That Reckless Night

Green as summer moss with flecks of brown that reminded him of a Wyoming meadow in the spring, her eyes were framed by long, black lashes that dusted her cheekbones, and he had to remember not to stare. Hell, she was gorgeous.

“Careful—you keep staring like that I might get the wrong impression about you,” she teased.

“And what impression would that be?” He didn’t know how to play this game anymore and he’d never been particularly good at it in the first place. He was already out of his element—new place, new job—why not chat up the prettiest woman in the bar and see where it took him?

She responded with another throaty laugh and his groin tightened, warming in places he’d nearly forgotten about in the past year, but she switched gears, saying, “So, I’m guessing you’re not a fisherman.... What brings you to Homer of all places?”

Jeremiah hesitated, not quite sure how much he wanted to share about his personal life. He smiled, going for a variation of the truth. “A change in scenery,” he answered, taking a swig of his beer. “What about you? What’s kept you in Homer?”

Her smile faltered the tiniest bit but she recovered within a blink, returning to her previously bold assessment of him without being the least bit coy. “Are you married?” she asked. He lifted his left hand, showing her his ringless finger, and she scoffed. “That doesn’t mean anything. Half the men in this town don’t wear rings—that doesn’t mean someone isn’t waiting for them to come home at night.”

“No one is waiting for me,” he said. No one at all. He shook off the pull of sad memories and focused on the woman smiling at him. “And how about you? Beautiful woman in a small town? I find it hard to believe someone hasn’t laid claim to you already.”

“I don’t like to be tied down...unless I’m the one in charge of the rope.”

Another flush of arousal heated his groin at her suggestive answer and he nearly choked on his beer. He’d always found couples who claimed they’d felt an instant chemistry with one another to be exaggerating. How could you be instantly, insanely attracted to someone you’d only just met? Seemed the stuff of fairy tales and rom-com movies that he usually avoided, and yet, his blood was moving at a fine clip with just one look from this beautiful stranger. How did a woman like her get stuck in a fishing village like Homer without getting snagged by a local? He tipped his beer back, intrigued. “So, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Where are you from?” she countered.

“Wyoming.” He grinned. “Your turn. Name?”

Her smile deepened and she leaned forward far enough for him to get a nice whiff of her perfume. “Are names really necessary?” she asked. “Here’s the thing.... I think you’re pretty easy on the eyes and I’m ready to get out of here. Catch my drift?”

“Are you asking me to go home with you?”

“I am.” She swigged her beer like a woman who was used to playing poker with the guys and taking all their cash at the end of the night. There was something about her that pulsed like a live wire—dangerous and hot.

And he wanted to feel the burn. Desperately.

“No names. No personal details. Should I be worried?”

“You should be very worried,” she said with a mock-solemn nod that only served to make his heart rate triple. “Didn’t your mama ever warn you not to pick up strange women in bars?”

“She might’ve missed that one,” he said, sliding his tongue along his bottom lip, mimicking her own subconscious gesture. He knew a little about human nature. He’d taken a course in college on body language when he’d been considering a career in law enforcement. He hadn’t become a cop but he’d found the course had been beneficial nonetheless. And right now, she was throwing off major “come and get me” signals from the way she was angling her hips toward his and the tiny dart of her tongue along the seam of her lips, teasing him with the slow, wet slide, practically sending out a gilded invitation to throw her down on the dirty floor. It was hard to remember that he wasn’t a randy college kid but a grown man with responsibilities, especially when he was looking at ending a yearlong celibate streak.

“My place is just around the corner,” she said, reading his mind. “Interested?”

He wanted to shout hell yes but a sliver of reserve had him counter, “Not that I’m not interested but how about you? Didn’t your father ever warn you about taking off with strange men from bars? I could be a pervert or a serial killer.”