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Stroll to the rear of the car. Make sure it’s a do-me walk. Then place your hands on the trunk, feet apart, and arch your back. Slowly smile at your prey.
Scarlet stretched like a cat, then moved into position. She purposely stood far away so the pose she struck looked seductive. She didn’t know why she did it, other than she got perverse satisfaction in needling Officer Hinton. It was rapidly becoming her new favorite game to play.
Piss Off Hinton. Coming to stores near you. Oops, I dropped my license in the vodka. Is that a nightstick in your pocket or are you happy to see me? Make Officer Hinton crack, and you can win all the marbles!
He cleared his throat, snapping her out of the board-game commercial playing in her head. “Is this all the alcohol you have in the car?”
“Yes. And I have to say, your detective skills are lacking. That little bottle hasn’t been opened yet.”
Officer Hinton stared at her a good two minutes before approaching. “I’m doing my job, ma’am. Now, I’m going to briefly pat you down, Miss Rose.”
“No dinner first?” she said as she stared at the back of her bucket seat and pretended she got pulled over and frisked all the time. No big deal that a cop was about to run his hands all over her on the side of the road. She braced herself for his touch.
His hands moved beneath her arms, over her ribs, down her waist and hips to her thighs. Quickly, his hand slid inside her knee and moved down to her calves. It was quick, methodical and professional. No reason for any match to be struck. Nevertheless, Scarlet felt strange. Little pulses erupted in her belly. It shocked her. She hadn’t felt even a nudge of sexual interest since John. It made her want to get away from this small-town cop. Made her want to hide her emotions. Protect herself. Pretend she felt nothing.
The whole thing was crazy.
“Turn toward me, please.”
He’d taken off his sunglasses and it was as if a mask had been removed. He was damn gorgeous in a Robert Redford/Clint Eastwood sort of way. His eyes searched hers, presumably for signs she’d been swigging cough syrup. But the perusal didn’t feel accusatory. It felt raw. As though he was peering inside her soul. Inside to where her self-doubt hid along with her insecurities.
She pushed her sweaty bangs back and pretended she was on set.
Now Veronica portrays impatience. She needs to get rid of the cop. She can’t allow the cop to see who she really is.
But it didn’t work.
His green eyes were clear and searching. They unnerved, and she wanted to escape them.
“See? I haven’t been drinking anything other than a Diet Coke.” She looked down at the sunglasses she held. She should put them on. Protection from his all-knowing eyes.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, sliding his hand under her chin and tipping her face so her gaze was forced to meet his. His touch sizzled. Like, seriously scorched her bare skin. He jerked his hand away and a frisson of unease crept into his eyes.
He wasn’t supposed to touch her outside of the initial frisk. She knew that. Or she thought she knew it. But it had seriously felt…sexy. Almost like a caress.
Veronica will not react to the cop’s touch. She must retain control. Even if she wishes to slide her hands up his shoulders, even if she wishes to taste the mouth of the man who could tame her, who could—
Please. Who got hot and bothered by a cop on the side of the road in some backwater town?
She had to be suffering from heatstroke. Or low blood sugar. Anything to explain her reaction to Mr. Tall Blond Jackass.
She needed him to give her the damn ticket so she could head toward Aunt Frances’s bed-and-breakfast. Away from whatever strange thing pulsed between her and this cop. She’d driven too long without sleep and had to be partially delirious from road tripping.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough drunks to tell you’re clean. Wait here.” Officer Hinton spun on one motorcycle boot and stalked toward his cruiser. She was accustomed to following direction. Just not that of a pompous cop, so she sidled toward the open door of her car and sank onto the leather seat she’d abandoned moments before. She jabbed her sunglasses on her nose and tapped her fingernails against the steering wheel in an impatient manner.
She heard him approach. Heard the crunch of gravel beneath the boots. Heard the sound of a ticket being torn from the pad he’d carried.
“Here you go. Please note the ticket must be paid by the date on the bottom. There is also a court date listed if you wish to contest the citation.”
He handed it to her. No flourish. Matter-of-fact.
“Slow down and be safe.”
Bite me.
She took the ticket, slammed the door and cranked the engine of the secondhand-but-still-gorgeous convertible BMW. She also tugged the seat belt across her chest and clicked it. She didn’t need another ticket, thank you very much. But the devil inside her wouldn’t allow her to slink away like a meek mouse. No, the devil inside her bade her to crumple the ticket and toss it onto the floorboard.
The devil inside her usually won.
She flashed a blinding smile at Officer Adam Hinton as she pitched the wadded ticket toward the fast-food sack that held gum wrappers and gas receipts, along with the remains of her noon meal. “Thanks for the welcome home.”
He blinked. He hadn’t put on his mirrored glasses. “Home? Wait—” He looked at his notepad. “Summer Rose?”
She saw the dawning.
“You’re Rayne’s sister. But your stage name is Scarlet. The actress from the vampire show.” His gaze swept her, taking her in. She wasn’t wearing heavy makeup. No dramatic kohl-rimmed eyes or overly plumped red lips. No catsuit. No bra that pushed her boobs so high she could prop her chin on them. She looked very little like the vampire queen who ran the fictional Collinstown. And very much like a regular twenty-six-year-old.
“Wow. Your powers of deduction are better than I thought. You had my name right there and everything. A real brainiac.” She gestured to the clipboard in his hand. She was being a smart-ass but didn’t care. She was pissed at him for embarrassing her with the whole DUI test and for making her react to his touch. How damn weak was she? Getting turned-on by a random cop? Pathetic. And that made her mad.
Because he had no right to make her feel anything.
She wasn’t ready to embrace any frisson of desire. Not ready to welcome that small pique of interest. Not ready to move past the ache she clung to deep, deep down in her heart. She was dead to love.
She fingered the charm on the gold chain about her neck and begrudgingly looked into the cop’s eyes.
She’d crumpled his ticket, then insulted him. The veneer of control he wore like a shield had cracked. He looked not quite so in control. “I would have let you off with a warning. I’m a friend of Rayne’s new husband. But since you seem as much of a bitch as the character you play, I’m glad I didn’t.”
Scarlet gasped. Yes. Gasped. “How dare you? I’m reporting you to the police chief. This is an outrage, a—”
“Good luck with that.” He slapped a hand against the hood of the car and turned toward his cruiser. “Have a nice day.”
Scarlet moved her hand to make the universal sign of disdain, barely an afterthought for most New Yorkers. But she stopped herself. He was an officer of the law and this was Texas. So she grabbed the steering wheel instead and pressed the accelerator.
It was totally immature, but as the gravel spun beneath her wheels, Scarlet felt a momentary flash of satisfaction. She hoped the bits of rock hit his polished boots and scuffed them. Damn him. Calling her a bitch. She wasn’t a bitch. She played one, but wasn’t one. Officer Tight Ass was wrong.
Okay, sure. She had it in her. All women did. But he’d been the one to play the power card and force her to be frisked and humiliated on the outskirts of town. So she’d been mouthy. What of it?
Bastard.
Scarlet’s car ate up the two miles of dilapidated houses, appliance-repair shops and boarded-over junk stores that dotted the highway leading into downtown Oak Stand. As she rolled, she grew even more aggravated at the cop and his stupid speeding ticket. She didn’t care how damn sexy he looked in his uniform. Or how his touch had heated her blood. A friend of Brent Hamilton? That figured. Brent was a creep extraordinaire with gorgeous baby-blue eyes and a body that would make a nun toss her habit. He’d romanced most of the women in town. In fact, the last time Scarlet had been in Oak Stand, he’d tried to hook up with her.
Ugh. She had to talk some sense into her flighty sister before Rayne got hitched to a player of epic proportion. Brent spelled heartache and she had already had enough of that in her life. Scarlet knew what was up. Brent had hoodwinked her sister with his greasy smile and hot bod in order to hitch his wagon to Rayne’s rising star. As soon as she had mentioned the M word, Scarlet knew she would have to do more than protest from afar. She needed to go to Texas. Thank goodness she was on hiatus. Small favors.
But the cop had said new husband.
Scarlet’s mind stutter-stepped. Surely, Rayne and Brent weren’t already married. Her older sister had said maybe sometime in September. It was still August. Very hot, sticky, sweltering August.
Rayne wouldn’t get married and not tell Scarlet. No matter how badly their last conversation had gone.
Would she?
The town square materialized in front of her windshield, withered green and stereotypically small. Large oak trees hunkered in the shady park that centered the town. Brick streets, tired businesses and faded signs wrapped round it, clinging to the park like a toddler. Last spring, a tornado had ripped through town, leaving many businesses damaged. The First United Methodist Church of Oak Stand still lacked a steeple and several businesses remained boarded up. But otherwise, Oak Stand looked the same.
She rounded the square, noticing it seemed busier than usual. Almost every parking spot was taken, including all the ones in front of the Dairy Barn, the hometown diner that masqueraded as haute cuisine here. Directly in front of the Oak Stand Baptist Church were several vans with Horizon Blue Production Company on the side panel. Horizon Blue was the company contracted to film Rayne Rose’s A Taste of Texas, a cooking and travel show debuting on a food channel. But that was to be filmed at Serendipity Inn, her aunt’s newly refurbished bed-and-breakfast. And production wasn’t scheduled to begin until September.
Or so Scarlet thought.
She slowed her car as she approached the front of the church. Only one man stood outside the closed doors, camera held at his side. Hmm. Something was going on and she suspected it had to do with Rayne.
She searched for a parking spot, but there were none near the church. She circled the square again, looking for an empty slot, finally finding one on a side street next to the old green stamp store. She leaped out of the car, grabbed her new Marc Jacobs bag and pressed the lock on her remote key chain. She walked quickly through the shady park. Squirrels scampered out of her way and the fountain with the Rufus Tucker topper spewed tepid water. A trickle of sweat rolled between her shoulder blades and she prayed her deodorant worked as well as the ads claimed. ’Cause it was Texas hot. Beyond all degrees known.
She stepped onto the sidewalk on the other edge of the park as the double doors of the church swept open. Her sister, splendid in a soft ivory bridal gown, appeared like an angel on the elbow of the handsome Brent Hamilton. They were grinning from ear to ear at the cameras whirring around them. Brent caught his glowing bride in his arms and kissed her.
His timing couldn’t have been better, though he was not an actor.
The happy couple clasp each other and stare into each other’s eyes, blissfully happy. Cue the family around them, basking in the love the couple shares.
Everyone behind them “oohed” and “aahed.”
Exactly.
Camera Two, get a close-up of angry sister’s face. She’s bewildered, hurt and furious. She won’t stand for what has occurred.
Scarlet narrowed her eyes and stalked across the street toward her sister and Brent. The hurt that thumped in her chest was soon overshadowed by the anger rushing into her, whooshing in her ears, shooting out of her fingertips. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Couldn’t believe the timing. The irony beat down on her. She’d driven across the country to stop this very event.
Brent and Rayne broke apart and everyone clapped. Arm in arm, they turned and started down the steps toward the limo that pulled in behind Scarlet. She planted herself in Rayne and Brent’s path.
Rayne’s smile faltered when she saw Scarlet standing in front of the car, arms crossed. Rayne looked beyond beautiful. Absolutely tasteful, refined and…a little scared. Scarlet couldn’t believe her older sister had gotten married and not invited her.
The pain razored across her heart again, but Scarlet ignored it. “Guess I missed the ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ part of the ceremony.”
“Scarlet,” Rayne stammered, glancing desperately at her handsome groom. “You came!”
Cameras edged closer, but Scarlet was accustomed to being in front of them. They were an afterthought. “Yeah. I came to stop this sham of a wedding.”
Rayne’s eyes grew as big as the diamond on her left hand. Which was pretty damned big. Her sister looked at Brent, who glared at Scarlet.
“See? I told you not to call her,” he said.
“Call me?” Scarlet looked past the elegant lace on her sister’s shoulder to where her mother and father stood with Aunt Frances. They looked fairly alarmed, too. “No one called me.”
One cameraman came too close. Scarlet whirled. “Back off, buddy. This is between me and my sister.”
He immediately stepped back.
Amateur.
“Scarlet, you’re making a scene,” Brent said, taking her elbow so he could move her out of the way.
“Really?” Scarlet asked, trying like hell not to cry. Rayne had married this too-good-looking waste of skin. Scarlet was too late. All that effort to stop Rayne from making a colossal lapse in judgment, and Scarlet had arrived an hour too late.
If only that cop hadn’t stopped her. She might have made it. Might have burst in and objected…on the grounds that Brent Hamilton was a man-whore and not fit to lick the soles of her sister’s shoes.
“I always make a scene,” Scarlet said drily, wrenching her elbow from his grasp and ignoring him. She looked at her sister instead. “Rayne?”
“Sorry, Scarlet. I love you, but I love Brent, too. We’re married and we’re staying that way. I don’t care if he screwed half of Texas, he’s my husband now. So stop the drama.” Rayne pushed past Scarlet, dragging Brent with her. The limousine driver opened the door with a flourish.
Rayne turned around. “You can come to Serendipity and celebrate with us if you’d like.”
Then she disappeared into the depths of the car with Brent right behind her. Henry, Rayne’s son, sped by Scarlet and leaped onto Brent’s lap.
“Come on, Aunt Scarlet! We’re gonna party!” he yelled out the window as the limo pulled away from the curb.
Scarlet didn’t say a thing. She couldn’t have if she wanted. She’d failed miserably. She felt like crying into a vodka tonic, but Oak Stand was a dry town. Hell. If there was any time she needed a drink, it was now.
Her mind tripped back to the little bottle of rum lying beside the crumpled speeding ticket. It was all she had to take away the sting of failure. The sting of hurt.
Man, this day sucked.
CHAPTER TWO
HE’D LOST HIS COMPOSURE.
Not cool. He shouldn’t have baited her. Shouldn’t have implied she was a bitch. And he damned sure shouldn’t have touched her.
Adam Hinton dusted the dirt and gravel off his boots as he watched the taillights of the BMW fade into the distance. He’d polished the black motorcycle boots last night and now they looked dusty.
Damn it.
He reached inside the cruiser for the backpack holding an assortment of necessities. First-aid kit, flashlight, extra clothes and other things he might need when away from the small house he rented in the middle of Oak Stand. He pulled a package of wet wipes from the depths. Not the best thing to use on leather, but it would do. He’d apply another coat of polish later tonight.
He needed to stop by the Hamilton reception. He’d told Brent he would, even though technically he was on duty. It could count as his lunch hour. He liked both Rayne and Brent, though he didn’t know them as well as others in the small town did. He’d only been in Oak Stand for nine months. But as the newly appointed police chief, it was in his best interest to drop by the much-anticipated event. Nearly everyone in the town had been invited to the wedding and reception, which was being filmed as the premiere of A Taste of Texas, a new show featuring Rayne Rose, a rising chef in the culinary world. Not only was it a joyous celebration of the love shared between the couple, but also of the opportunity Rayne Rose had given Oak Stand when she’d talked the network into using Serendipity Inn as the base for filming the show. Everyone was thrilled about the potential benefit to a town still trying to get on its feet after a tornado ripped through last spring.
Everyone except obviously one smoking-hot redhead.
The image of Scarlet arching against the rear of the BMW like a naughty advertisement for porn popped into his mind. She’d had him salivating at the blatant taunt. He’d done his best to remain impassive, but inside his libido had ratcheted up several notches and revved to near out of control.
She was everything he wanted and nothing he needed.
Adam felt his groin tighten. Oh, yeah. Scarlet Rose was the type of woman he lusted after. Lush, brash and absolutely naughty. He liked the girls who wore their clothes too tight, drank Bud from a bottle and had tattoos of La Vida Loca on their backside. Years ago, he’d gone through a parade of women who threw things at him when they got angry, wore cheap red lace bras and drove him totally over the edge.
Why he preferred trouble to perfectly acceptable in a sweater set escaped him. He supposed it had something to do with his father and his sexcapades. That’s exactly what his shrink would say. Perhaps Adam could explore that line of reasoning the next time he went to Houston and saw Dr. Fitzgerald. Maybe he could find out why coiffed blondes with monogrammed stationary turned him off. Why cute soccer moms with juice packs and empty smiles left him cold. And why women who went to Bible study and drank hot tea with lemon made him want to run for the hills.
Because those kinds of women were what a police chief needed. An acceptable lady. Not a sex kitten.
He gave himself a mental shake and pulled his thoughts from women of his past, present and future.
He was on the clock with a job to do.
