Wet and Reckless (Private Pleasures 4)

Sheezus. She staggered back. His arm came around her waist to catch her. Or capture her. Intent was a little hard to make out, but the ease by which he could do either sent a hairline fracture through her newly reinforced confidence. “What are you doing lurking outside the ladies’ room?” Not liking how flustered she sounded, she added a hair toss and then took a deep drag on her cigarette.

His eyes grew darker as his pupils expanded. “Waiting for you.” He plucked the cigarette from her fingers and crushed it under his heel.

“Hey!”

“You’re quitting, remember?”

“I’m trying to quit. As in, a work in progress.”

“Let me give you some incentive. The next time I see a cigarette in your mouth, I’ll—”

“You’ll what, Officer?” Enough. She’d had enough of him treating her like a defiant schoolgirl. She wasn’t a kid, she wasn’t breaking any laws, and she was in just the mood to make him crawl. She closed the space between them and batted her lashes. “You’ll give me something else to suck on?”

His eyes turned a shade darker. A rebellious urge to march back into the ladies’ room, grab the cigarettes, and put his unvoiced threat to the test swept through her, but evidently, he read her like a comic book because he took her arm. “Don’t even think about it. Come on. We’re leaving.”

“Wait.” She dug in her heels. “Addy’s giving me a ride home. She’s got my purse.”

“Addy wanted to call it a night. I told her I’d take you home. Your purse is in my truck.”

“She left?” Even as she asked the question, she scanned the thinning crowd and came up empty. Oh, shit. The notion of riding home with him did nothing to calm the riot going on just under her skin. Maybe she could talk him into dropping her off before he took Junior home? That would be safer. No alone time in the car, no chance to give in to unwise impulses. She looked around for the groom-to-be but saw only empty chairs where the bachelor partiers once sat. “Where’s Junior?”

“Lou Ann collected him. You’re the only one I’m responsible for, which is convenient since we’re going to the same place.”

Her stomach sank. “Yeah. Convenient.”

“Ready?”

Asking him to hang tight while she ran back into the ladies’ room and chain-smoked the rest of that pack probably wouldn’t end well for her, so she nodded and wove her way through the lingering diehards to the exit.

On the drive home, she stared out the window rather than admire what moonlight and shadows did for his profile. To combat the quiet, as well as her low-grade nicotine craving, she dug a pack of cinnamon gum from her purse and popped a stick in her mouth. Manners forced her to hold the pack out to him, but he declined with a shake of his head.

Of course not, she thought as she put the pack in her purse. No little vices for Officer Donovan. Maybe her body couldn’t help but react to the chemistry between them, but her mind couldn’t block out certain hard truths. The man didn’t like her. He didn’t trust her or approve of anything about her. And sure, she’d probably earned a small portion of his disapproval with the hitchhiking…and the expired license…and inadvertently trespassing, but she’d earn a lot worse if he ever learned she’d parked stolen property under his nose. Her chain of title to her own damn guitar had a few kinks in it thanks to the extenuating circumstances she’d found herself in, and he’d been crystal clear about his opinion of extenuating circumstances.

A smart woman in her position would keep her distance, not invite intimacies. Even temporary intimacies. Even strictly physical temporary intimacies that promised to relieve the frustrating ache he set off inside her just by breathing.

Not that he intended to offer her any relief. Oh, he wanted her. She knew enough about the laws of attraction to recognize want when she saw it. But she didn’t measure up to his minimum standards. Given a choice of partners for a diverting game of stop-and-frisk, he clearly preferred someone like the cocktail waitress—a woman with a valid driver’s license, a permanent address, and no skeletons in her closet. Just thinking of him taking the stacked brunette up on her very obvious offer made Roxy want to…scream? Cry? Slug him? It was hard to pin down because she didn’t have much experience with these feelings. A girl constantly on the move learned to connect with people easily and disconnect just as easily. She didn’t do jealous. She didn’t have a possessive streak. Forget about his low opinion of her. Forget about him being a by-the-book lawman. The fact that he provoked these unfamiliar and extremely uncomfortable emotions ought to be enough to warn her off.

Unfortunately, knowing he too felt the pull, and refused to give in to it, only made a contrary part of her more determined to push at him, and push at him, and keep on pushing until she pushed him past his limits.

“So, Roxy”—his low voice interrupted her thoughts—“after your stint at DeShay’s, what’s your plan?”

Translation: When am I rid of you?

She turned and tipped her head back so she could look down her nose at him—a pointless effort since he kept his eyes on the road, but still. “Plans aren’t really my thing. I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl.”

A muscle tensed in his jaw. “Where do you think the seat of your pants will fly you next?”

She could have just admitted she aimed to save up enough money to afford a ticket to L.A. Nashville’s music scene suited her better, but those bridges were burned to a crisp, and putting a span of miles between her and the charred remains made good sense. Besides, maybe her luck would be better in the City of Angels? Laying out such a plan to an officer of the law felt awfully official, though. Also, a small, wicked part of her wanted him to squirm. “Maybe nowhere.” She didn’t succeed in keeping the irritation out of her voice. “Maybe fate led me to Bluelick for keeps?”

“You’d be wasted in Bluelick.”

She spit her gum into her palm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I heard you last night. Your bedroom is directly below mine, and your concert carried through the vent.”

“Oh.” Now she felt bad. Yesterday had been long for him, and then he’d come home to her insomniac ways. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.” She dug the wrapper out of her pocket and wadded her gum into it. “I’ll try to keep it down from now on.”

He pulled the truck to the curb in front of their place and cut the engine. “You’re good.” Now he turned, and she found herself the recipient of his undivided attention. “Really good.”