rugged, do-the-right-thing, let-nothing-stand-in-his-way cowboy. Whether he’s the strong silent type or a silver-tongued charmer, the cowboy is my perfect romantic hero.
Which made writing about Clint Marshall and Two Mule Junction such fun. Pairing him with his complete opposite, a Boston blue blood with a silly dog, only made the possibilities entertainingly unending. I hope you enjoy A Stetson on Her Pillow as much as I did.
Happy trails!
Molly Liholm
Books by Molly Liholm
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
552—TEMPTING JAKE
643—BOARDROOM BABY
672—THE GETAWAY GROOM
706—THE ADVENTUROUS BRIDE
745—BABY.COM
A Stetson on Her Pillow
Molly Liholm
MILLS & BOON
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For Nancy Hill, superachiever, who is always looking for new challenges and adventures.
Contents
1
“YOU WANT ME to marry the cowboy?” Laura asked. “You expect me,” she punctuated the word with a tone of disbelief, “to marry him?”
Even as she spoke in her low, cultured voice and brushed a strand of blond hair off her face, securing it back into the neat French braid she favored, Clint Marshall knew their boss had already made up his mind. They had been called into his office to receive their marching orders—not to debate whether or not they wanted the assignment.
Still, he found it downright amusing to watch patrician Laura Carter try to wiggle her skinny behind out of the assignment. Her cold-blue eyes, a color that reminded Clint of the silver blue of a Texas sky just before a storm, swept over him, quickly dismissed him and returned to Captain Clark.
Clint slouched farther down on the hard wooden chair and crossed one well-worn cowboy boot over the other. He felt Laura’s gaze fall on the scuffed leather. He swung the foot back and forth as if he were relaxing on a rocking chair on his mother’s porch and wished he had a cowboy hat he could tilt forward and drive little Miss Prim and Proper plum crazy. Not that she showed it, but he knew his good old boy routine had gotten to her as she sat even straighter in her chair. Not for the first time he wondered what a Boston blue blood was doing on the Chicago police force.
Or why in the world their captain would be assigning the two of them to work together.
Undoubtedly the skinny, pale man standing in the corner of the office had something to do with this. From the stranger’s expensive, but ill-fitting, suit and polished shoes Clint knew he wasn’t a regular cop. He didn’t look like a guy who knew what the inside of a patrol car looked like much less smelled like. He reminded Clint of an accountant.
In fact he reminded Clint of Jason Fairmount, a nervous tweedy fellow who arrived in Two Horse Junction twice a year to offer his accountancy services. Clint’s mother always had Jason over for dinner whenever he was in town, saying she admired him, and that she wished one of her sons could be as responsible and reliable as Jason.
The skinny, pale man wiped his brow and waited for Captain Clark to speak. Clint kept his mouth shut. There was no point in asking why he and the ice princess had been chosen for this confidential assignment. Captain Clark would tell them when he