My Reckless Surrender

He was no Deputy Dawg—and a far cry from Barney Fife. In fact, he was…a cop god. With thick, dark hair and olive skin, a day’s growth of stubble covering his strong jaw, and shoulders that filled out his beige uniform quite nicely, he was…shockingly hot. Even behind mirrored sunglasses. And in Destiny, of all places! How was that possible?

But then she recalled her friend Amy—who still lived here—mentioning some sexy-as-sin Romo being a town policeman. Her heart beat faster than before, and she suddenly had to work to control her breathing.

Even while he snarled at her.

But wait—stop. Get hold of yourself.

Sure, he’s hot—but he’s a Romo. And a mean, growly one at that.

He proved her point by glancing back down to grouse, “Out-of-state license.”

“That would be because I live out of state,” she heard herself reply dryly. She didn’t normally talk back to cops, but apparently she just couldn’t take this attitude from a Romo lying down.

Not that she would mind lying down with him. If he were a little nicer. And not a Romo, of course. But he was—and her unwitting attraction to him was making her all the more irate.

Her remark earned another handsome scowl, to which he added, “Edna’s not frail or ailing, by the way. So your excuse doesn’t fly.”

Oops. Clearly, he knew the town well enough to know Edna was the only Farris left who might have a granddaughter coming to see her. “Well, that’s not how she tells it,” she argued. “All I know is that she summoned me to help with the apple harvest, so that’s what I’m doing—if you’ll kindly let me go on my way.”

To her surprise, he lowered his chin, appearing suspicious. “You don’t look like much of an orchard worker.”

Who asked you? She bit her tongue for once, though, and tried to regain her composure. In fact, it suddenly hit her that all her powers of persuasion had pretty much gone out the window somewhere along the way. So she gave her head a confident tilt, and in her smoothest voice replied, “My skill set might surprise you.” And…hmm, was that being confident—or flirting?

“And no way I’m letting you off that easy,” he added.

Okay, didn’t matter whether it was confidence or flirtation since, either way, it hadn’t worked. So now she scowled at him. “Come on, Romo, cut me a break.”

When his dark eyebrows rose behind those sunglasses, she realized what she’d just said—but again, she couldn’t let him…win. Since, that quickly, that’s what it felt like with this guy—a matter of winning or losing. Farris vs. Romo. She couldn’t let him get the best of her without at least fighting back.

“I’ve got news for you, Farris,” he practically growled. “Maybe you can argue your way out of tickets up in Chicago, but not in Destiny. You were going twenty over the limit.”

Whoops. Twenty? Really? Still…“Can I be honest with you?” It was time for a new tactic.

“All right,” he said dryly, sounding doubtful already.

But that didn’t stop her from gazing up into that sexy cop-god face, and saying, with true sincerity, “When such a low speed limit is posted on such a wide-open stretch of highway, I don’t actually know how a person can be expected to go so slow. I’m sure you know what I mean—it’s nearly impossible.”

And when he peered down on her, his expression softening a bit, she suspected he was beginning to understand her point—and she found herself wishing she could see his eyes. Were they as gorgeous as the rest of him? What color were they? Brown, maybe? That was when he said to her in a completely patronizing tone, “Let me explain it to you, Farris. You ease. Off. The gas.”

Okay, he was hot as hell—but still a jerk. So she forgot all about his eyes and said, “Romos always were smart-asses.”

“Farrises,” he announced, “set the bar for being smart-asses. Not to mention the fact that they have a long history of not abiding by the law.”

All right, that might be true, but she still rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner and tried to look deeply insulted. “Can you just give me my ticket now so I can get to Edna’s before she has a heart attack or something?”

Mike Romo seldom stood around arguing with traffic offenders, but something about this woman had gotten under his skin, quick. Maybe the fact that she was a city girl to the bone, made obvious not only by her arrogant attitude but by the stylish haircut that didn’t quite reach her shoulders, the trendy dark jeans she wore, and the sleek-looking scarf hanging loose around her neck. Or maybe it was because she was extremely attractive—blond, slender, the works—and had probably thought that would get her off the hook. Or…maybe it was just because most people didn’t have the nerve to backtalk him when openly breaking the law.

“I could arrest you, you know,” he informed her—mainly because her lack of regard for authority pissed him off. Yet as he heard his own words, something low in his gut warmed, and he realized he could think of a plenty of things to do to her that would be a lot more pleasant than arrest.