Southern Seduction (47 page)

I wracked my brain for a reason, and surprisingly, I actually came up with one. Usually I could think all I wanted, but no answers would come. But tonight, for some reason, the stars were aligned.

It must have been somebody out of One Last Night. I had forgotten about it, focused on my daily routine, but the timing was just about right, and we did happen to have a huge population of heavy, smelly mammals.

Pranks always included some sort of big animal, like there was some law of attraction that connected the two.

A chuckle came out of my throat unsuppressed as I watched from my secure position, a good distance away. She moved with measured movements, still managing to look sloppy and unpracticed, but truly thinking she was being sneaky. Realistically, I had spotted her before she was even officially on my property.

Funny.

“Who are you, and what do you think you’re up to?” I whispered to myself, abandoning my responsibility to my cows and focusing on sneaking up on my cute visitor.

Well, my potentially cute visitor. She moved like she was cute, anyway.

Apparently, she wasn’t an expert in covert ops. The shape of her hair swung back and forth with her effort to keep her eyes alert and ahead of detection, but she failed to look in the direction of the barn even once.

Her face frequently oriented toward my house, and I figured Pops was already asleep or getting pretty close. But I was free to watch undisturbed and inconspicuous.

Conveniently, this was going to make my approach just that much easier.

Giving my boot a soft shove against the concrete lip, I propelled myself forward, tucked my legs under my body, and headed in her direction, ready to have some fun.

Zoey

Jogging through the field on my tip toes, I tried to imitate a ninja, using fluid, silent motions as I approached my behemoth of a victim.

Brown and white and chubby all over, I could see the next clue taped to the side of his neck, and it wasn’t long before I was bearing down on him, ready to strike.

Now, how the hell was I going to tip this thing all on my own? And then get a picture of it.

Crap.

Maybe if I got a running start and, kind of, threw my body into him it would be enough.

I acted it out, marking my movements, and thought about the physics involved with the kind of force it would take to tip a cow.

Nah, the running, wild man approach wasn’t going to work. I’d end up laid flat out on the ground, possibly unconscious, and the cow would be like, “Was that a fly?”

I was only five feet, two inches tall for Christ sakes.

Yeah, no thanks.

Leverage, I needed leverage. Walking over to Sir-Moos-and-Chews-A-Lot, I put both of my hands at the top of his shoulder and leaned my weight into him, trying to gauge how much of an effect I had.

Barely anything.

Okay, I was kidding myself.

Not barely anything. Nothing. I had no effect whatsoever.

Hmm. This was going to take some real creativity. Stepping back, I crossed my arms over my sizable chest, the thumb and forefinger of my right hand clasping my chin in thought.

“Step away from the cow,” a deep, masculine voice bellowed from behind me.

Ironically, I could have tipped the cow with the force of my jerk, gangly limbs flying every which way in any and all directions, my body reacting so violently to getting caught that I seriously thought I would hurt myself.

Shit. This is why you’re supposed to have a group. Tip the cow fast, and then get the hell out of there. Standing around and debating science took too long.

The town supports “One Last Night”. For the most part. Usually the people who you actually bother don’t like it all too much.

Obviously, Mr. Laughlin was one of them.

“I was just going for a walk,” I tried lamely without turning around.

A short bark of laughter sounded through the warm, humid air, and I took off like shot.

Sprinting as fast as I could, avoiding as many cow pies as possible, I headed for the property line. Only one fence stood between me and freedom, and I had a feeling I was faster than old Mr. Laughlin.

Lightning bugs seemed to fly passed my face with the speed of their name, even though they were sitting still. The wind cut effortlessly around my body, and I pumped my arms and legs as hard as I could.

I thought I had it, freedom so close I could feel it firing the taste buds on my tongue, and a smile started to sneak its way onto my face.

Only, a good hundred yards short of the fence, steel bands wrapped around my waist and brought me to an abrupt but cushioned stop. I struggled, trying to fight my way free, but my prison wouldn’t budge.

Damnit!

How in the hell had old Mr. Laughlin caught me?

The steel bands began to move, caressing their way into position and turning me to face my captor.

Tingles shot across my skin, goosebumps breaking out and chasing the chill from my toes straight up my spine.

Not
old Mr. Laughlin.

Young, supremely attractive, pure-green-eyed
Miller
Laughlin. He was just a few years my senior, and apparently, he was in fucking phenomenal shape.

“Hey, Miller,” I said casually, forcing my eyes to mimic those of an innocent doe and completely ignoring my crimes and the fact that my body was plastered to his in the most delicious of ways.

“Hey, Zoey,” he said easily, a smile just barely twitching at the corner of his mouth and not appearing the least bit winded.

Holy shit. Miller knew my name? And recognized me?

I decided to let him talk first. You know, avoid incriminating myself, that kind of thing.

I expected his arms to loosen, release me, something, but they didn’t. If anything, they got even tighter.

The moonlight glimmered off of his brown hair, even though it was no more than an inch in length, and the peach of his lips slid back languidly to reveal bright white teeth.

The silence seemed even more deafening in the loneliness of a country night, tucked close in the circle of Miller’s arms.

There was no rush to move, but it wasn’t because of some extraordinarily right feeling. It was because it was comfortable, unassuming, and completely lacking pressure. It should have made me feel like he wanted something from me, or at the very least bathed me in a thin coating of awkwardness, especially since his reason for imprisoning me included some allegedly unhelpful activity on my part, but there was none.

Only the sound of the crickets and the glow of stars I was using to study his face occupied my thoughts. His green eyes were open and honest and rimmed in the most luscious set of lashes. And the color of his irises was as crystal clear as I had ever seen it. Pure medium green, completely unmarred by flecks of other colors or accents.

Having no idea what his life here in Winslow was like since returning from college, I wanted to ask. But the other part of me didn’t want to break the spell. Insecurity was also heavy in my heart, which may be surprising since I portrayed someone who didn’t care with such practiced ease. But I cared. I cared what
he
thought.

I had always admired Miller, hearing the lore of his story filter through town year after year since the day I formed the skill of cognition. His mom had died during childbirth, the town sweetheart tragically lost on the day that should have been filled with endless joy. His dad never recovered, naming Miller with the maiden name of his lost bride.

But none of that brought Miller down, his positivity almost as big of a talking point as the tragedy, and with humanity’s innate focus usually resting heavily on the negative, that was really saying something.

His smiles were quick, his pleases and thank yous never lacking.

He was the All-American boy with an edge, and even I, Pessimistic Penny, couldn’t find anything to dislike about him.

And he was holding
me
, freaking Zoey Kapernack, in his arms, at that very moment.

Surreal.

“How, exactly, did you think you were going to tip a cow all on your own, anyway?” he asked, breaking me out of my reverie but keeping my happiness secure in his grasp.

Taking a minute to think on my answer, I finally did so as vaguely as possible. “If I were, allegedly, theoretically, hypothetically, commissioned to tip one of your cows, I would have figured it out.”

His lips closed over his teeth, but his smile didn’t disappear as he shook his head slowly back and forth. His fingertips started to explore my ribs, whispering softly over anything and everything that was within their reach.

“Where the hell is your group? I thought this was a group thing,” he queried, his eyes moving away from me for the first time since my capture in order to survey our surroundings.

He wouldn’t find anything. I was alone.

And he just had to point it out.

“If you must know, I’m somewhat of an orphan. I don’t play well with others, steal their toys, throw sand in their faces, things like that. Everyone involved decided it would be better if I did my own thing.”

He smirked at that, a sly essence of mischief wrapping around his features.

“Alight. I’ll be your partner. I might like it if you steal my toys,” he told me with a wink. Damn, that was a sexy fucking wink.

“But you’re old,” I argued unwisely. Who the hell argued when Miller Laughlin offered to spend time with you?

An idiot, that’s who.

“Gee, thanks,” he said with mock affront, his warm arms still locked firmly around me.

I was thinking about asking if we could spend the whole night like this. We could still get things done.

Maybe.

Knowing it was becoming necessary, I focused sharply on speaking. “You know what I mean,” I placated. “You graduated three years ago. You already had one last night. You’re supposed to be an adult now. Helping the elderly cross the street, working your nine to five, and under no circumstances, tipping cows and pulling pranks. What would the townspeople think of their golden boy if they found out?”

His shoulders moved gently into a shrug, and his eyes locked fiercely onto my amber ones. “Sometimes it’s worth it to break the rules.”

Somehow, his simple statement seemed larger than the words contained within it. Larger than life, even.

“Okay, but if you’re going to help me you have to keep everything confidential. Aside from the absolutely damning photographic evidence we’re required to acquire, that is.”

His arms released me suddenly, and the emptiness they left in their wake completely dulled the thrill I should have gotten from his telling me we had a deal.

“Alright,” I murmured, stepping away and turning back toward the cows. “I guess we have a cow to tip.”

Barely two steps had been covered when I found myself back in the clutches of Miller Laughlin. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, which I thought was ridiculous.

Didn’t we just go over this?

“We...have...to...tip...a...cow...to...move...on...to...the...next...prank,” I explained, speaking so slowly that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he found it offensive.

But easygoing Miller didn’t mind. He just smiled, took my hand, and led me back in the same direction I had traveled while trying to make my escape.

“We aren’t going to tip my cow,” he told me succinctly.

“But we’re supposed to tip a cow on Laughlin land. We have to take a picture,” I argued.

Using the link between our hands to once again pull me to a stop, he turned me to face him before resting one of his large callused hands on my hip bone. “Why is it that even when you’re breaking the rules, you’re trying to follow a different set of them?”

Dumbfounded, I sought clarification. “What do you mean?”

His hand squeezed my hip affectionately, and his face dipped closer to mine than it had ever been before. “Tonight is all about rebellion. In fact, it’s the whole damn point. Yet you’re still trying to follow the arbitrary rules that some stupid asshole set for it. Let go completely. Just enjoy yourself, and think outside of the box. None of those kids you’re supposedly answering to are gonna be able to tell any difference between one of my cows and someone else’s.”

Jesus. How hadn’t I realized this before now? The whole night was a paradox. A set time, a set way, and a set of guidelines laid out for breaking the rules.

No wonder the town supported it. The real troublemakers weren’t going to be making trouble tonight, in a pre-approved way of making trouble.

“You’re smart, you know that?” I muttered with a tone of wonderment, his hand spasming in mine involuntarily at my compliment.

“Yeah, I do. Still feels good to hear from your sweet lips while I’ve got my hands on you.”

“Me?” my subconscious questioned loudly. Sweet?

Unable to stop the word vomit, “Do you like me or something?” tumbled out of my mouth unceremoniously.

Miller didn’t shy away from my frankness, which I thought was really admirable. “I’ve always thought you were interesting. Found myself thinking about you a time or two since I last saw you, but I can tell from the last five minutes that you’re even better than I thought. And I wanna know more. Let’s put it that way.”