Dangerous Flirt (3 page)

Hank couldn't look away from Beth’s glossy, red lips. Even from across the living room, the sight of those full lips touching the rim of her wine glass as she sipped the white liquid had him hooked. He needed to get her alone.

“Dude, I think you're drooling. Not cool.” His youngest brother, Chris, held a small mountain of BBQ chips in one hand and sucked the reddish orange powder off the fingers
of his other.

“Thanks, Miss Manners, what would I do without you?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “It's Beth. Claire’d kick your ass.”

“What makes you think she'd need to?”

His brother snorted and shoved the mound of chips into his mouth. After crunching them into submission, he took a swig of beer. “Whatever.” He let out a low whistle. “Break Beth’s heart and Claire will take you apart bone by bone.”

“Butt out.”

Something had happened at Juanita’s. She’d staked a claim in his subconscious, the smell of her vanilla perfume had taken up residence in his nostrils, and the look in her eye when she’d taunted him with that line about carnivores and blow jobs haunted him every night.

Chris rammed an elbow into his ribs. “Get ahold of yourself, you're embarrassing me.”

“I won’t break Beth's heart.”

Because right now she was stomping all over his, ignoring his calls and avoiding him like the plague. Even at the party, she shimmied away anytime he came within ten feet.

Enough of being a wuss. He’d led the University of Nebraska to the BCS championship. If he could take on a defensive line packed with three-hundred pounders, what challenge did one amazingly hot woman pose? Sufficiently psyched,
he zeroed in on Beth's location and marched forward.

Like a bunny sensing danger, she spotted him while he still had half the room to go. She slid her fingers through her silky brown hair and her gaze flicked from one side of the crowded room to the other, everywhere but on him.

A third of the way there, his cock twitched in recognition of her being near. His fingers itched to strip the white
frilly dress away from her brown skin and lick every inch he exposed.

His quarry clutched at the silver chain around her slim neck that dipped between her pert tits and beneath her dress. She couldn't look away from him now. Her lips parted slightly and her pink tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip.

Two steps and he'd be within touching distance.

The worry lines smoothed from her forehead.

His gut lurched.

Damn, she’d figured a way out. Again.

“Hank, there you are,” she greeted him as if she had no idea of all the things he'd like to do to her delectable body. “Sarah Jane was just telling me about her latest scrapbooking project. It's fascinating. I'm sure she could give you some tips for the Layton family tree your mom has you putting together. Why don't you two chat while I
circle to make sure everyone has a drink.”

Whippet quick, she dashed away, leaving him no choice but to listen to a half-hour dissertation about the importance of archival-quality paper.

Oh, she was good, but he had time on his side.

Let the hunt begin.

It took Hank exactly fifty-three minutes to get Beth alone. Actually, he stumbled upon her in the hallway completely by accident, but that's
not how he'd tell the story years from now.

She stared at a Layton family photo with intensity and a hint of something else that made him pause before his gaze traveled down her long, lean body to the flimsy white heels strapped to her feet. Her dress covered her legs down to her knees, but he had memorized the curve of her thighs years ago.

“I was wondering how long it would take you.”

So
tangled up in observation, her words caught him completely off guard. Hell, he needed to work on his stealth skills. “You were timing me?”

“Yep.” She turned, pushed her glasses up her nose and crossed her arms. “You unwound yourself from Sarah Jane Hunihan with record speed.”

Everything about her stance said stay away, except for her slight smile and the undeniable interest twinkling in her
brown eyes that her black-rimmed glasses couldn’t hide. Taking a chance, he closed the distance between them, stopping outside of an arm’s reach. He didn't trust himself not to brush the long strand of black hair away from her high cheekbone.

“How long are we going to play this game?”

Her warm brown skin tinged pink at her cheeks. “What game?”

Fuck it. Another step closer and he pushed the
rebellious strand back. The air sizzled around them. “The one where I chase and you run.”

A dozen emotions crossed her face in quick succession and her long fingers picked at one of the frills on her neckline. Her lips parted and he zoned in on her sweet mouth, hypnotized by its luscious promise. Electricity sparked between them stronger than a lightning bolt and for a second he thought he'd
won her over. Then, the lust in her eyes retreated behind some inner wall.

“Until you realize the ending isn't the one you want.”

“What ending is that?”

“I won't be one more number for you to call on Saturday night.” Her breathy voice teased him, making his jeans fit more snugly than they had five minutes ago.

“What makes you think that's what I want from you?”

“It's all you've wanted from
any woman since your divorce.”

“But those women aren't you.” He traced a finger down her smooth cheek. “There’s something about you that has me wanting more. A lot more.”

She quirked a thin eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh.”

Time for the direct approach. “Come out with me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you're my best friend's brother.”

Not the response he’d expected. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Her silence and the way her gaze slid to the left screamed out how much of a bullshit excuse it was. Damn, Beth would be the death of him. She wanted him. He wanted her. What the hell was the problem?

“I need to get back to the party.” She circled around him.

Oh, hell no.

He stopped her with a light touch on her hip.

She let out the smallest of sighs, but to his ears it sounded as loud as
a tornado plowing through a trailer park.

Pulling her closer, he inhaled her vanilla scent. “When you're ready to stop lying to me and tell me what this is really about, I will be here to listen. But this,” he lowered his head, “is real.”

Brushing his lips against hers, his body responded the moment she relaxed into his arms. She tasted of wine and sweetness and unfulfilled promise. As she softened
against him, everything about him hardened. He spread his fingers wide on her round hip, the tips grazing her firm ass, and pulled her to him. She rubbed against his fast-hardening cock and he almost lost it right then and there.

Beth pushed him away. Breathing hard, her eyes dark with passion. Without saying a word, she slipped through his fingers and hurried down the hall.

Alone in the hallway,
Hank fought to calm his hammering heart and bring his body back under control. But he wasn’t likely to accomplish either until he found a way to win over Beth Martinez.

A week later, he still hadn't come up with a decent plan. Sure, kidnapping her and carrying her off to a remote cabin had crossed his mind, but him being the Dry Creek County
sheriff kind of negated actual law-breaking.

“Stop lollygagging and bring me that box of mementoes down from the attic.”

Ah, the sweet dulcet tones of his mother, Glenda, on a Founder’s Day preparation binge. A few more hours as the dutiful eldest son, then it was Friday poker night at Mike’s, and finally out to Vegas on the first flight on Monday to meet his brothers for the traditional Layton
poker trip. Playing cards always helped him think. He'd figure out how to get on Beth's good side while staring at a full house.

“Are you taking a nap up there? Get a move on.”

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the box marked “Rebecca’s Bounty” in red marker and hefted it down the stairs. “Where do you want it?”

“Over on the table by the family tree would be perfect. Thanks.”

He nudged a portrait
of his great-great-grandmother Emma Davenport a few inches to the left and lowered the box onto the oak table. “What's in this thing anyway?”

His mother appeared out of the kitchen dressed in jeans and a sparkly T-shirt. She carried a bowl and two spoons. “That is your great-great.” She paused and scrunched up her nose. “Oh, I'm not sure how many greats it is, but it's your great-grandmother's
belongings. Come sit down and help me eat this, I accidentally got too much.”

She moved the family Bible to the center of the table and set down the bowl. Three gigantic scoops of chocolate ice cream complete with whipped cream and sprinkles filled the speckled blue bowl. His favorite. That meant only one thing—trouble ahead. Well, at least he’d get grilled on a full stomach.

“I thought Uncle
Harlan lost Rebecca's diary in a poker game a few years back.” He dug into the sundae.

“Oh that man. He's lucky he still gets invited to Thanksgiving dinner.” She pursed her lips. “The treasure hunters only valued her diary, but the historical society is putting together a display of her other belongings as part of the Founder’s Day celebration.”

“They're going Layton crazy, are they?”

“Our
family did help settle Dry Creek. Didn't I raise you to be proud of your legacy?”

The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. Damn, half the ice cream still sat melting in the bowl, but he’d started Glenda down the wrong path and there was no going back.

“And when are you going to find a nice girl to settle down with and have kids to build upon that legacy?”

Soon
. Not that he could tell his
mother that.

“What happened to make my children so marriage-averse?” She sighed melodramatically. “You're not getting any younger you know.”

“Maybe after Amanda, I'm not so keen on getting married again.”

Glenda harrumphed. “That girl? She was never the right one for you. I must have told you after every one of the dozen break ups you had starting in high school. But did you listen? Nope. I'm
just your mother. What would I know?”

“Or it could be that I have someone in mind, but she doesn't want anything to do with me.”

She looked up, aghast. “Who wouldn't love you?”

“Careful, Mom, you're starting to sound like you've gone soft and mushy.”

“Enough of that smart mouth, mister.” She nailed him to his seat with her best mama bear look. “That ex-wife of yours is a real piece of work.
I'd like to use other words for her, but your father put up a swear jar in the kitchen last week. I’ve already deposited three dollars.” Speculation twinkled in her dark-brown eyes. “How about Beth Martinez? She’s such a nice girl. You’ve known each other forever. Why don’t you ask her out?”

Like a man trying to disarm a ticking time bomb, he weighed his options, both of which were ugly. Cutting
the green wire meant keeping his mom in the dark. When she did find out—and she would, being Dry Creek’s biggest gossip—she’d hang him out to dry. Snipping the blue wire equaled spilling the beans and begging her not to get involved. Like that would ever happen.

“Mom—”

“I know, I know, butt out. The way you kids act you’d think I was always in your business.”

Opting for silence being the better
option, Hank waited her out. It took all of three breaths.

“Fine, fine. I won’t interfere.” She stood and scooped up the bowl of half-eaten ice cream from the table. “Now, enough lounging about. There are six more boxes I need down from the attic.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of his mother's head. “Will do.”

T
he rich aroma of fresh-ground coffee at Get Buzzed always transported Beth to her happy place. Fruity, tropical drinks with paper umbrellas had nothing on a good cup of joe…or latte…or mocha…or, well, anything hot and caffeinated. And today, she needed it.

Inhaling the heady scent, she willed contentment to seep into her bones. Like she had since her hysterectomy, which came
right on the heels of the six-month anniversary of her abuelita’s passing, she’d stayed up half the night trying to process what a life without the possibility of a future family would be like.

This morning she woke up determined to move forward. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do about the hysterectomy. It was done. She would push past the pain and plunge back into her normal routine. Was
it the best way to deal with grief? Probably not, but it was the only way she knew how.

Determined to make this Saturday morning perfect, no matter what, she bounced out of bed as soon as her alarm clock beeped. First, a few hours with the newspaper and her coffee, the sweet nectar of the gods. Second, off to the gym, where she’d change into workout gear and go one-on-one with the boxing bag.
Third, devouring an iced cinnamon roll while reviewing the pro bono wills she had drawn up for a handful of nursing home residents.

But first thing first. Unscrewing the top of her mug, she stepped up to the counter.

“Next,” the barista called out.