Naughty, But Nice

Naughty, But Nice Jill Shalvis Cassie Tremaine Montgomery: The stunning lingerie model with a tough-as-nails attitude and a sheriff in her sights. Sean "Tag" Taggart: The sexy-as-sin sheriff who is more than willing to play Cassie's game…his way. Cassie intends to use all the seductive powers she has to entice Tag as part of her revenge on her hometown. Tag, however, isn't cooperating.He's more than willing to set the sheets on fire with her, but he's asking for more than just sizzling sex…. He knows she's not as tough as she pretends. And he knows she cares about him–even if she won't admit it. That's fine. He'll just turn up the heat until she concedes there's more between them than this red-hot passion. Tag’s stomach dropped at Cassie’s wicked smile Oh yeah, he thought. No doubt about it, she had a smile capable of rendering a grown man stupid. The outfit didn’t hurt, either. Or lack of outfit. Did she have any idea how she looked standing there in the glow of the lamp wearing a sheer black creation with wispy little straps? His tongue tingled to nudge those straps off her shoulders. This was bad, very bad. It wasn’t often he found himself speechless, but when she stepped closer words escaped him. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to slip a finger beneath her strap, urging it down. He felt her warm, soft skin, felt her breath catch. Almost unaware, he dipped his head to hers. He didn’t have far to bend. She was tall, which he’d just discovered was an incredible turn-on. Lying down, they’d be chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and everything in between would line up so damn perfectly…. She tilted her head so that now they were mouth to mouth, breathing each other’s air, which was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. She licked her lips and they were so close he felt the brush of her tongue against his lips. “Mmm,” she whispered. “It’s a night for this, don’t you think? A night for a hot, wet kiss.” Dear Reader, My first Blaze novel has finally arrived! I have to admit, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, writing an extra, extra sensuous love story. But from the very first word of Naughty But Nice, this story wrote itself. It flowed so fast and hot I singed my fingers on a daily basis writing…ahem, shall we say certain scenes? For that alone, I will forever have a soft spot in my heart for the bad girl Cassie Tremaine and the even badder Sheriff Sean “Tag” Taggart. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it. And don’t forget to pick up my good friend Leslie Kelly’s BARE ESSENTIALS book, Naturally Naughty, also available this month. Happy reading! Jill Shalvis Naughty, But Nice Jill Shalvis www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) To Wanda, You held my hand on this one, and I’ll never forget it. And to Birgit Davis-Todd, For always being there when I needed you. Thanks, ladies, and here’s to many more…. Contents Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Epilogue Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue Ten Years Ago THE LINE OF CARS heading out of the Daisy Inn was long but giddy. After all, it was prom night. The night of hopes and dreams. The night of spiked punch and lost virginity. The culmination of high school, where one was to have the time of one’s life. Unless you were a Tremaine, of course. In the town of Pleasantville, Ohio, the only thing worse than being a member of that family was being a female member. Cassie Tremaine Montgomery, an extremely female Tremaine, looked over at her date. Biff Walters. Hard to imagine any mother disliking her newborn son enough to name him Biff. But his name had nothing to do with the reason why Cassie had agreed to go to the prom with the tall, blond, gorgeous—but stupid—football star. No, the reason had everything to do with his graduation present from his daddy—a cherry-red Corvette. Since Cassie had a love affair with all things expensive and out of her reach, the convertible had been irresistible. “Hey, baby,” Biff said, catching her eye and putting his big, beefy, sweaty paw of a hand on her thigh. “You look hot tonight.” How original. Not. So she was blond and five foot ten, with the stacked body of a Playboy model—she’d been that way since the age of thirteen. Which meant men had been drooling over her for four years now. Added to that was the fact that while the men in her family were bastards—some quite literally—the women were all tramps. No exceptions. There was a rumor it even said so in the law books. She could live with the stigma, or get the hell out of Pleasantville. The town didn’t care much either way. Unfortunately as a kid, the second option had never been viable. She and her cousin Kate had grown up learning that lesson all too well. Cassie’s mother, Flo, otherwise known as the town vixen, had long ago guaranteed her daughter’s fate by cheerfully seducing as many of the husbands in town as possible. By default, Cassie was as unpopular—or popular if you asked the men—as her mother. Which burned her; it always had. So Flo had a weakness. Men. So what? Everyone had a weakness. At least her mother’s was basically harmless. “Wanna go to the lake?” Biff asked hopefully. Ugh. The lake was the typical make-out spot just outside of town. Tonight it’d be crowded with overeager guys toting their dressed-to-the-hilt dates, if they were lucky enough to have coaxed them out there. Not for her, thank you very much. Cassie didn’t share her mother’s weakness for men, and never would. “Of course you want to go, you’re a Tremaine.” Biff laughed uproariously at that. His fingers squeezed her thigh and moved upward, leaving a damp streak on the designer silk dress she’d secretly purchased at a thrift store. “All the Tremaine women love sex.” He was confident on this. “The wilder the better. It’s why I asked you to the prom. Come on, show me what you’ve got, baby.” Leaning over, he planted his mouth on the side of her neck, smearing beer breath over her skin. Smiling when she wanted to puke, Cassie backed away and combed her fingers through the hairstyle she’d spent hours copying from an ad in Cosmo. Fine price she was going to pay for wanting a cruise through town in a hot car. Now she had to figure a way out of the rest of the night. “What’s the rush?” “This.” Biff, panting now, put his hand on his erection to adjust himself. Oh, good God, men were ridiculous. The smell of beer and sweat permeated the car’s close quarters. “Biff, they didn’t let us buy beer before the prom, remember? We got carded.” “I know.” He looked extremely proud of himself. “So why do I smell it on you?” His grin was wide, wicked and stupid. “Jeff had a twelve-pack in the bathroom. He gave me half.” Six beers. Cassie wasn’t afraid of much, and God knows the town thought her a brainless drunk in the making simply because of the misfortune of her genes but, contrary to popular belief, she was very fond of living. “You drank them all?” “Yeah.” They pulled out of the inn in a show-off peel of tires. The car swerved, making Cassie grab the dashboard with a gasp. “Don’t worry, baby.” He sent her another ridiculously dumb grin. “I drive better under the influence.” Right. Damn it, graduation was only a week away. Freedom loomed like a rainbow over her future. Seven days and she was outta this one-horse town and she wasn’t going to ever look back. She was going to show the world she could be someone. Someone special. But she had to be alive to do it. “Biff, pull over.” “Now, baby—” “Stop the car,” she said through her teeth. If he called her baby one more time she was going to scream. And then she was going to make him scream. “Watch this.” He stomped on the gas and whipped into the oncoming traffic’s lane to pass a slower car. “Woo-hoo!” He craned his neck to look backward, flipping his middle finger at the driver as he came back into the right-hand lane with one second to spare before causing a head-on collision. “Bitchin’!” “Biff.” Cassie’s fingernails, the ones she’d so carefully painted candy-apple red, dug into his dash. “I—” “Ah, shit,” he said at the same time Cassie heard the whoop of a siren. Flashing lights lit up Biff’s face as he swore the air blue. They pulled over. When Cassie saw Sheriff Richard Taggart coming toward them, all she could think was Thank God. He’d just saved her from a car accident. Or at the very least, a wrestling match with an idiot. Biff was still swearing, and Cassie couldn’t blame him. The sheriff wasn’t exactly a warm, fuzzy sort, though she did trust him despite his being a tough hard-ass. She trusted him because he was the only man she knew who hadn’t slept with her mother, and therefore the only man she knew worthy of her respect. He came to the driver’s window. Tipped his hat back. Switched his gum from one side to the other. Calmly and quietly assessed the situation with his sharp, sharp eyes. “You kids heading anywhere special?” “Are you kidding? Look at my date.” Biff leaned back so the sheriff could see Cassie. “I got me a Tremaine for the night.” The sheriff looked at Cassie. Something in his eyes shifted. “The lake, huh?” he asked. Biff just shot his idiotic grin. The sheriff shook his head. “Get out of the car, Biff.” “But Uncle Rich—” “Out of the car,” the sheriff repeated. “You won’t be driving again any time soon. I can smell you from here.” “Ah, man—” Biff started to whine, but sucked it up when the sheriff glared at him. “Start walking home, little nephew. Before I arrest you for Driving Under the Influence.” Biff slammed out of the car like a petulant child and without so much as a backward glance at Cassie, whose panties he’d wanted to get into only five minutes before, started walking. Fine. Cassie tossed her hair out of her face and did her best impression of someone who didn’t care what happened. But her heart was pounding, because though she was grateful he’d pulled them over, suddenly she felt…nervous. That was ridiculous. He was rough and edgy, ruled the town with an iron fist, but he was also fair. A pillar of the community. No reason for her to feel anxious. After all, what would he do now? He’d probably just make her walk home, too. Yeah, that worked for her. The entire evening had been a bust anyway. She had no idea why she’d thought dressing up and going out with the most popular jerk—er, jock—would be fun. “Cassie.” “Sheriff.” “Don’t you dress up nice.” He was staring at…her breasts? That didn’t seem right. Cassie managed to keep her shock to herself. “I—yes.” “You think the dress changes what you are?” he asked softly. “Or who you are?” His gaze ran over the black silk, which had been designed to make men beg for mercy. She’d loved it when she’d found it, she’d loved it all the way until this very second, but now she felt like hugging herself. “Get out of the car.” She didn’t move, and he leaned in. “I can make you,” he said silkily. “In fact, I’d like that.” There was no one around. Not that anyone would have stood up for her if there had been. No doubt the people in the cars driving by figured she’d done something to warrant the sheriff pulling her over. Chin high, Cassie got out of the car. Casually leaned back against it. Tossed her head. Played cool as a cucumber. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?” “What can you do for me?” He stepped close. So close she could see the lights from his squad car dancing in his eyes. Smell his breath. Feel his hips brush hers. She wanted to cringe back, wanted to panic, but no way in hell was anyone in this goddamned town ever going to see her panic. “What you can do for me, Cassie, is rather complicated, though being Flo’s daughter…” “You…know Flo?” “Intimately.” He was aroused. And he had been with her mother. Odd how that felt like such a betrayal. But she was very careful not to react because it was one thing to mess with a stupid eighteen-year-old punk driving his brand-new car. It was another thing entirely to mess with a fully grown, aroused man with a badge. Fear threatened to paralyze her but she tossed her hair back again. “You must have mistaken me for my mother then.” “I don’t make mistakes.” He lifted a hand. It hovered in the air between them for a long moment, while Cassie held her breath. When she released it, his fingers danced along the very tops of her breasts, which were pushed up and out by her dress. His breathing changed then, quickened, and she realized he was no different from his nephew at all. The knowledge that any man, even this one, could be turned into a slave by his own penis was disturbing. Skin crawling, she slapped his hand away. “Unless you’re going to arrest me for having the poor judgment to go out with your idiot nephew, our business here is over,” she said with remarkable calm. “Get out of my way. I’m walking home.” “I can give you a ride. Maybe Flo is home. Maybe the two of you would be interested…” She shivered at the obvious innuendo. He wanted the both of them together. And why not, right? After all, a Tremaine was a Tremaine. How did her mother stand this? Seducing men at the drop of a hat because she could? Cassie understood Flo enjoyed the power of bringing a man to his knees with lust, but Cassie would rather bring a man to his knees with pain. A direct kick to the family jewels would do it. But this wasn’t the man to do that to. Keeping her smile in place, she pushed past him. “Sorry, Sheriff. Not in the mood tonight.” Her heels clicked on the asphalt as she started walking. Don’t follow me, don’t follow me. She felt him watching her every step of the way, until she turned the corner. Only then, when she knew she was truly alone and out of his sight, did she break stride and start running. No one stopped her. No one cared enough to. Down Magnolia Avenue to Petunia Avenue, and then finally she turned off onto Pansy Lane. For the first time she didn’t stop to sneer at the ridiculous flower names of the streets, and instead ran down the driveway of the duplex she’d shared all her life with her mother. Her aunt and cousin lived on the other side. Kate would be a huge comfort right now, the voice of calm reason, but she’d still be with her date from the prom. Probably having the time of her life. Cassie didn’t go inside the house. Didn’t want to face her mother, who would get misty-eyed at the sight of Cassie all over again. They both knew Cassie was leaving, and soon. The day she graduated, if possible. She had a life to find. And someday she’d come back here and show them all. She’d come back driving a fancy car. She’d live in the biggest house on Lilac Hill, just because she could. And…oh, yes, this was her favorite…she’d get the sheriff. Somehow, some way. But most of all, she’d…become someone. Someone special. She went around the side of the duplex to the backyard. Kicked off the Nine West pumps she’d saved all last month for and dug her toes into the grass. Tipping back her head, she gauged the distance she had to jump in the dress wrapped around her like Saran wrap. And took a flying leap for the rope ladder. In her skimpy black dress, she shimmied up the tree and landed in the tree house that had served as her and Kate’s getaway all their lives. It was cramped. And musty. Probably full of spiders. It’d been a long time since she’d needed to be alone, but she needed that now. Desperately. She was close—far too close—to losing it, when losing it was not an option. Ever. Opening the small wooden cigar box she and Kate kept hidden, she took out her private and personal vice and lit it. A cigarette. It helped steady her nerves. There was also her diary, and Kate’s, inside the box. She reached for hers. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree, she studied the stars, mentally reviewing the list of things she wanted to accomplish with her life before she scribbled them into her diary. Kate would get a kick out of the fancy-car goal, she was sure of it. When she was done writing, she leaned back and watched a falling star, and though she would have denied it to her dying day, she wished. She wished that life would get better soon as she got the hell out of Pleasantville. 1 Ten Years Later SHERIFF SEAN TAGGART—Tag, as he was commonly known—had eaten, showered and was sprawled naked and exhausted across his bed when the phone rang. “Forget it,” he muttered, not bothering to lift his head. He didn’t have the energy. God, he needed sleep. He’d been up all night helping a neighboring county sheriff chase down a man wanted for two bank robberies. Then this morning, before he could so much as think about sleep, he’d had to rescue four stupid cows from the middle of the highway. He’d also wrestled a drunken and equally stupid teenager out of a deep gorge. Then he’d delivered a baby when the mother had decided labor pains were just gas so that she’d ended up stranding herself thirty-five miles from nowhere. Now, though it was barely the dinner hour, he just might never move again. He lived alone on a hill above town. Not on Lilac Hill like the rich, but in a nice, comfortable, sleepy little subdivision where the houses were far apart and old enough to be full of character—aka run-down. His place was more run-down than most, which was how he’d afforded it. Renovation had come slow and costly, so much so that he’d only gotten to his bedroom and kitchen thus far. But it was his, and it was home. After growing up with a father who ruled not only the town with an iron fist but his kid as well, and no mother from the time she’d left for greener pastures when he’d turned eight, having a warm, cozy home had become very important to him. Truth be known, he was ready for more than just a home these days. It wasn’t his family he wanted more of, as he and his father had never been close. How could they be when they didn’t share the same ideas, morals or beliefs, and to the older Taggart, Tag was little more than a disappointment. Regardless of the strained relationship with his father, Tag felt he was missing something else. He was ready for a friend, a lover, a wife. A soul mate. Someone he could depend on for a change, instead of the other way around. But right now, he’d settle for eight hours of sleep in a row. The phone kept ringing. Turning his head he pried one eye open and looked at it. It could be anyone. It could be his father, ex-sheriff, now retired, calling to tell Tag how to do his job. Again. Or it could be an emergency, because if life had taught Tag any lesson at all, it was that just about anything could happen. “Damn it.” He yanked up the receiver. “What?” “Dispatch,” Annie reported in her perpetually cheerful voice. Off duty she was his ex-fianc?e and pest extraordinaire. On duty, she was still his ex-fianc?e and pest extraordinaire. Not long after becoming engaged, they’d decided they were better coworkers than co-habitors, and they’d been right. Tag could never have taken her eternal cheerfulness in bed night after night. “Heard you didn’t even kiss Sheila good night after your date,” she said. “I’ll have you know I went to a lot of trouble to set that up. You’ve got to kiss ’em, Tag, or you’re going to ruin your bad-boy rep.” He groaned and rolled over. “God, I hope so.” “I just want you happy. Like I am.” She was getting married next month to one of his deputies, which was a good thing. But now she wanted him as almost married as she was. Sighing would do no good. Neither would ignoring her—she was more ruthless than a pit bull terrier. “If it’s any of your business, which it’s not, I didn’t kiss Sheila because it wasn’t a date. I didn’t even want to go in the first place—” Why was he bothering? She wouldn’t listen. Rubbing his eyes, he stared at the ceiling. “Why are you calling?” “Know why you’re so grumpy? You need to get laid once in a while. Look—” As if departing a state secret, she lowered her voice. “Sex is a really great stress reliever. I’d give you some to remind you, just as a favor, mind you, but I’m a committed woman now.” Tag wished he was deep asleep. “Tell me you’re not calling me from the dispatch phone to say this to me.” “Someone has to, Tag, honey.” “I’m going back to sleep now.” “You can’t.” “Why not?” He heard the rustling of papers as Annie shifted things on her desk. He pictured the mess—the stacks, the unfiled reports, the mugs of coffee and chocolate candy wrappers strewn over everything—and got all the more tense. “Look at the computer screen in front of you,” he instructed. “Read me your last call.” “Oh, yeah!” She laughed. “Can’t believe I forgot there for a moment. There’s a stranger downtown, driving some sort of hot rod, causing trouble. We’ve received calls on and off all day, complaining about the loud music and reckless driving.” He opened his mouth to ask what had taken her so long to say so, but bit back the comment because it wouldn’t do him any good. Back on duty whether he liked it or not, he rubbed his gritty, tired eyes and grabbed for his pants. “Theft? Injuries?” “Nope, nothing like that. Just the music and speeding.” “Speeding?” He’d given up sleep for speeding? “Why didn’t…hell, who’s on duty right now…Tim? Why didn’t he take care of this earlier if it’s been a problem all day?” “Seems Tim stopped off at his momma’s for some pie after lunch and got sick. Food poisoning. He’s been bowing to the porcelain god ever since. Poor guy, bad things like that don’t usually happen here in Pleasantville.” Since he’d had plenty of bad things happen to him right here in this town, the least of which was caving in and hiring his ex on dispatch, Tag just rolled his eyes. “If nothing really bad could happen, why can’t I manage a night with some sleep in it?” “Because we all love your sweet demeanor too much. Now get your ass up. Oh, and careful out there, okay? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Which was damn little and they both knew it. “Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, looking for more clothes. He jammed on his boots, yanked on his uniform shirt and grabbed his badge. With one last fond look toward his big, rumpled, very comfortable bed, he shook his head and left. Halfway to downtown Pleasantville, his radio squawked. “Got the license plate and make for ya,” Annie said, and rattled it off. “Sunshine-yellow Porsche.” Tag shook his head at the idiotic tourist who’d probably taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Pleasantville. “Shouldn’t be hard to find. Owner’s name?” “Let’s see, it’s here somewhere…Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.” Not a tourist. Not a wayward traveler lost by accident. Not by a long shot. Cassie Tremaine Montgomery. She’d belonged here once. Though now, as a famous lingerie model, she was as far from Pleasantville as one could get. He might not have ever met her personally since he’d been several years ahead of her in school, but her reputation preceded her. A reputation she’d gotten—according to legend—by using men just like her mother. If he remembered correctly, and he was certain he did, Cassie had been tough, unreachable, attitude-ridden and…hot. Very hot. And she’d been practically run out of town after her high school graduation by rumors. They’d said she was pregnant, on drugs, a thief. You name it, someone in town had claimed she’d done it. Hell, even his loser cousin Biff had plenty of wild stories, though Tag had no idea how much of it was true given Biff’s tendency toward exaggeration. He’d never expended any energy thinking about it. But now he was sheriff and she was back, stirring up trouble. Seemed he’d need to think about her plenty. He saw her immediately, speeding down Magnolia Avenue in her racy car, with a matching racy attitude written all over her. Blond hair whipping behind her, her fingers tapping in beat to the music she had blaring. Knowing only that things were about to get interesting, Tag turned his cruiser around and went after her. GET WHAT YOU CAN, honey. Get what you can and get out. Cassie Tremaine Montgomery smiled grimly as she remembered her mother’s advice on life and took Magnolia Avenue at a slightly elevated speed than was strictly allowed by law. She couldn’t help it, her car seemed to have the same attitude about being in this town as she did. In other words, neither of them liked it. As she drove downtown throughout the day, running errands, people stopped, stared. Pointed. Logically, she knew it was the car. But the place had slammed her into the past. People recognized her. People remembered her. Had she thought they wouldn’t? Hadn’t Kate warned her after she had been back in town recently to close up her mother’s house? Good old Pea-ville. There was Mrs. McIntyre coming out of the Tea Room. The Town Gossip hadn’t changed; she still wore her hair in a bun wrapped so tight her eyes narrowed, and that infamous scowl. She’d maliciously talked about Cassie and Flo on a daily basis. But that was a lifetime ago. To prove it, Cassie waved. Mrs. McIntyre shook her finger at her and turned to a blue-haired old biddy next to her. That woman shook her finger at Cassie, too. Well. Welcome home. Cassie squashed the urge to show them a finger of her own. She couldn’t help it, this place brought out the worst in her. But she wasn’t here to reminisce and socialize. God, no. If left up to her, she’d have never come back. There was nothing for her here, nothing. Kate was gone. She’d marched out of town hand in hand with Cassie all those years ago, each determined to make something of themselves. Kate had done spectacularly in Chicago, with her specialty ladies’ shop, Bare Essentials. Some would say so had Cassie. But that she could afford to buy and sell this sorry-ass town was little satisfaction when just driving through made her feel young and stupid all over again. Two things she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Everyone in Pleasantville had assumed she’d grow up the same as the trouble-loving Flo. Destiny, they’d said. Can’t fight it. And if you counted going off to New York and becoming one of the world’s most well-known lingerie models following her destiny, well then, that’s what Cassie had done. Now she was back. Not by choice, mind you. Oh, no. She passed the library. And yep, there was the librarian standing out front changing the sign for tonight’s reading circle. Mrs. Wilkens hadn’t changed a bit, either. She was still old, still had her glasses around her neck on a chain and…was still frowning at Cassie. Cassie had spent hours at the library looking for an escape from her life, devouring every historical romance novel she could find. Mrs. Wilkens had always, always, hovered over her as if she was certain Cassie was going to steal a book. Oh, wasn’t this a fun stroll down memory lane. With a grim smile, Cassie drove on. She passed the old bowling alley, the five-and-dime, the Rose Caf?. Pleasantville had a scent she’d never forgotten. It smelled like broken dreams and fear. Or maybe that was just her imagination. There was sound, as well. Other cars, a kid’s laughter…the whoop of a siren— What the hell? Craning her neck in surprise, she looked into the rearview mirror and saw the police lights. Her heart lurched for the poor sucker about to get a ticket. A serious lead-foot herself, Cassie winced in sympathy and slowed so the squad car could go around her. It didn’t. No problem, she’d just pull over to give it more room. But the police car pulled over, too. And that’s when it hit her. She was the sucker about to get the ticket. “Damn it. Damn it,” she muttered as she turned off the car and fumbled for her purse. She hadn’t been pulled over since…prom night. All those unhappy memories flooded back, nearly choking her. She hadn’t given thought to that night in far too long to let it hit her like a sucker punch now, but that’s exactly what it did. Her drunken date. Then dealing with the sheriff, who’d been one of the few men in town she’d figured she could trust. She’d been wrong, very wrong. No man was trustworthy, hadn’t she learned that the hard way? Especially recently. But after all the terror she’d been through in the days before she’d been forced back here, Cassie wasn’t going to get stressed about this. She’d find her wallet, explain why she was in such a hurry, and maybe, just maybe, if she batted the lashes just right, added a do-me smile and tossed back her hair in a certain way, she’d get out of here ticket-free. Please, oh please, let there have been a new sheriff in the past ten years, she thought as she finally located her wallet in the oversize purse that carried everything including her still-secret vice—a historical romance. Pirates, rogues, Vikings…the lustier the better. She hadn’t yet cracked the spine on this latest book, but if the sheriff saw it she’d…well, she’d have to kill him. “Damn it.” No driver’s license in the wallet. Oh, boy. Her own fault, though. In getting ready for the club she’d gone to several nights ago with friends, she’d pulled out her license and stuck it in her pocket so she wouldn’t be hampered by her heavy purse. And she hadn’t returned it, not then, and not in the shocking events since. “Damn it.” “You said that already.” Lurching up, Cassie smacked her head on the sun visor, dislodging her sunglasses. Narrowing her eyes at the low, very male laugh, she focused in on…not Sheriff Richard Taggart, thank God. No, Richard Taggart would be in his late fifties by now. Probably gray with a paunch and a mean-looking mouth from all the glowering he’d done. The man standing in front of her wearing mirrored sunglasses and a uniform wasn’t old, wasn’t gray and certainly didn’t have a paunch. In fact, as her eyes traveled up, up, up his very long, very mouthwatering body, she doubted he had a single ounce of fat on his tall, lean, superbly conditioned form. Not that she was noticing. She worked with men all the time. Fellow models, photographers, directors…and while she definitely liked to look, and sometimes even liked to touch—on her terms thank you very much—this man would never interest her. He wore a cop’s uniform and a sheriff’s badge, and ever since prom night she had a serious aversion to both. Not to mention her aversion to authority period. “I don’t have my license,” she said, dismissing him by not looking into his face. Rude, yes, but it was nothing personal. She might have even told him so, if she cared what he thought, which she didn’t. “No license,” he repeated. What a voice. Each word sent a zing of awareness tingling through her every nerve ending. He could have made a fortune as a voice talent. His low, slightly rough tone easily conjured up erotic fantasies out of thin air. “That’s a problem, the no-license thing,” he said. Having clearly decided she was no threat, he removed his sunglasses, stuck them in his shirt pocket and leaned on her car with casual ease, his big body far too close and…male. She took back the whole voice-talent thing; he should go bigger and hit the big screen. She didn’t need her vivid imagination to picture him up there as a romantic action-adventure hero. Without the uniform, of course. Obviously unaware of the direction her thoughts had taken, he nodded agreeably at her lack of inclination to apologize over not having a license. But one look at that firm mouth, hard jaw and unforgiving gaze, and Cassie knew this man was agreeable only when it suited him. A car raced past them, a blue sedan with a little old lady behind the wheel. “Hey,” Cassie said, straightening and craning her neck to catch the car vanish around the corner. “That lady was going way faster than me!” “Mrs. Spelling?” He shrugged and tapped his pen on his ticket book. “She’s late picking up her grandkids.” “She’s speeding,” Cassie said through clenched teeth. “Well, you were speeding first.” He cocked his head all friendly-like. “And you’re not carrying your ID because…?” Because she’d left New York in a hurry. That was what happened when three incredibly shocking things occurred all at the same time. One, she was being stalked. The man doing so had been a friend. That is, until she’d declined to sleep with him—which is when it’d turned ugly. Seems that if he couldn’t have her, he wanted her dead. Her agent, her friends and her fiercely worried cousin had all insisted she get the hell out of Dodge—and since Cassie was rather fond of living, she had agreed. What better place to disappear than in a town that had never seen her in the first place? Two, her mother had decided to sail around the world with her latest boyfriend. She would be away indefinitely, which meant she’d left Cassie a surprising and early inheritance. That Cassie had been forced to come back to Pleasantville to take care of that inheritance coincided with her need to vacate New York for a while. The third shocking thing wasn’t life-altering, but had bothered her enough that she’d dreamed of it for the past several days. Kate had found their high school diaries and the ridiculous lists they’d each made that fateful night in the tree house after their disastrous prom. Lists that included their childish wish for revenge on a town that had always spurned them. Cassie’s was inspired, if a bit immature, and she eyed the sheriff again, remembering what she’d written. 1 Drive a fancy car, preferably sunshine-yellow because that’s a good color for me. 2 Get the sheriff—somehow, some way, but make it good. 3 Live in the biggest house on Lilac Hill. 4 Open a porn shop—Kate’s idea, but it’s a good one. 5 Become someone. Note: this should have been number one. Amusing. Childish. And damn tempting, given that she had already nailed number one. Maybe that’s all she’d ever accomplish, driving a fancy yellow car, but one thing she’d come to realize in her most interesting career, she had a zest for life. She wanted to live. But if anyone thought she wanted to live here, they needed to think again. She’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth removed. Without drugs. She took off her sunglasses and immediately wished she hadn’t. The glare of the sun made her squint, and she hated to squint. She also felt…exposed. The way she hadn’t felt since her very first day of kindergarten, walking in with a big smile that slowly faded when all the other kids and their mean moms had stopped to whisper. Tremaine. White trash. Daughter of a tramp. Wild child. At age five, she’d had no idea what those whispered words meant. But even then she’d recognized the judgment, so she’d simply lifted her chin to take the verbal knocks. She did the same now. “I don’t have my license because it’s not in my purse,” she said, refusing to explain herself to anyone in this town. Including a cop. Especially a cop. “Hmm. I hadn’t realized Cassie Tremaine Montgomery was famous enough to not need ID.” “You know who I am.” His lips curved. “I’ve seen the catalogs. Interesting work you’ve gotten for yourself.” “Those catalogs are for women.” “With you in silk and lace on page after page?” He shook his head, that small smile looking quite at home on his very generous mouth. “Don’t fool yourself. Those catalogs are scoured from front to back by men all across the country.” “Is that why you pulled me over? You wanted to meet me in person?” Disdain came easily for any man with authority, especially this one. “Or is it because I’m driving an expensive and brightly colored sports car?” “Contrary to popular belief,” he said conversationally, “cops don’t necessarily have an attraction to all cars painted red or yellow. What we do have, however, is an attraction to speeding vehicles.” “And this has to do with me because…?” “Because you were speeding,” he said in that patient—and incredible—voice that told her he thought she was the village idiot, not the other way around. Then he straightened and waved his ticket book. “The question now is, were you going fast enough to warrant reckless driving.” Cassie never gaped, it went against the grain, but she did so now. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” As he had before, he leaned in, resting his weight on his arm, which lay across her open window. It wasn’t a beefy arm, or a scrawny one, but somewhere in between, more on the side of tough and sinewy. Again, not that she was noticing. He was probably a jackass, as Richard Taggart had been. He was probably prejudiced against anything different from his small-town norm. He was probably mean-spirited and stupid, as well—most men that good-looking were. For the second time she considered going the batting-the-eyelashes route. It would work. She’d been rendering men stupid with her looks for a very long time now. In that spirit, she put her saucy smile in place to butter him up. His slate-blue eyes went as sharp as stone. He wasn’t going to fall for the saucy smile, damn it, so she let it fade. “Look, I wasn’t reckless driving. And you already know who I am so the license isn’t really necessary.” In front of them, an older couple started to cross the street. Cassie ignored them until they stopped and stared at her, then started whispering furiously to themselves. Recognition came sharply to Cassie—they’d run the drugstore years ago, where she’d done her best to prove to the town she was just as wild as they thought by purchasing condoms regularly. “Oh, forget it,” she said on a sigh. “Just do what you have to do.” “Which would be what, do you think?” Well, hopefully it wouldn’t be to make her get out of the car so he could try to feel her up. “You could let me go.” He smiled at that. A slow, wide smile that had her heart skipping a beat. “But you were speeding.” “Maybe I’m in a hurry to get out of here.” “Wouldn’t be the first time, so I hear.” Now what would he know about her fast exit after graduation? She took another long look at him, squinting through the bright sun to see his name. Taggart. Oh, my God. “You’re…” “Sheriff Sean Taggart. You can call me Tag, most do.” Suddenly she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t have managed a smile to save her life. Pulling back, she stared straight ahead out her windshield. “You’re Richard’s son.” “That would be correct.” It wasn’t bad enough she’d had to put her entire life on hold because some jerk had decided if he couldn’t have her, he’d terrorize her. Or that she had to be here while her life was on hold. No, she had to run into her old nightmares to boot. That, added to her current nightmares…God, she needed a cigarette. Too bad she’d quit smoking five years ago. “Just give me my ticket then.” He was silent for so long she broke her own code and turned to look at him. Silent—still, even—but not idle. His eyes reflected all sorts of interesting things, mostly curiosity. “You know my father.” No. Her mother had known him. Cassie had just hated and feared him. “The ticket?” “Now you’re in a hurry to get your ticket? What’s up, Cassie?” The sound of her first name in his incredibly sensuous voice seemed so…intimate. “Like I said, I’m in a hurry to get out of here.” “Are you on your way out then? Already?” She opened her mouth to remind him that was none of his business but her cell phone rang. It was Kate. “Did you get there yet?” came her worried voice across the line. “Are you okay? How is it? You run into anyone we know? Talk to me.” Cassie stared up at the tall, dark and intensely handsome sheriff. “Kate, your timing is something.” “Oh, honey. Who is it? That mean old Mrs. McIntyre? Mrs. Wilkens? Because if it is—” “As a matter of fact,” Cassie said, slowly smiling as her and Tag’s gazes locked. “It’s Sheriff Taggart.” “Is that old fart still sheriff?” “No, Tag here is Richard’s son.” When her gaze ran down the front of him, slowly, across his broad shoulders and what looked like a very promising chest and flat belly, over his trousers, which lovingly cupped powerful thighs and everything in between, then back up again, he lifted a daring brow, then gave her the same slow perusal. Good, she thought in triumph. He was just a man after all, a man run by the equipment between his legs. A man who’d possibly forget to write that ticket due to the fact her little yellow sundress not only matched the car she’d bought herself last year but also accented the body she’d been well paid for over the years. “Cassie,” Kate said into her ear. “I worry about you there, all alone.” “I’m used to being alone.” Funny how that worked. She was surrounded by people all day long and yet it was true. She was utterly alone. “I mean because of your stalker.” Cassie’s stomach tightened with the fear she pretended not to feel and glanced at Tag, who was unabashedly eavesdropping. “I’m safe enough here.” She hoped. “The guy slashed all your tires in the hopes of leaving you stranded, remember?” “I do.” “And then he ruined two photo shoots—” “I remember all of it, Kate.” “I’m sorry, of course you do. Okay, subject change. You going to be okay facing what Flo left you?” That had been a shocker. That her mother had actually come out on the winning side after all, after always being considered the town joke. Seems the men in her life had come through, over the years gifting her a prime piece of real estate downtown, an amazing turn-of-the-century house on Lilac Hill overlooking town, and supposedly some other equally valuable things she needed Cassie to take care of. Cassie still couldn’t believe it. “Cassie?” “I’m okay, Mom,” she said, and accomplished what she’d wanted. Kate laughed. “Call me back.” “Oh, I will.” She clicked off and tossed the phone into the back seat. Then looked at Tag. “So…” Tag looked right back. “What do you mean, you’re safe enough here?” “It’s considered rude to eavesdrop.” “Talk to me, Cassie.” Oh, right. Terrified as she might be in the deep dark of night, she’d rather face the boogeyman bare-ass naked before asking this man for help. “If I do, can we skip the ticket?” Now he laughed and, good Lord, she hoped that wasn’t a weapon he used often because just the sound could make a grown woman quiver with delight. She was fighting doing just that—uniform or not—when he flipped open the ticket book and started writing. 2 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 Caf? 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 Caf?, 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. 3 OH, YEAH, Tag thought. No doubt about it, Cassie Tremaine Montgomery had a smile capable of rendering a grown man stupid. The outfit didn’t hurt, either. Or lack of outfit. Did she have any idea how she looked standing there in the glow of the lantern wearing…what the hell was that black thing anyway? It had wispy little straps that would be easy to nudge off with one fingertip, or a single touch of his tongue. One already hung off her arm. The bodice was sheer, except for the lace roses that strategically covered her nipples. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jill-shalvis/naughty-but-nice/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.