Dangerous Flirt (6 page)

A dark laugh rumbled up from some aching part of his soul. “Like a brother.” The words would have hurt like a kick to the balls if she hadn't been lying through her teeth. “You're full of it, Beth. I know it and you know
it. The way your body reacts to mine is far from sisterly. You want me just as damn bad as I want you. What I can't figure out is why you're denying it.”

With a ferocious tug, she pulled her captured hand free. “What you're feeling is your business, but I want you the hell out of mine.”

She thrust the door open, hooked her gym bag over one shoulder and hopped down from the truck.

He wished
it was that easy. Something happened to him during dinner at Juanita’s and cemented at Claire’s house as soon as his hand settled onto her hip and he pulled her closer in the hallway's dim light. In that half second of hesitation before she relaxed in his arms, he'd never been so afraid in all his life. But as soon as he'd tasted her lips, all of that faded to the background.

Time for a play
fake. “I'll leave you alone on one condition.”

Eyeing him warily, she crossed her arms. “What's that?”

Hank got out of the truck and strolled over to the passenger side, stopping next to her. At five feet, nine inches, she would fit perfectly against his taller frame. He had to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her to him. “Kiss me.”

Her mouth gaped open and she slammed the passenger
door shut before marching up the short paved path to her porch, her sweet ass swinging the whole time.

Lust slammed into him, hardening his cock and threatening the zipper on his jeans.

She never said no to a dare.

“If you still only think of me in brotherly terms, I won't bother you again. Unless, of course, you’re chicken.”

She stopped with her back to him. “One kiss?”

“One little kiss.”

A fall breeze brushed the tips of her brown hair across her back and she straightened her shoulders. Spinning around, she made her way back to him with a fuck-you strut. Stopping just short of his feet, she dropped her gym bag. It hit the pavement with a thud, the whole world seeming to have gone silent around them.

“Let's get it over with.”

Something primal inside of him howled its approval.
He wanted to devour her full lips then and there.

Stick to the plan, dude
.

He held firm. Barely. “Okay, you can kiss me.”

“Wait a minute—”

“You're the one who says there's nothing between us, so I figure you should set the tone of the kiss. It's up to you to disprove my theory.”

“Of all the stupid things.” She huffed out a breath. “Fine.”

Hank held his breath, hoping all his bluster would
pay off. God, this woman undid him.

She laid her soft hand against his chest. There was no way she could miss the hammering behind his ribs. Navy-blue nails shone bright against the red of his cotton shirt. Her shoulders twitched with a shiver. A flicker of doubt shook him. Maybe she'd ignored him after the party for a reason.

Then her lips touched his. Chocolate and caramel coffee teased his
taste buds as their tongues twisted around each other. Lightning shot through his system, turning his muscles to steel. He clenched his hands to keep from filling them with her high, round ass and grinding her against his hard cock.

With a low moan, she pressed her body into his, rubbing her perfect, handful-sized tits across his chest. Her fingers curved around his head, tangled in his hair
and severed the tenuous hold he had on his self-control. Like a starving man presented with a buffet, he feasted on the kiss. His hands roamed to the bottom of her soft wool sweater, snuck underneath the hem and caressed the soft skin above the low waist of her jeans.

Her vanilla perfume surrounded him as he lowered his mouth to taste the sweetness of her neck. He lost himself to the hungry lust
streaming through his veins and the moaning woman in his arms. There was no street, no gawking neighbors, no one else in the world.

“Hank, stop.” Beth's breath brushed against his cheek.

More plea than demand, her words sliced through his euphoria. Unwilling to let her go yet, he lifted his head but kept his fingers tucked into her waistband. Still tasting her on his lips, he couldn't form any
words.

A flush pinked her cheeks as she pursed her kiss-swollen lips. “So…that's…out of the way.”

Her hand shook when she patted him on the chest, her fingers lingering for a few seconds over his pounding heart. With a sigh, she pulled out of his embrace and trudged up to the house, never looking back.

She thought this was over? After a kiss like that? His balls couldn't be any bluer if they
were made of blueberries. For a smart woman, she sure wasn't thinking straight.

“Like hell,” he growled.

T
he cinnamon roll's gooey, sugary goodness melted on Beth's tongue and she closed her eyes to better savor the ecstasy. If this couldn't make a Monday better, she couldn't imagine what would. Margret Goodwin may be the biggest gossip in Dry Creek, but her divine baking ability made a visit to her shop a must.

“So where’d you disappear to during the party?” Claire asked.

Beth spotted
the poof of Margret's frizzy platinum hair sticking up over the top of the half-full lemonade dispenser. Making eye contact with Claire, Beth shrugged a shoulder toward the counter at Margret's inept attempt at covert eavesdropping. The bell above the bakery's door jangled and Margret scurried away from her hiding spot to help the newcomer.

Humor sparkled in Claire’s brown eyes. She swiped the
last bite of cinnamon roll from their shared plate and stuffed it into her mouth.

Playacting a pout, Beth stuck out her tongue.

“Ha. I grew up with three brothers, you never had a chance,” Claire said with a grin.

“True, but that means the icing is all mine.”

The fight for the last bit of a shared treat was a tradition dating back to second grade, when Beth introduced Claire to the honey-covered,
fried pastry decadence known as a sopapilla. Sure, this time Claire had gotten the last of the cinnamon roll, but the frosting was a worthy consolation prize. Scooping the creamy, white goodness onto a finger and into her mouth, Beth savored its sweetness. It would all go straight to her well-padded ass, but it was worth it. Her eyes closed, she barely noticed when the air shifted around her.

“Now, where have I seen that look on your face before?” Hank plopped down into one of the pink-and-white-striped chairs at the table. He greeted Claire with a quick, “Hey, sis.”

The azure shade of his button-up shirt brought out the green hues in his hazel eyes, drawing her in and promising a future of warm spring days and everything perfect and good. With Hank’s gaze locked on her, mesmerizing
her, she barely heard his chair scrape against the floor as he scooted it closer until their knees touched.

Beth froze, her finger still in her mouth, her skin vibrating until electricity spread up her tense thigh to her fast dampening panties. Shit. How did he do this to her through so many layers of clothes? Imagine her response if they were naked. Her skin flushed.
Better yet, don't think
of that.

“Can I borrow your spoon?” His words were innocent but the gravelly tone promised all sorts of indecent experiences.

Her nipples jutted against her lacy bra and she thanked God the padding hid proof of her desire.

Steam floated up from his paper coffee cup and he dumped three packets of sugar into the dark brew. Grabbing the spoon, he wriggled his eyebrows at her.

With all the grace
of a bull in a china shop, Margret delivered a chocolate sprinkle donut to the table and ever so slowly walked to the nearby counter, where she rearranged the cups, peeking over her shoulder every few moments.

Claire crossed her arms, her head cocked to one side as she stared at her oldest brother. “Sure, we'd love to have you join us, Hank. Thanks for asking.”

“Don't mind if I do, thanks, sis.”
His gaze never left Beth. “But I can only stay for a minute. I wanted to make sure there haven't been any more calls about your grandparents' place.”

She couldn't let him get involved. Look at how she reacted to him in public. In private, she'd never keep her panties on. That couldn't happen. Another jingle at the door saved her from having to answer.

One of Hank's deputies poked his head in
the door. “Ready to go?”

“In a minute, Keith.” Hank made no move to get up. “So, any new incidents?”

“Nope.” Sunday had been uneventful. No more damage or threats was good, but she wished she had learned something in her online records search. Everything she'd found revealed only a tangle of information about a vague corporation with a ghost for a CEO.

“Good. I’ve made a few inquiries—”

“What
do you mean? I told you to stay out of it.”

“Darlin’, you know that’s not going to happen. How's the car?”

The abrupt topic switch threw her off track. “Mike’s checking it out now, said he'd have an estimate for me in a few days.”

“Well, you know I'm happy to give you a ride anytime.” His hand dropped to her leg, right above the knee and his thumb rubbed against her sensitive inner thigh.

Unable to form a thought, she mumbled incoherently.

Nodding, he scooted his chair back and stood before giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

Electricity jolted across her skin at the scratch of his vacation beard against her jaw. A shiver of desire ran down her spine when he pulled away.

“See ya soon, darlin’.”

Reflexively, her hand went to her cheek and rubbed as she watched him strut out
of the bakery.

“Oh my God,” Margret muttered from beside the cash register. “Wait until I tell Susan.” The baker uttered a tiny squeal and made a beeline to the back office.

Great. By the time the gossip got around town, the story will be that she and Hank had gotten down and dirty in the middle of the bakery while using phallic-shaped donuts as sex toys. Gotta love living in a small town.

“What in the hell just happened?” Claire sounded as if she'd had the wind knocked out of her.

Beth knew the feeling. “I have no idea.”

“Boloney sausage.”

As always, Claire's prettied-up version of bullshit made her laugh. “He's your brother. Totally off limits. Anyway, my life's crazy enough lately without adding in your fucks-everything-that-moves brother.”

“Hey now, that's my brother you're
talking about.”

“Yep, and I believe you were the one who called him that just a few weeks ago.”

“No, I said dates-everything-that-moves brother. You're the one whose dirty mind took it down that path.” Her warm hand covered Beth’s suddenly cold one. “But what makes him off limits? Don’t give me crap about him sleeping around, you and I both know small-town gossip blows everything out of proportion.
He’s a great guy. You’re awesome. Really, you two would be perfect for each other.”

Beth slid her fingers from her friend’s grasp and brushed the crumbs on the table into a pile.

Claire had never been without a loving family. She didn't understand how awful it was to lose it. She hadn't grown up without parents, hadn’t found her grandfather dead on the laundry room floor or watched dementia
push her grandmother deeper and deeper into her sepia-toned memories. Beth had become a woman knowing good things come to an end way too soon and that the people you loved always left.

Even those who hadn’t arrived yet.

Beth fiddled with her spoon as guilt rose up. Best friends didn’t keep secrets from each other, but she hadn’t told Claire about the hysterectomy. Talking about it would make
it real, solidify it as fact, and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

Claire cleared her throat. “Earth to Beth.”

“Sorry, I've got a lot going on right now.”

“So what's making you nuts?”

Beth hadn't wanted to burden her best friend with her troubles. However, judging from the spill-it-now wrinkle on Claire’s brow, the time had come.

After looking around to make sure Margaret was still ensconced
somewhere relaying gossip about Hank's kiss, she leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table's cold Formica top. “So, you know how everyone near my grandparents' house has been selling to some mystery buyer?”

Bringing her up to speed about the late-night threats delivered over the phone by a heavy-breathing man, the nasty texts, the vandalism, Sheriff Wilcox's response and her answer to his
recommendation that she sell took ten minutes, punctuated by Claire’s gasps.

“Oh man, I bet the sheriff’s head almost popped off his body when you told him what he could do with his advice to sell.” She broke off a piece of Hank's abandoned chocolate sprinkle donut and popped it in her mouth.

“Yep, you could say that. He slammed the door shut so hard the windows rattled.”

“That man's always
been an ass. Hank says the other sheriffs avoid him like the plague.” Her friend's brown eyes narrowed. “So why haven't you told me or Hank about this sooner?”

“Up until this week, it didn't seem that serious. Just some angry phone calls and such. Hell, most of the people who live out near my grandparents' house hate my guts right now for not selling. Sara Jane told me the other day that if I
don’t sell, the developer is threatening to renege on his promise to buy everyone else's land.” She paused for a breath. “Besides, you and Jake are finally drama-free after that psycho Burlington went to jail. I didn't want to wreck that.”

“You are such a dork,” Claire chided. “We've been best friends since grade school. What matters to you, matters to me. Now, I know you—what have you done to
figure out who's behind all this?”

The bell above the bakery door chimed and Beth jumped in her seat. One of the construction workers tearing down the burnt remains of The Harvest Bistro across the street strolled in. This whole situation had her on edge more than she wanted to admit.

At least her quick trip to Vegas would provide a distraction. Giving her first presentation at the National
Estate Attorneys Conference would take all her concentration and give her some distance from angry neighbors and pushy developers.