Page 13

Author: Jill Shalvis


“Do you follow every woman home from the bar, Sheriff?”


“No. Just the ones who are most likely to go sneaking around late at night near Black Ridge.” He braced an arm on the railing at her side and leaned in. “Since I’m too tired to go after you tonight, I thought I’d head you off at the pass.”


“You saw us,” she murmured, refusing to be intimidated by the size of him looming over her. However, her body didn’t fail to get a little thrill from the close proximity. “Lance and I, the night before I left for San Francisco.” They’d gone up there because the old Whitney house was scheduled for demolition next Monday. It was out there on thirty acres of thick, remote woods and hadn’t been lived in for decades.


Except for the homeless. There was always a small number of them seeking shelter in the place, especially in late fall like this, when the nights got cold. Chloe and Lance, and several others from town, including Lucille and her blue-haired posse, had driven them to various neighboring shelters, to make sure everyone had a place to go before the house came down.


“Got there just as you were leaving.” His gaze was hooded. “You help everyone find a place to go?”


Something inside her got a little mushy, which she ruthlessly squelched. “Yes.” She drew in a sharp breath as he stepped even closer. For someone who’d been working all day long, he still smelled delicious, like whatever masculine soap he’d used, and man. All man. “So we’re back to that Eagle Scout thing,” she said. “Stalwart and charitable, worrying about the homeless and women getting home safe and sound.”


He gave her a single head shake. “There’s nothing stalwart or charitable about how I feel for you, Chloe.”


“Well, that’s a relief.” Her every nerve was on high alert screaming: Run don’t walk! But there was also something else. The man willingly put his life on the line every day in a thousand different ways, for people like her. It was an odd and uncomfortable realization. But he was dangerous, if to nothing other than her heart. She should go inside and lock the door, not because she was afraid of what he might do, but because she was afraid of what she might do.


Instead, she found herself taking that last step, closing the gap between them, so that they were toe to toe, only a breath away from each other.


He looked down into her eyes. “What are you up to?”


“No good.”


He shook his head and ran a finger along her temple and down her jaw. A little startled by the power of his touch, she covered his hand with hers and held it in place against her. Something flashed in his eyes, an aching hunger that held her captive.


Because it matched hers. She was shocked at the strength of it, at how difficult it suddenly was to breathe. But she wasn’t shocked when he nudged her backward until she bumped up against the door. His mouth skimmed her jaw, then her throat, his teeth grazing her skin as he pressed a thigh between hers.


Heat skittered through her belly, then directly south. “Sawyer.”


In answer, he brought his head up and kissed her. Deep, hungry, tasting her in a purposely slow, thorough manner before pulling back to once again look into her eyes.


Oh, God. “Sawyer, what are we doing?” she whispered.


He shook his head. “No fucking clue.”


She let out a low laugh. “Maybe we should do it some more.”


He obliged, pulling her in for another kiss, which grew rougher and more demanding, until she was vibrating with need, making little whimpers in her throat for more.


When he stepped back, eyes black as the night, she staggered for balance. “What?” she managed. “Why did you stop?”


“Your phone’s going off.”


Right. That was what was vibrating. Touching her still tingling lips, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and read the incoming text.


Can you come relieve me at the B&B?


Tara. “I gotta go,” she said, blood still rushing through her veins.


Their gazes met. Disaster averted, at least for now. And sleeping with him would be a disaster. Well, it’d be an amazing disaster. And possibly an out-of-body-experience disaster to boot. And now that she was thinking about it, she’d really like that…


“Behave tonight,” he said.


That made her laugh, and even he smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured that might be a stretch.”


“I do occasionally behave, you know.”


“Is that right?”


His voice was low, husky. Playful. It was almost as much a turn-on as big, bad Sawyer had been. With the silent night all around them, she tapped her iPhone screen and accessed her Magic Eight app. “You heard the man,” she said to it. “Will I behave tonight?”


The iPhone screen went foggy for a moment, then cleared, and two words floated to view.


Absolutely not.


With a low, mirthless laugh, Sawyer shook his head. Of course, Chloe wasn’t going to behave. She didn’t know the meaning of the word.


Chloe smiled a little apologetically, like the odds were completely stacked against her, and some of the tension created by that mind-blowing kiss dissipated into the night. But relaxing around her was just as dangerous as whatever had been crackling between them. Sawyer took another look at the screen of her phone to see if it’d changed its mind. A strand of Chloe’s long hair stuck to his stubbled jaw. Her scent filled his nostrils, and he shifted closer so that her shoulder bumped into his chest.


He liked being close to her. Way too much.


“Ask it a question,” she said.


“Like what?”


“I don’t know. Anything. You could ask if you’ll catch another idiot convenience store robber, or have to replace any more batteries for Mrs. Abbott anytime soon. Hell, ask it if you’ll be getting lucky—I always ask it that. It’s good at giving love advice.” She turned to the phone and said, “Magic Eight Ball, will Sheriff Sawyer Thompson get laid anytime soon?”


“Jesus, Chloe.”


She grinned at him over her shoulder and peered at the screen, which clouded and then cleared, and two more words appeared:


Not likely.


Chloe laughed out loud with what Sawyer thought was a rather nasty glee. “Same question,” she told it. “For me this time. Will I be getting laid anytime soon?”


Sawyer didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be, but before he could decide, the screen came into focus, and two crisp words floated:


Outlook good.


Chloe burst out laughing again, bending at the waist with amusement, which thrust her ass directly into his groin.


As that part of his anatomy was still cocked and loaded from their kiss, it was also now aimed. His hands went to her hips to step back, but somehow his brain mixed up the signal, and he held her still instead.


In the heavy silence, all he could hear was her suddenly accelerated breathing. “Well,” she said straightening. “The Magic Eight app has never paid off quite so fast before.”


Sawyer was dizzy. He was certain it had to do with the fact that he no longer had any blood in his brain.


“Sex stirs up my asthma.”


Sawyer blinked. “What?”


“Yeah. I probably should have told you that sooner.”


He shook his head, trying to catch up. He couldn’t.


Turning to face him, Chloe grimaced. “Every time. And then I end up overusing my inhaler. But they’re expensive, and I have this really crappy catastrophic insurance, and the inhaler isn’t covered at all.” She drew in a breath. “So I have this thing I do before sex. A test. An ‘Is He Inhaler Worthy?’ test.”


He just stared at her. “There’s a test. Before sex.”


“Yes. And I should tell you, not many pass.”


Somehow they’d ended up tangled in each other again, and she rocked against him, her actions at odds with her words. “There’s a test,” he said inanely.


“A guy has to pass it before I’ll—”


“Have sex with him.”


She nodded, her gaze locked on his mouth. He could tell she wanted it on hers, and for once, they were perfectly in sync. Having no idea what he was doing, he kissed her again, another no-holds-barred, tongues tangling, rock-his-fucking-world kiss that left him staggered and her apparently unable to speak as they tore apart for air and waited for the world to right itself.


Didn’t happen.


She was breathing hard but not wheezing. Good sign, he thought. He stared at her mouth now, still wet from his, and just barely managed not to take a bite out of that full lower lip. It took a hell of a lot more control than he thought possible. Her hands were gripping his shirt, and also a little bit of his skin and some chest hair to boot, but he didn’t say anything. Mostly because he wasn’t sure if she meant to push him away or pull him closer, and if it was the former, he didn’t want to remind her. “Chloe?”


“Yeah?”


“I’d be worth the inhaler,” he said, then forced himself to walk away into the night.


Chloe busied herself with work, which wasn’t hard to do. It was early, and she sat in the inn’s kitchen with her sisters preparing for their day.


The B&B was thriving. More and more, their weekends were booking up, and people were beginning to schedule during the week as well. Maddie continued to run the inn with supreme efficiency, handling the books, the staffing, the supplies, and the equipment. Tara, as always, handled the kitchen.


And Chloe did her best to pick up the slack. But the restlessness within her was still building, and cleaning and filing and answering phones weren’t doing it for her. She had a talent, dammit, and it was time to bring it up. “I’ve been thinking about a way to get the B&B some publicity.”


“Oh, good Lord,” Tara said. “Don’t tell me you’re in the paper again. I mean, your motives with the homeless thing was sweet, but they always refer to you as some sort of troubled rebel. And who the hell is going to want to stay here with a troubled rebel, Chloe?”