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  Tugging the license and registration from her stiff fingers, he decided to play her game. “Step out of the vehicle, Miss Grant.”

  That garnered him a wary look, a quick glance that she instantly modified into boredom. He didn’t miss the way she flickered her eyes to her watch. Was she meeting someone? On her way to a hot date? Sheridan lay in that direction, and whatever Candace got up to, she didn’t do it in Barrister. The rumors he’d overheard flourished, of course, in a town that throve on gossip, but her father’s money and position served to feed such things. Resentment and bitterness always lurked beneath the superficial, often fake, regard, when people were beholden. Reece had access to a different form of contacts and knew the truth of some of those rumors. He wasn’t surprised about Candace’s interests, merely disappointed he hadn’t been able to guide her and take the journey with her. But he’d done what he had to back then. That she hadn’t accepted his explanation and apology, wouldn’t even give him the opportunity to discuss it further, grated him raw.

  He opened her door and stood back, breaking procedure, instantly grateful for the way the door frame concealed his sudden erection, his cock saluting the vision emerging from the Bimmer without any regard for his bigger brain. The top she wore, if one could call it that, as it hardly covered her attributes, cried out for him to touch the silky fabric and tug on those discreetly concealed laces. The length of shapely leg revealed by the short skirt flirting around her thighs forced his hands to grip the metal until he thought it might groan beneath his grasp. Better it than the sound he barely managed to swallow.

  Once again his woman was on the prowl, no matter if she didn’t know she was his. He was damned if he’d let her take what she was offering up to Sheridan or any other place loaded with men who couldn’t possibly appreciate her the way he planned. Disappointment again soured him, and he impatiently shoved it aside. He’d waited long enough.

  “What?” A hint of nervousness whispered through the aloof question.

  “This is the third time, Miss Grant. I assume you recall what the consequences are for speeding. Three strikes.”

  Narrowing, blue eyes locked with his own, and then a flush of pink colored her décolletage and rose up the long, lovely column of her throat to paint her cheeks. She spoke between set lips, and he thought to tell her that it was criminal to thin that lush bounty, another crime she’d have to pay for in the end. He’d keep adding them up.

  “Give me the ticket, Sheriff. I’ll pay it like I did all the others. Help out with your salary.”

  The snide comment nearly made him smile. He was getting past that wintry demeanor, and the feisty Candace he remembered was still there after all. Then his brain snagged on something she’d said. He’d given her two tickets, and that didn’t jibe with her paying all the others.

  “Cody and Jason catch you as well?” His deputies would be hearing from him. No doubt little Candace had been all winsome and charming, sweetly taking care of the tab while convincing them not to tell him. That in itself cheered him, too. Not so indifferent after all, little miss.

  “Don’t you keep tabs with what’s going on in your department, Sheriff?” He could tell it was costing her, poised on those ridiculous shoes on the uneven gravel surface. But she stood tall and didn’t give an inch. Time he asserted his lawful authority.

  “I know enough about what goes on in my jurisdiction, Miss Grant. Now, assume the position.”

  Ignoring the sudden blinking of those beautiful eyes, he stepped around the door and into her, reaching out to grasp a slender bicep. He pulled her toward him and, using her imbalance as an excuse loop his other arm around her waist, effectively folded her over his forearm. As he made the turn, she fetched up against the side of the Bimmer, helpless against his strength and weight, her delectable backside pushing against his groin. The move made him grimace, as there would be no mistaking his erection, a fact proven by the way Candace froze and then inched her buttocks forward. His cock struggled to follow that soft cushion, but he leaned back and freed his arm to take one wrist, then grasped the other, pulling them behind her back.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” She nearly shrieked the question, clearly outraged, and began to struggle.

  He cuffed her without comment, then leaned to speak into her left ear, the scent of her hair—something floral—nearly distracting him. “Language, little miss. You’re racking up the offences.”

  She struggled harder, and he held her hands steady to save the tender skin on her wrists. “I’m arresting you.”

  “Excuse me?” He allowed her to straighten and shuffle to face him. That mass of silky blonde hair was in disarray, some drifting in tendrils around her angry face, and it took a very real effort to not obviously notice the way her breasts heaved behind the skimpy cover of her little top. Her nipples were taut little buds poking impertinently against the fabric, and the evening wasn’t that cool. Hmmm.

  Keeping a careful eye on her, concerned she might fall, he ticked off his reasons. “Speeding—breaking the three strikes rule. Failure to signal. Resisting arrest. Assaulting a police officer. Care to add to that?”

  “What?” Fuming, she obviously tried to form more words. “Whose rule? I pulled over. There was no one else around. I didn’t … resisting? Who did I assault?”

  “You can plead your case to the local judge. That would be me.”

  “What?” A pulse beat in the hollow of her throat, and she swallowed audibly.

  Finding it impossible to hide his near juvenile glee at finally being close to her, alone with her, and believing her anger hid a far more palatable emotion, he resorted to dipping a shoulder into her midriff, and straightened to carry her stiffening body back to his cruiser.

  “You’d better put me down, Reese Murdoch. You’re going to be in a ton of shit when my father gets wind of this.” Her voice was somewhat muffled by her position, but the indignation came through loud and clear, and she tried to kick her feet.

  He indulged himself, smacking her curved ass. “Language, Candace. And your father is the least of my worries. Although he might be a source of concern for you.”

  She abruptly subsided, and he snarled at himself under his breath. How could he forget how old man Grant viewed his only child? Hadn’t he seen it with his own eyes? Wasn’t that the primary reason he’d left her in the first place?

  Moving ahead, he took advantage of her short-lived meekness, and jerked open the back door of his vehicle. Lowering his sweet burden, he again turned her to face the car, and released the cuffs. There was no way she could sit comfortably with her hands bound behind her, and they’d already done the trick.

  “Inside.”

  “No.”

  Hardly loath to put his hands on her again, he stroked one hand up her back to cup her nape, bending her head forward, then guided her inside with a gentle hip check. Candace scrambled inside and away from his touch, throwing her body back against the seat, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I’ll have someone pick up your car. Put it in the station lot.”

  “Sure. Humiliate me some more.” She wouldn’t look at him, and despite the now lowering light, he could see her bottom lip tremble before she took it between her teeth. There was the vulnerable Candace.

  “It’ll be safe there.” He’d gone from seeing victory in his grasp to feeling like a total shit.

  “Park it behind my store.” A hint of a plea added to his crappy feeling. He wanted her to beg, but not this way.

  “We’ll see.” Reese didn’t like to bend at all, especially when dealing with the woman who’d led him a merry dance since his return. Maybe she had good cause to be pissed with him, but she’d never given him the opportunity to explain. Ignored his letters, and more recently, every overture he made, while taking her needs down the road.

  Shutting the door, he strode back to the Bimmer to retrieve her purse, and noted the piece of luggage in the back. He grabbed it, too, and also the piece of material women wore over thei
r shoulders to ward off a chill. As he approached his car, Candace ducked her head, and he could literally feel her shields going up. Well, he’d made the mistake once of walking away from her once. A quick learner, he wouldn’t make another.

  Chapter Two

  Candy watched Reese saunter back to the cruiser, his tall, broad frame silhouetted against the lowering sun. She couldn’t make out his features, but the effect of the Stetson-like hat crowning his head, and the swivel of his lean hips, brought to mind the quintessential cowboy. Which he had been, a ranch hand after school and on weekends before he went and signed up to put his ass in danger a world away. From her. He’d filled out some, packed on more muscle, but she suspected he’d feel much the same, under his clothes. She had an earlier body memory of his strong form, one that filled her dreams at night more often than she’d admit.

  She didn’t need to see his face. Every nuance, every beloved jut and dip of bone and those chiseled lips were emblazoned like some computer chip stored deep in her brain. He’d matured, was now a full grown man, but he was still her Reece.

  No, not hers, if he ever had been. She borrowed from her father’s credo of not remembering or thinking about things that cut to the bone, and honed it, rarely bringing up that memory once she accepted Reese had left her. A brief note, two lines. I’m doing the right thing. Love you. Torn from a cheap pad, a mere scrap of paper.

  Not even a signature. Could have been from anyone, except she’d recognized the heavy, slashing penmanship. He’d fucked her over—literally—and taken off the day after he graduated. She’d had to learn the details from his loser friends, and that summer and the remaining year of high school then devolved into an endless party circuit. Sinclair had been her rock during that time, as Candy used anything at her disposal to cure her broken heart. Pah, bruised pride more like it. Bruised the way her pride would be when she called her daddy from the single holding cell Barrister boasted, although her father would probably mete out some additional punishment.

  It didn’t matter if what Reese had done was legal or not. She’d heard he took his job seriously, and he’d followed through with his promise to incarcerate her if he caught her “driving with careless disregard for her safety and that of others”.

  Okay, she’d own that. She was a big girl and accepted responsibility. You didn’t really think he’d do it though.

  Whatever. The other charges were ludicrous, tacked on to drive his point home, because she wasn’t going to dwell on that insane chemistry that sparked when he’d manhandled her—and wasn’t that something the way she’d reacted to a cave man tactic? Even the mention of her father hadn’t totally cooled her jets. She’d probably backed into his flashlight, although Maglites didn’t pulse. Covertly touching her wrists, she squinted against the way her pulse had spiked when those cuffs had tightened around them, being at his not-so-tender mercy.

  Nuts. She was certifiable and needed to remember what he’d done and how it had messed her up. Candy Grant wasn’t anybody’s fool, and no way was she going to let Reese Murdoch shame her again.

  He swung into the front seat, and she kept her head down, dreading the humiliation awaiting her at the small station. She could handle Cory and Jason, two grades behind her in high school, but if Laverne was still working … well, the grapevine would blister tonight. The woman had nothing more to live for than gossip. Considering how hard Candy had worked on cleaning up her image, taking her interests further afield and acting the respectable businessperson, this was going to be a considerable blow.

  Reese used his cell rather than the radio to contact Cory, the action somewhat curious, but she was too miserable to care. When she heard him tell the other man to park her baby behind the store, she was marginally relieved, and sank back into the seat cushion. There was a myriad of conflicting aromas in the confines of the car, and she breathed shallowly.

  “Nothing to say, sweetheart?” His deep voice washed over her despite her determination not to accept any overture. She decided to take the fifth, and then realized he hadn’t read her those rights she heard all the cops say on television.

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “You don’t need legal counsel, Candace.”

  Was that amusement in his tone?

  “You didn’t read me my rights.”

  Laughter filled the vehicle, Reese’s unmistakable guffaws taking her back in time, something she struggled against. So not going there. Not remembering how they’d laughed at the same things and believed in many of the same causes. He’d been far more mature than she had been, with different life experiences, but never treated her with anything other than respect and apparent interest. And showed you that interest in inimitable style. No one else has measured up.

  “I guess being the Sheriff gives me some latitude.”

  What did that mean? Her stomach rolled and fluttered. She hadn’t been this close to Reese since before he’d walked on her, if she didn’t count the time he’d stopped by her boutique on the pretext of introducing himself as the new law enforcement. She’d heard he was back and desperately wanted to see him, yet avoided him, then badly wished to get the inevitable contact over with so she could set the parameters and pretend he was just the Sheriff.

  He’d given off a hostile vibe, overlaid with lust—making no secret of his need. She was experienced enough to know he wanted her, probably thinking to pick up where he’d left off, and the battle she’d fought with herself had been incredibly tough. But in the end, her brain had won, and she’d treated him like the man he’d turned out to be.

  A burgeoning smile tugged at her lips when she remembered how she’d written a check and presented it to him with a flourish in front of two customers who conveniently entered the shop. Her donation to the Neighborhood Watch fund or some such thing, unsolicited, and far more effective because of it. It had put him at a decided disadvantage, as evidenced by the way those cat green eyes had iced over before sparking with annoyance. Public servant out soliciting donations put in his place, and the gap between them underlined and dredged deep. Funny how it hadn’t felt so fine afterward.

  Her smile faded and died. She had acted like a petty, rich girl.

  The vehicle slowed and turned off onto a side road, just short of town. In the gathering dusk, she could make out the paucity of houses along this stretch, and remembered Reese used to live on this side of town.

  Wrong side of the tracks, Candy. People like us don’t dally with them. Her daddy’s snobbish comment popped into her head and suffused her with shame. Although she hadn’t been like that back then. And her father’s accusation that she “dallied” with Reese and his friends to annoy him had been unfounded, although she hadn’t minded the spin off. But why was the Sheriff driving here?

  She wasn’t going to ask. Probably he needed to pick something up on the way to the station or something. The less they spoke the easier it would be to keep her distance, although it wasn’t working out real well. Witness her present predicament.

  They pulled up in front of his old house, and she barely recognized it as the worn clapboard structure she recalled. The picket fence was obviously in good repair and shone white in the reflection of the headlights. Those same lights swept over new siding and replaced windows, and she thought there had been some landscaping done.

  Her scrutiny was interrupted when Reese exited the cruiser, her suitcase and other belongings under one arm. He hesitated by her door before striding off, passing through the gate and up the walkway to the house. His head dipped for a moment, and then a dark opening loomed in the façade of the house. He’d opened the front door and was putting her things inside. A strange, flickering sensation settled in her belly and flooded downward. He had brought her to his home. Lord, she didn’t understand, and yet she did.

  Frozen in place in the backseat of the aromatic cruiser car, Candy swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth, watching him backtrack toward her, mesmerized like some small prey in the shadow of a predator. She was no stranger to domina
nt men, having explored her sexuality at certain clubs and parties she hadn’t even told Sinclair about, and discovered how much she liked those large and in charge. It was a relief to turn herself over sexually to someone in a safe, controlled situation. Not hardcore BDSM or anything, but something to finally rein in all those self destructive tendencies she’d acquired, when the man approaching had ripped her heart out of her chest and trampled on it. But most of all had shit on the hope he’d created.

  The car door creaked open beneath his hand, and the cooler night air wafted in to mitigate the smells in the car. Heart pounding, she worked hard at looking calm and controlled, giving him what she sincerely hoped was an aloof, inquiring look.

  “C’mon, darlin’. Out you get.”

  “Why are we here?” Did her voice quiver? Damn.

  “Out of the car, Candace.” He was the only one to call her by her full name, except when her father was extremely annoyed with her, and being addressed that way by either man created a tinge of anxiety, if of two very different types.

  When she hesitated, Reese grasped her bicep with a lightning quick gesture, and hauled her out. It could have been a painful experience, except he took her weight with his other arm around her waist, hauling her up against him. The buttons of his uniform shirt pressed into her skin like tiny brands, and she could feel his steady breathing—and what was definitely not his Maglite poking against her belly.

  “Will you walk, or do you want to go over my shoulder again?” His warm breath against her hair stirred other thoughts, and she gritted her teeth.

  “I’ll walk. You can let me go.”

  Another huff of his breath, and she felt his arms release in increments. Holding herself rigid, willing her body’s response into remembering the boring task of next week’s taking of inventory, she gained a modicum of control. If she concentrated on unpleasant jobs and other things, she’d survive whatever he had planned. Because no matter what Reese Murdoch had done in his years away, no matter what he’d experienced, he would never hurt a woman, or force one. Candy knew that to the bottom of her soul.