Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

“It will help keep the cut clean until a scab forms. You can take it off in a little while.”

“Speaking of a little while, county dispatch said there’s a car in the area. A deputy should be here in a few minutes.” Her hand fell away from his hair, rested on his shoulder for a moment, and then withdrew altogether. “I can take it from here. Don’t feel like you have to stick around.”

“I’m a witness.” He used the towel to clean the raw spot on her arm. She sucked in a breath and he immediately lightened his touch. “Sorry.” His thumb caressed the skin on the inside of her arm, and inadvertently brushed the outer swell of her breast. The room shrank and got about a thousand degrees hotter.

Her eyes darted to his and then, just as quickly, bounced away, and even though he couldn’t read minds, he knew she was thinking about last night. “I’m okay.”

What part of last night was she thinking of? “You are way better than okay.” He put antibacterial cream on the wound and covered it with another Band-Aid, then tipped her head up and turned his attention to the scrape on her chin.

“Was that a line, Shaun? You’re going to make me think you weren’t serious about last night being a mistake.”

Don’t. “Were you?” He leaned in closer…to tend to the scrape, and inhaled her lemon and honey scent.

“I was, at the time, yes. I have really good reasons for wanting to avoid any, um, mistakes right now. But…”

Don’t do it. “But”—he waited until she lowered her chin and looked at him—“some mistakes are worth repeating?”

A pulse hammered at the base of her throat. “If we could keep things on the down lo—”

“County Sheriff!” A knock rattled the door at the same time the deputy announced himself. Ginny jumped about a mile.

“Good God.” She closed her eyes and rested her palm on her heart, as if to calm it, then opened them and smiled up at him in a way that made him want to calm his heart. “Who said there’s never a cop around when you need one?”

Chapter Six

Ginny’s stomach sank a bit when she saw the tall, lanky, crew-cut blond with ice-chip blue eyes staring back at her through the door of the salon. Another deputy—a forty-something bald guy with a beer gut overhanging his utility belt—stood there as well, but thankfully she didn’t recognize him. She unlocked and held the door open for them. “Hey, Trent.” She gave him a quick hug.

“Hey Ginny.” Trent Sullivan returned the hug and then pulled back and flashed the orthodontist-perfected smile that had made him the most popular lifeguard at the Bluelick municipal pool when they’d been teenagers. He’d gotten taller and filled out some since then, but he’d changed very little in the year or so since she’d last hooked up with him on a Saturday night at Rawley’s after one too many white wines.

Hoping to avoid an ill-timed trip down memory lane, she jumped on the first safe topic that sprang to mind and tapped the badge on his chest. “You joined the sheriff’s department?”

Trent squared his shoulders and struck a pose. “Chicks dig the uniform.” His smile deepened as he looked her over, issuing a not-so-subtle invitation. And why wouldn’t he? It had worked for him in the past.

“You look very official.” She glanced over at Shaun, who was doing his silent observer thing. Was he feeling jealous? Territorial?

He raised one dark eyebrow at her, and she caught the faintest trace of a grin on his unfairly irresistible lips. Completely unfazed. That’s what he was. As if he knew damn well he’d wrung responses out of her body last night that nobody else had come close to achieving…including her. The arrogant so-and-so. If he dared call her sweet Virginia right now, she’d strangle him w

ith her bare hands.

Jebus, you’ve had sex with two-thirds of the men in this room. Was this fate’s way of reminding her why she’d instituted the sex hiatus in the first place? If so, it might be too little, too late, because the cocky thing totally worked on her…no white wine needed. It worked so well, she took a minute to realize Trent was still talking.

“…so then I got on board with the sheriff’s department earlier this year, completed my eighteen weeks at the Department of Criminal Justice in Rochester a few months ago. I’ve been riding shotgun with Deputy Crocker here since then.”

Ginny stuck out her hand. “Deputy Crocker.”

“Virginia Boca,” Trent provided, while the older man chewed on a toothpick and shook her hand.

“Miz Boca.”

“And this,” she turned to Shaun, and realized she was about to learn his last name, “is my…um…my friend—”

“Hey Shaun,” Trent said and stepped forward. “Long time no see.” The two men shook hands.

Deputy Crocker lifted his chin in greeting. “Shaun.”

“Crocker.”

So much for learning his last name. She didn’t know whether to be intrigued or worried by the fact he seemed to be on a first-name basis with the deputies, but she didn’t have a chance to give the issue much thought because Crocker sent Trent outside to take pictures of the graffiti and canvass the area for any additional evidence. Then the older deputy produced a clipboard and a form, and starting peppering her with questions. He took her statement, interrupting several times to “clarify” facts she’d been perfectly clear about. She didn’t consider herself an especially short-tempered person, but getting run over by some asshole after he painted a rude name on her wall and putting up with the skeptical third-degree from Crocker worked her last nerve.