Читать книгу Naughty, But Nice - Jill Shalvis - Страница 10

TAG ACTUALLY MANAGED a night of uninterrupted sleep, mostly due to the fact that he’d turned off the ringer on his phone and had shoved his pager beneath the couch pillows.

Not being on call did wonders for his mental health. What hadn’t done wonders for that same mental health had been his dreams.

X-rated dreams about Pleasantville’s latest visitor. He doubted they’d sprung from the photographs in the lingerie catalog he’d received in the mail and had perused over dinner. Photographs that showed every perfect inch of the body that belonged to one Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.

Lord, she was stacked. All long, tanned…lush. With the wild mane of sun-kissed blond hair and come-hither mouth…man, she was sure built like a goddess.

A tempting goddess, for certain. But luckily, not his type. A woman like Cassie was trouble, and on top of that trouble, he imagined she’d be high maintenance.

Tag was done with high maintenance, done with people needing him to take care of every little thing. The next time he let a woman into his life—and there would be a next time—it was going to be for keeps. She was going to be a sweet, quiet little thing who lived for him.

Yeah. He was going to be the high maintenance one for a change.

But as he showered, it wasn’t the quiet little woman that came into his mind. It was Cassie. As in his dream, her cynically lit eyes were hot with passion, her mouth wet from kissing him, and her amazing body wrapped around his. Not only wrapped, but soft and pliant and so ready for him she would explode when he plunged into her.

Now there was an image to make a shower nice and steamy and his body hard and achy. Nothing he couldn’t take care of by himself. But that wasn’t what he was looking for.

Once the hot water turned cold, Tag got out, slipped on his uniform pants, and reluctantly put Cassie out of his mind. Even more reluctantly, he pulled his pager from beneath the couch cushions.

His father had called—again. He’d probably heard about the tri-county arrest, the one in which it had taken the authorities—including Tag—three days to apprehend the suspect. Yeah, ex-sheriff Richard Taggart probably wanted to make sure Tag knew he would have done it in one day.

Well, hell. So he wasn’t like his father. So he didn’t believe he had to bully the town into obeying the law. Hallelujah. But it’d be nice if just once, just one damn time, his father could acknowledge Tag’s success.

Tag ran a hand through his wet hair and bit back a sigh as he strode through his very quiet house to the kitchen, where he poured himself a bowl of cereal.

“Note to self,” he said to no one in particular. “The little wife will make me a hot breakfast every morning.”

Soon as he found her.

The phone rang. Not surprisingly, it was Annie.

“Hey, boss, get your sweet ass up. We’re short-staffed. Turns out Tim didn’t have food poisoning, it was the flu, and half the staff is out.”

“Any bright yellow Porsches out there speeding this morning?” he asked.

“Just one.”

And he was just in the mood for it, too. He slipped into his uniform shirt, grabbed his badge and hit the road.

He found her immediately, cruising downtown, rolling through a four-way stop where he’d cleaned up more accidents than he liked to remember. Pulling her over, he strode up to the driver’s side of her car and had to laugh at the look of fury on her beautiful face.

“Let me guess,” Cassie said through her teeth. “You haven’t met your ticket quota yet for the week.”

“Careful, or I’ll think you like me.” He grinned when she snarled. “Did I mention yesterday that the speed limit is enforced here? As well as the full stop sign, which by the way, means you’re supposed to come to a full stop. It’s a ticket if you don’t.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped her red-lacquered-tipped fingers on the wheel, the picture of impatience. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“You know, you’d get farther with honey than vinegar,” he said, pulling out his ticket book.

“I save the honey for someone who’ll appreciate it.”

Well, she had him there. She could bat her pretty lashes and flirt all she wanted, he was pretty much fed up with the tactic. No way could she bowl him over with those sexy green eyes and walk away. Nope, he was far tougher than that.

Maybe he wasn’t big city. Maybe he had only the badge and his training behind him, but he was his own man and he knew what he wanted.

And okay, he wanted her. He was red-blooded, after all. But a quick affair to let off some steam wasn’t enough for him, not these days. Slumming around no longer appealed. He wanted for keeps. The real deal.

Nothing about Cassie was the real deal.

“Meow.”

This came from the passenger seat, on which sat the biggest, fattest tabby he’d ever seen. “Well, hello,” he said, and when the cat climbed all over Cassie to get to him, obviously using nails for leverage if Cassie’s hiss was any indication, he obliged it by reaching in and scratching beneath the chin.

A loud rumble filled the car.

Cassie narrowed her eyes at the purring cat. “Look at that, the Daughter of Satan likes men. What a surprise.”

“Daughter of Satan?”

She sighed. “Sheriff, meet Miss Priss. Miss Priss meet—” She glared at the cat when it growled at her. “Oh, never mind, you’re so huffy and snooty and rude you don’t deserve an introduction.”

“Funny,” Tag said. “I would have said the same thing about her owner.”

“I don’t own this cat, and I’m never huffy. Snooty and rude, most definitely. But not huffy.”

Despite the fact he didn’t want to acknowledge his dreams hadn’t been as good as seeing her in the flesh, his gaze gobbled her up. She was wearing white today. White tank top, white mini skirt, white leather boots. It seemed almost sacrilegious, all that virginal color on that mouth-watering body. Down, boy. “Why doesn’t your cat like you?”

“It’s not my cat, it’s my mother’s. Apparently they frown on felines on cruise ships, so she left the thing for me to take care of, along with—” She sent him a look designed to wither. “Why am I telling you all this?”

“Because I’m irresistible?”

For one moment she let her guard down and laughed. Her entire face softened, and he stared at her in shock. My God, she was beautiful like that, he thought, and wondered what it would be like to see her happy, really happy.

But then he took back the thought. He didn’t care what she looked like happy; he’d prefer to see what she looked like from the back, heading right out of town. “Let me guess…you’re on your way out of here.”

Now her frown was back, on those perfectly glossed lips. “I wish.” She flipped her hair out of her eyes and lifted a shoulder. “I think you might be stuck with me a little bit longer. Hope you can handle it.”

“The question is, can your car insurance handle it.” He opened his ticket book and she sputtered, making him laugh again. “Why do I get the feeling that not many have crossed you?”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t care?” she muttered.

When he’d handed her the second ticket in as many days, she grabbed it, tossed it over her shoulder into the back of her car and took off, her hair flying in the wind, her cat back in the passenger seat. The two of them were frowning, two obnoxious females thrusting their chins out against the world.

HONEY, do what you got to do. The blazes with anyone else. Cassie heard Flo’s voice in her head clear as day. More rarely she heard Edie’s voice, Kate’s mother, and for all intents and purposes Cassie’s Mom No. 2. It seemed Cassie’s bold-as-brass lifestyle leaned more toward Flo’s advice than Edie’s.

She wondered if hearing voices meant she was going crazy, or just that Pleasantville was getting to her. Both, she decided, and stripped out of her clothes, fingering through the things she’d brought, looking for some comfy pajamas.

She was a clothes hound and, thanks to her job, had collected many beautiful things. They were a comfort to her, the silk and lace, and proved, if only to herself, she was no longer poor.

Poor had meant longing, yearning, helplessness, and she hated all three. She would never long, yearn or be helpless again.

She thought of her little stalking problem—the slashed tires, her ransacked apartment, the threatening letters—and shivered.

Well, hopefully, she’d never feel helpless again.

In her suitcase she came across a tin of cookies her agent had given her. Cookies were a rare treat for a lingerie model, but since she’d canceled work for the entire summer, she tore into them and grabbed her book.

The Savage Groom. Maybe some good old-fashioned French Revolution period lust would clear her head. At least she could afford her books now instead of sneaking into the library and past the haughty Mrs. Wilkens for them.

“Chocolate,” she moaned out loud and stuffed another in her mouth. Happy and cozy in imported silk, a fattening cookie in one hand and a book in the other, she flopped back on the bed and let herself relax for the first time in too long. “Two days, two tickets and a pounding headache. That’s got to be some kind of record, even for me.”

Another weight hit the bed and Cassie lifted her head. Her gaze collided with the slanted yellow one of Miss Priss. “You.”

“Meow.”

Cassie tried to shoo her off, but the cat wasn’t only annoying, she refused to budge, letting out that terrible wail she had.

“Meow.”

“Hey, I just fed you…” When had that been? “Yesterday.” Oh, man, good thing she wasn’t a mother. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, the cat turned in a circle, presented her behind and sat within an inch of Cassie’s nose.

“Eww, move.”

Miss Priss did. She moved closer and, claiming half the pillow with her big, fat, furry body, she began to clean herself. Her private self.

“I am not sharing a pillow with someone who licks her own genitalia.”

Miss Priss didn’t seem to agree, and with a bolt of ingenuity, Cassie grabbed the spare pillow and threw it at the cat, who landed with a hiss on the floor. Leaning over the edge, she smiled smugly. “Stay.”

“Mew.”

That was an “I’m sorry” mew if she ever heard one. Damn it. What was she doing, snapping at a cat? Wasn’t that like kicking a puppy? With a regretful sigh, she reached out a peace offering in the form of a cookie, and—

“Ouch!” Yanking back her scratched palm, Cassie sat up. “That’s it. Go play on the freeway.”

“Mew.”

“Oh, fine.” She got up and fed the ingrate. Then, using both pillows now, she settled back on the bed against the headboard.

The sound of a roaring truck ruined her peace, and she went to the window. The trash truck. Now there was a job. The guy on the back of the truck hopped off at her neighbor’s house and hoisted the cans. He had a slouch and a gut and…and it was Biff. In an instinctive gesture she backed from the window. Assessed how she felt.

And grinned. There had to be some justice in the world if she—a Tremaine—was living on Lilac Hill and Biff—former star football player—was collecting her trash.

She called Kate, who’d appreciate the irony.

“Kate, Biff is the trash guy,” she said when her cousin picked up the phone. “And he’s not even the driver. He picks up the trash.”

“Perfect job for him, I’d say.”

Oh, yeah, she could count on Kate. “I’m sprawled on the most luxuriously silk-covered bed in a luxurious bedroom surrounded by the most amazing, luxurious house. Can you believe it? My mother lived like a queen after I was gone.” And because it felt good, so good to relax, she arched her neck.

“My God,” Cassie murmured.

“What? A spider?”

She stared at herself in the mirror framed above the bed. She’d seen the mirrors before now, of course, but they were still a shock. She studied herself dispassionately. Her body was barely covered in azure-blue imported silk, showing off her full breasts and the belly that didn’t look quite as flat as it should for a lingerie model. With a grimace, she tossed the cookies aside. “No, it’s just this place. The garage is full of furniture from the duplex and my mother has mirrored ceilings.”

Kate let out a startled laugh. “Well, we always knew Flo wasn’t a prude.”

Funny how even though Cassie knew exactly who and what Flo was—a woman unable to resist a man, any man at all—when it came right down to it, it was hard to picture her own mother having sex on this bed and enjoying the view from above. “You realize I’m on Lilac Hill, right? Lilac Hill. My fancy neighbors would have a coronary at the secrets this bedroom holds.”

“I imagine that was part of the fun for her.”

Ever the voice of reason, her Kate. Despite Kate’s own demons, she’d always helped Cassie see things differently. And more importantly, she made Cassie smile. “Flo did enjoy a good scandal. But Lilac Hill, for God’s sake.” The place that as children they’d stared at enviously, fantasized over. “I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole.”

“You deserve it,” Kate said with a sudden fierceness in her voice. “Both of you. You’ve worked so hard all your lives, and now Flo is sailing the Greek Islands and you’re a world-famous lingerie model. You both paid your dues for so many years. You’re supposed to enjoy this.”

“But I miss work.” Cassie sighed. “The photo shoot I bailed on this week was in the Bahamas.”

“Which is where your stalker was going to meet you. Isn’t that what the last threat said?”

Yes, but she didn’t want to go there. She so didn’t want to go there. “So I’m here. In a house my mother never paid for.”

“Of course she did. She loved…who was it—Mr. Miller the banker, right?—and he cared enough about her to give it to her. Just like Mr. McIntyre, who left her that building downtown.” She laughed. “I bet Mrs. McIntyre is spitting nails over that.”

“Oh, yeah. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. Which reminds me.” Cassie took a deep breath. “I have some ideas.” She sat up because she had to be careful how she phrased this. After all, Kate was a Tremaine, which meant that like Cassie, she had more pride than sense when it came to accepting help. “You said you were ready to open another shop.”

“I said I wanted to open another shop, I never said I would open another shop. Successful as I’ve been in Chicago, I don’t have the money for that yet.”

“I know. But I do.”

“I’m not taking any more of your money. I just paid back the start-up loan you gave me for the first Bare Essentials.”

“I’m not talking money, per se. I want you to take the building, the old men’s store that Flo inherited from horny old McIntyre.”

“No.”

“Kate.”

“Cassie.”

Cassie had to laugh at Kate’s calm annoyance. “Stop it. I have an ulterior motive.”

“If you want a new toy, all you have to do is ask. We just stocked up.”

“Hey, I still have Mr. Pink that you bought me for Christmas and I just loaded up on batteries, thank you very much.”

Miss Priss leapt back onto the bed, and with one long daring glare, she settled at Cassie’s head.

“If I wake up with a fur ball lodged in my throat, you’re dead meat,” Cassie told the snooty cat. “And you,” she said to her cousin, “will you listen to me for a moment?”

“You got one minute. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…you’d better hurry.”

“Should have been a comic, Kate. Listen, I want you to have the building because it feels right. I don’t know what to do with it, and it’s just sitting there going to waste. Besides, it’s right downtown. Right smack in the middle of downtown…are you following me here?”

“Let me see if I am…you see Bare Essentials, basically a very naughty ladies’ store—”

“One which sells a most excellent dildo, I might add.”

“Thank you. You see Bare Essentials fitting right in with the Rose Café and the five-and-dime.”

“Why not? This town could use some spice.”

“More than having their wild child come home?”

“Hey, they made me this way. Come on, say yes. It’s on our lists of things to do…”

“Cassie.” Kate laughed. “Those lists were written by bitter teenagers.”

“So?”

“So…it’s not that easy. I was just there, I don’t want to move back to that place any more than you want to be there.”

Cassie flopped back on the bed and stared at herself in the ceiling mirror. Her agent had cleared her schedule for the entire summer and it was only early June. The police and her friends had convinced her that a low profile would be best.

She knew that to be true. No matter her outwardly brave facade and joking, cynical manner, she hated the fear, the terror. Because of it, she sat in Pleasantville with no one but a mean old cat for company and nothing to do but pay her moving violations.

Oh, and stare at the sheriff’s ass. It was a mighty fine ass, but that simply wasn’t enough. Especially since he wasn’t so much as slightly interested in her.

How long had it been since a man hadn’t fallen in a pool of saliva at her feet? Didn’t matter; unlike her mother, she had no need for a man to fall all over her.

“Cassie?”

“I’ll get the shop going for you,” she said rashly. “Come on, Kate. Opening a porn shop in Pleasantville. It doesn’t get better than that.”

“Bare Essentials, which is doing exceptionally well by the way, is not a porn shop.” Kate sniffed.

“I know that. But everyone here will think it is.” Glee leapt wildly within her. This idea just got better and better the more she thought about it. “This is inspired, truly inspired. I can keep myself from going crazy and—”

“Oh, honey. You are going crazy, I knew it. Maybe I should come back—”

“—and I can shock this mean-spirited old town while doing it. Mrs. McIntyre. Mrs. Wilkens. All of them. No, don’t you dare come back. Unless of course, you want to. I can do this. I want to do this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I can’t just sit here and hide, Kate. I just can’t. Otherwise every shadow, every little thing, makes me jump.”

“Have you informed the sheriff about why you’re really there?”

“Of course not. I’m fine. I just need to do something and this is perfect. What do you say?”

“You can’t just give me the building. If we do this, it’s as a team. And, damn, revenge on that godforsaken town sounds really good. Too good.”

Cassie knew she had her. And if she did so in part because Kate was worried about her, then she was willing to play that card, because though she’d eat a stick before admitting it, she was worried about herself, too. “So then…?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “Yes, let’s do it. Partners?”

“Partners,” Cassie vowed.

ONE WEEK—and another ticket—later, Cassie was still jerking awake at night, certain her stalker had found her. Just last night she’d opened her mouth to scream at the weight holding her down, only to find Miss Priss sitting on her chest. The cat she could handle.

She had also handled the town—by snubbing her nose every morning at her fellow shop owners on Magnolia Street. Specifically, anyone and everyone going in and out of the Tea Room right next door, most of the waitresses at the Rose Café, and anyone else who stopped to point and whisper.

This didn’t include the Downtown Deli across the street, mostly because the deli was new, and therefore the legend of Cassie Tremaine didn’t live there. And also because Cassie had discovered a weakness for pastrami on rye, along with the thirtysomething owners Diane and Will. Silly Diane and Will, they actually seemed to like her.

Cassie’s building had been cleared of old debris and cleaned. They still had to paint, refloor and decorate, but that was the fun part. Since she was the one in town at the moment, she would handle most of that, happily. She loved to decorate and organize, and loved to paint. Which was a good thing, as Kate was notoriously bad at it, and was never offered a paintbrush.

She and Kate had spent hours teleconferencing over the stock for the store, with Kate sending naughty sample after naughty sample. The UPS girl, a very cute little thing named Daisy—only in Pleasantville—had continuously asked what was in all the boxes she kept delivering. When Cassie had finally broken down and told her—Daisy was simply too sweet for both this town and its gossip mill—Daisy had nearly swallowed her tongue.

In spite of it all, or maybe because of it, Cassie felt like a little girl at Christmas. One night, during a wicked early summer storm, she sat in the deserted building, surrounded by boxes and Miss Priss.

The cat hadn’t relented—she still hated Cassie—but she refused to be left home alone. If Cassie did leave her at the house, she paid for the mistake dearly as Miss Priss wasn’t above leaving “deposits” to show her annoyance. Yesterday it had been in her slipper, which Cassie had unfortunately put her foot into, so she’d caved like a cheap suitcase and took the damn cat wherever she went.

Rain beat against the windows of the building, while thunder and lightning beat the sky. She’d lost power about thirty minutes ago, but undeterred, she’d lit a lantern. In her mind’s eye, she could see the store, envision the displays, the music, the lights—everything laid out the way she and Kate had planned—and the work was so therapeutic, she didn’t want to stop. Unafraid—a nice change—she sat alone on the floor making copious notes to share with Kate during their next phone call.

Bare Essentials. Even the name was perfect, and she jotted a note to talk to Kate about what type of sign they should have made to hang out front. Everyone in town would assume the worst, of course, and to make sure she fulfilled those thoughts, the shop would carry a variety of items for shock value alone. Maybe they could create an interesting window display with cock rings and anal plugs….

Time flew by as she opened boxes, spread the samples out this way and that, made notes, even tried some things on.

Miss Priss had long ago fallen asleep in a box. Outside, beyond the shuttered windows, traffic had dribbled to nothing.

Cassie, wearing a simple, basic black camisole—the design was so exquisite, she absolutely loved it—was sitting on the floor with the last box. She pulled it close and opened it. Inside she found a note from Kate. “Think the lovely patrons of Pleasantville will like these?”

Cassie grinned as she laid out a selection of body jewelry. She could see the looks now, especially when the Pea-ville matrons were confronted with nipple and clit rings.

Cassie herself had once had her belly button pierced, but it had gotten in the way of certain photo shoots so she’d let it grow in.

But a nipple ring…if she wasn’t such a chicken when it came to pain she’d have the real thing. Since she never would, that left the clip-on variety. She opened up a package that held a pretty, delicate-looking silver hoop, slipped a spaghetti strap off one shoulder and bared a breast. With her fingers she plucked her nipple into a hard bead and applied the jewelry.

With a hiss, she let out a slow breath. It was a clamp of sort, but surprisingly, it didn’t hurt at all. And looking down at herself, she had to smile. “What do you think, Miss Priss? Pretty hot, huh?”

“Does my vote count?”

With a scream, Cassie leapt up, instinctively reaching out for a weapon as she did. That she grabbed Big Red—her nickname for a twelve-inch long, three-inch thick, glow-in-the-dark red dildo—didn’t matter. The sucker was heavy and she could wield it like a baseball bat no problem.

“Whoa, just me.”

In the back of her mind she recognized that incredibly sexy voice.

Not her stalker.

Not a Joe Blow off the street.

But dangerous, none the less. And she was standing there in a camisole with her faux-pierced nipple hanging out. Keeping hold of Big Red with one hand, she used the other to cover her breast. “You.”

“Me,” the sheriff agreed, partially stepping out of the shadows into the meager light let off by the lantern so that she could see just his face. His sharp eyes scanned everything, including her, while his long, rangy body remained utterly still. “I thought this building was supposed to be empty and I saw the light. Had a few complaints.”

“Let me guess. Mrs. McIntyre?”

“Among others.”

“I’ll bet. How did you get in?”

“You have a bum door. It’s locked but not shut all the way.”

“Look, the place is mine, no one in this bitter old town can say otherwise, so if you’re thinking about giving me another ticket—”

“Another ticket.” God, that voice of his. “Gotta tell you, Cassie, I wasn’t thinking ticket when I first saw you.” He shifted closer. “Have you done anything illegal lately?”

As he asked, his gaze ran leisurely over her, making her very aware of how she must look standing there holding a big, fat dildo and her own breast. “Uh…”

“Other than indecent exposure, that is?”

“Indecent?”

He cocked his head and looked her over good, his eyes eating her up. “Actually, that’s a matter of opinion.”

She could feel her other nipple tighten; she told herself she was cold. Which didn’t explain why the silk between her legs suddenly felt as soft and incredible as a man’s touch.

As he still stood in the shadows, she couldn’t see what he wore, but she imagined him in his uniform, and it hardened her against him despite the fact that he looked good enough to eat.

But the expression in his eyes as he drank in her scrap of black wasn’t a cop’s look. It was a man’s.

And something within her tingled. Lord, he was something, all rough-and-tumble ready. He’d make a nice diversion, wouldn’t he? If he wasn’t such a cop.

Go for it, honey, said Flo’s voice in her head. Get what you can and get out.

Standing there, he was tall, dark and shockingly, overtly sexy. It wouldn’t be hard to “go for it.” But beneath that laid-back, easygoing facade, he was tough as nails, and she knew it.

She’d never been shy about her own sensuality, but unlike Flo, she refused to let it run her life. Flo couldn’t resist a man.

And yet Flo had always brought men to their knees. Cassie liked that part. But something told her the big, bad Tag wouldn’t be easy to control. Bottom line—if she couldn’t be in charge, she never dallied.

Never.

Still, the summer loomed long and empty in front of her. If nothing else, surely she could get him to take care of her tickets…

Grab everything they’ll give you, Flo would say right now. Grab it and walk away.

Tag’s hot, hot gaze ran down her body, making her stomach quiver, making her forget the tickets. His gaze settled on Big Red. “Cassie, what were you going to do with that thing?”

Just his voice made her thighs clench. “Big Red? Did you know he glows in the dark?”

He lifted a brow. “What else does he do?”

He can drive you crazy, she thought, and let out a wicked smile.