How Cat Got a Life

By Tatiana March

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

2665 N Atlantic Ave #349

Daytona Beach, FL 32118

How Cat Got a Life

Copyright © 2011, Tatiana March

Edited by Darlena Cunha and Liza Green

Cover art by Kendra Egert, www.creationsbykendra.com

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-345-4

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic release: June 2011

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

There had to be some mistake.

Sheriff Brock Leonetti stared at the woman standing in the middle of his office. He guessed she might be around thirty. Her chestnut hair made an elegant knot. The beige pencil skirt and cream silk blouse reeked of Old Money. A pair of tortoise shell glasses perched on her patrician nose.

She looked like a cross between a debutante and an accountant.

A young man hovered behind her, but Brock barely noticed.

“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.” He jerked to his feet and strode across the floor to the open area that housed his two deputies and an empty desk where the secretary used to sit.

He closed the door to keep their voices from carrying through.

“What the hell is going on?” He turned to Karen.

Walter, the older deputy, had his strong points but giving succinct answers wasn’t one of them.

Karen lowered her coffee mug with “Mothers do it with Love” in big red letters on the side and raised her brows. “What’s the problem?”

“You’re supposed to send the kids to my office and not notify the parents.”

Walter pretended to be reading the morning paper, but his weather-beaten face creased into a grin that stretched his bushy moustache.

Karen raised the mug again and took a sip. “We didn’t notify anyone. Walter picked them up at six, just when it started getting light. It didn’t seem worth dragging you out of bed. They swore they’d come in to see you at nine, and they have.”

“Are you telling me…?” Brock’s words trailed away. His gaze drew back to the half-glazed door. The woman stood still, facing his empty desk. The fact that she hadn’t turned around to stare after him sent an odd prickle of irritation down his skin.

“Yup.” Karen contemplated him over the rim of her cup. “That’s the two of them. They were almost at the top when Walter got to the Town Hall. The alarm had gone off, but they hadn’t caused any damage. Just some chalk on the brickwork and that’ll wash off when it rains.”

“Son of a bitch.” Brock shook his head, barely able to take in the facts. “She was doing the Clock Tower Challenge?”

“Yup.” Karen nodded. “Seemed real anxious about her son getting into trouble, so I told her the charges will be dropped after they’ve done forty hours of community service each.”

“Her son?” Brock’s eyes darted back to the woman. “They’re mother and son?”

“Yup.” The son’s sixteen, a freshman at LaSalle. A nerdy kid who skipped a couple of years at school. The mother’s visiting for the weekend.”

With a grunt of exasperation, Brock spun on his heels. What the hell was the world coming to when a grown woman was caught in a clandestine climb up thirty feet on the outside of a public building? Parents were supposed to condemn dangerous pranks, not take part in them. He stormed back into his office. She looked so fragile, so…feminine. The image of her tumbling through the air and smashing into the sidewalk flickered across his mind. Rage soared inside him, more potent than he would have expected.

As Brock settled behind the scuffed pine desk, he fisted his hands to control the urge to shake some sense into her. “Of all the idiots I’ve had in this office, you must take the prize. Not only do you jeopardize your own life, but you let your son risk his.”

“I—”

“You can damn well be quiet until I’ve finished.”

“I—”

“Quiet,” he thundered, then spoke to the pale young man who’d stepped out of her shadow. “Whose idea was it?”

The son glanced at the mother. “Mine.”

Brock took a deep breath in an effort to calm down. “And what gave you the harebrained notion to let your mother try a stunt like that? Last year, two boys fell and one of them broke his leg.”

“Those guys weren’t climbers. They didn’t know their elbow from their ass.”

Brock gave an angry snort to dismiss the suggestion that experience made the feat any less dangerous. “What’s your name, son?”

“Dalton. Dalton Bridgewater.”

“Dalton, you’ll be in this town for three years until you graduate. From now on, I’ll hold you responsible for your mother. Don’t let her get into trouble again.”

“Excuse me.” The woman edged between them. “I resent the assumption that I’m under the supervision of a sixteen year old.”

Her shoulders had grown rigid beneath the cream silk. Her chest rose and fell with angry breaths and a pink flush covered her cheeks. Something tightened in Brock’s abdomen. He did his best to ignore the sensation.

“If you refuse to behave like a mature adult, you can’t expect to be treated as one.” He scowled at her. “Or can you offer a rational explanation to your little jaunt?”

The rosy blush on her cheeks deepened to scarlet.

“No,” she said, but her tone was quiet, evasive.

Brock raised a brow at her son. “You’d better come clean.”

The young man shifted his weight from foot to foot and stole a look at his mother. “It was a bet.”

“Dalton.” Her voice rang with a warning.

“She thinks I’m not going to eat properly. I promised that if she got to the top first, I’d have a healthy breakfast at least three times a week.”

Brock exhaled a sigh. “And what was her end of the bet?”

The young man flustered. He slanted a glance back to his mother, whose exquisite face had darkened into a thundercloud. Head lowered, the son mumbled, “She hasn’t been out since Dad died over a year ago. She’s put herself in mothballs. If I got to the top first, she had to start going out on dates.”

Every muscle in Brock’s body snapped taut. Damn, if his mind didn’t zoom into all kinds of impossible directions. He saw her across a candlelit dinner table, in a slinky dress that hugged the contours of her body…in his arms, her head tipped back, offering her lips for a goodnight kiss…in his lonely bedroom, trembling beneath his hands as he slowly undressed her.

Heat surged up along his chest. Blood pooled in his groin. Since his wife passed away a few years ago, Brock had exerted a steely control over his body. Sex belonged in marriage. That’s what he’d been brought up to believe, and as another marriage was the last thing on his mind, he’d learned to suppress his needs. He’d had so many cold showers the heating bills had gone down.

“I understand there’s a requirement for us to do community service.” The woman lifted her chin. Her eyes widened when they met his, and Brock turned away to hide the hunger that he suspected she’d already seen lurking beneath his half-closed lids.

“Dalton will take care of that,” he muttered. “There’s a children’s home near the campus. He can go over a couple of hours each evening and organize games for the kids.”

“Sheriff Leonetti, let me assure you that I accept responsibility for my own actions. I broke the law. I’ll serve the punishment.” She bit her lip. “But perhaps something else…I’m not very good with children.”

Brock’s brows shot up, and his gaze shuttled between mother and son.

“Dalton is my late husband’s son,” she said quietly. “We were married for less than a year. I have no experience with babies or toddlers.”

The young man reached out to touch her arm. “But you’re doing brilliantly with teenagers.”

The smile that lit up her face brightened the entire room. Her joy hadn’t quite faded when she turned back to Brock. “That nice deputy who arrested us said your secretary resigned unexpectedly, and you haven’t been able to replace her. I used to work in an office. I could help out. If you let me work full days, I could get it done in a week and fly home next weekend.”

Brock swallowed to ease the pressure that constricted his throat.

No, his mind screamed.

“Yes,” he heard himself say. “We could use someone who can type and knows how to operate a computer.”

As he filled in the paperwork for their misdemeanor, Brock struggled to keep his hands steady. What he hell was wrong with him? He’d committed no crime, but he’d just sentenced himself to forty hours of torture.

****

Catherine Bridgewater struggled with the clasp of her seatbelt. The tension from the confrontation with the sheriff made her clumsy. Swearing under her breath, she jerked upright in the seat and slipped the injured finger into her mouth.

“You okay, Cat?” Dalton studied her with the sharp eyes of an exceptionally intelligent teenager.

“I’m fine. I snagged my skin on the stupid clasp. The thing’s broken. Serves me right for using the cheapest car rental company I could find.”

“Cat.” He laid a hand on her arm. She’d noticed it was his habit when he wanted her to pay close attention to his words. “I told you, I can drop out of school if we can’t afford the fees.”

She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “You’ll do no such thing. We’ll manage. Your father will come back and haunt me if you don’t graduate.”

Dalton glanced in her direction but didn’t comment. They drove along in silence. Cat drew deep breaths, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. She could still feel the sheriff’s furious eyes on her. Pale brown eyes, like those of an eagle that soared up into the sky before swooping down on its prey. The rest of him had been equally impressive. Heavy shoulders, forearms corded with muscle, rock solid thighs inside the fawn uniform. The surprising aspect of his physique had been the lean hips and the graceful way in which he moved.

He was probably a good dancer.

The thought flushed her body with heat. Her wayward imagination transported her into a dimly lit ballroom, gently swaying in his arms. Two years ago, before she was tricked into marrying Dalton’s father and lost all trust in men, the sheriff would definitely have been her type. His dark brown hair had a slight curl to it that invited a woman to slide her fingers along the back of his neck. Not classically handsome, his masculine features hinted at an uncompromising nature. Strong, steady, reliable. The sort of man who was married, adored his wife, and had several sons just like him, and on his days off they all romped together around the back yard.

Cat sighed as she turned into the main road. What business was it of hers? Some people had a happy family life, and one day she’d learn to curb her envy. At least she had Dalton. For that, she would be forever grateful to Tim. Her marriage might have been founded on a lie, but the bond that had grown between her and her stepson was true and real.

“I’m sorry, Cat.” Dalton stared at the red traffic light ahead. “I shouldn’t have told you about the stupid freshman challenge to climb the clock tower. It’s just that I wanted you to have some fun.”

“And I did.” Cat threw her head back and laughed, the tension of the arrest finally flooding out of her. “God, that was brilliant. I can still feel the adrenaline pumping, the world narrowing to nothing but the next handhold and the next move up toward the top.”

She was still chuckling when the traffic light turned green. She’d never felt as alive as she did right now. The colors seemed brighter and the sultry southern air carried lush scents of ripe summer vegetation that made her think of idle afternoons in the sun. Cat shook her head in amazement. It was just a dare, a little reminder of the carefree days of college and rock climbing, but for whatever reason, it appeared as if she had just emerged from years of hibernation. Excitement tingled along her skin and life suddenly seemed full of promise.

****

Cat took the stairs carefully, making sure she didn’t scuff her heels. She’d bought a briefcase on Sunday at an outlet store, a traditional one in tan cowhide with a flap at the top. She didn’t quite know how a secretary in a county sheriff’s office in North Carolina should dress, so she dressed the way she always had, conservative New Hampshire.

The two deputies turned to look at her when she entered. Their gazes traveled up and down her clothing. Embarrassment made her hold her breath as she realized how formal she must appear in comparison to their slacks and short-sleeved shirts.

“I’m reporting for duty,” she said, dangling the briefcase in front of her, both hands clasped around the handle to keep them steady.

“I’m Karen.” The female deputy rose and gestured in the direction of the man with a lined face and a droopy moustache. “That’s Walter.”

“I’m Catherine Bridgewater. Friends call me Cat.” Friends. Cat flinched at the word. She had none to speak of. In recent years, all her time and energy had been consumed by taking care of the dying, or the money problems they’d left behind.

“Cat? Suits you,” Karen said and whirled about, sending her dark bobbed hair swaying. Despite the heavy hips and a full bust that strained the buttons on her uniform shirt, the young woman looked fit, with a healthy glow to her pale complexion.

Cat nodded to acknowledge the comment but couldn’t think of a reply.

Karen steered her toward the empty desk. “Can you use a scanner?”

“Depends on the make and model. I’ve used one before,” Cat said, leaning down to prop her briefcase on the floor.

“Easy. Line the sheets against the glass, then press the green button.” Karen shoved a stack of documents at her. “When you’re done with these, I have some typing for you. Then you can vacuum the floor and clean the bathroom.”

“Clean the bathroom?” Cat asked, puzzled.

“Yup.” Karen settled back behind her desk. “A week’s not long enough to get security clearance for you to handle confidential information. We’ll have to make any use of you that we can.”

Cat glanced across the room at the closed door.

“Brock’s out for the day.” Karen’s brows lifted with a hint of sarcasm. “He came in early and seemed in a hurry to leave.”

“I see.” Somehow, the sunshine dimmed outside. Cat held her breath, then released it in a long sigh and flipped the lid on the scanner. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Karen and Walter exchanging a smirk. Humiliation stained her cheeks as she guessed what their grins were all about. Married or not, Sheriff Brock Leonetti probably had women flocking like locusts after him, and the deputies assumed she had joined the crowd.

Her mouth tightened.

She was through worrying what people thought about her. For years, she’d done the right thing, had given up her life to nurture others. Cat lined a document on the glass and punched her finger on the button. Determination shot like a thunderbolt down her spine. From now on, she would only please herself and Dalton, and the rest of the world could go to hell.

****

Brock parked his Ford Explorer in the station lot and sauntered up the stairs. At four o’clock it should be safe to return. The society type would no doubt roll in late and sneak out early, and with any luck she’d slope off before the week was out, trusting that no one was counting to make sure she completed her forty hours.

A tan briefcase stood on the secretary’s desk, but no other sign remained of Mrs. Bridgewater. Walter had already gone. Brock waved a greeting to Karen and strode down the corridor toward the toilets.

“Later,” he called out when Karen jumped out of her seat and raced after him. It had been a slow morning, and his bladder could only take so much coffee. He pushed the door open with one hand, yanking his zipper down with the other.

“What the hell?”

He froze in the middle of the floor, his hand on his crotch. A rounded bottom covered in nothing but a flimsy pair of old running shorts stuck out from beneath the basin. The bottom wiggled as the rest of the crouched body backed out from the confined space. In front of him, Mrs. Bridgewater straightened to her knees.

His mouth went dry. His heart slammed into his ribs. His hand tightened in warning over his shaft that stirred in delight.

“What are you doing here?” Brock choked out the words.

“I’m cleaning the bathroom.”

The chestnut hair had collapsed into a messy tangle that spilled over one eye. Her skin gleamed with perspiration, and the T-shirt, one of his old ones judging by the size, clung to her breasts where the fabric had soaked through. She stared at him, her eyes level with his swelling groin.

“Out,” Brock roared. “Get out of here right now.”

He would have turned and fled, but coffee was a powerful diuretic, and he had no choice but to stay.

He could see her chest rise with a harshly indrawn breath. Scampering to her feet, she slapped the wet rag she’d been clutching in her hand across the tiles. She squared her shoulders and jutted up her chin, trying to look at him down her nose despite the fact that he towered over her.

“There’s no need to panic,” she told him. “I’ve seen exposed men before and I’m sure you look no different from the rest.” She whirled about and marched out, her bare feet making a soft tap over the damp floor.

Brock tore open the door to a cubicle. It took a moment for his semi-erect member to settle down enough to handle the business, and he swore again—at her, at his bad luck for returning early, and most of all, at his appalling judgment for allowing her to invade his world in the first place.

“Fuck,” he said, and savored the word. He tried to avoid bad language, and thanks to his discipline, the expressions retained their potency for when he needed to vent his fury.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He shook himself dry and wondered how long he could stay in the bathroom without appearing a coward.

****

“Oh my God,” Cat muttered under her breath as she hurtled down the corridor. She’d kill Karen. They had started the day skirting around each other, like two wary animals. When she performed without complaint every task Karen handed her, from loading the photocopier to emptying the shredder, gradually the young woman’s stiff manner had eased. By lunchtime, they were on good enough terms to sit down together over a sandwich. Cat had discovered that Karen had recently had her first baby. Her husband, a PhD student, brought the baby to the station four times a day for breastfeeding.

Cat rushed through the open doorway and found Karen waiting in the office, both hands clamped over her mouth. The expression of shocked horror on Karen’s face assured Cat that the deputy hadn’t set her up on purpose.

“I tried to tell him.” Karen lowered her hands and gasped out the words. “He must have been bursting. He just brushed me to one side and took off down the hall. Did he…?” Her eyes snapped wider.

Slowly, Cat nodded.

“Was he…?”

Her head kept nodding. She sucked in a breath and almost choked.

“Dear Lord,” Karen said. “He’ll kill us both.”

They stared at each other. The suffocating sensation in Cat’s chest expanded, and then she could no longer hold it inside. Laughter exploded from her throat, rocking her shoulders. Karen spluttered for a second, and then her deep hoots mingled with Cat’s lighter tones.

Tears streamed down their faces as they laughed. Cat fought for air and managed to give an account of the details. “He just stood there, his fly open, one hand blocking my view, his face in the fiercest scowl I’ve ever seen.”

“This is priceless,” Karen said. “Priceless. He’s such a starched shirt. I hope this unbends him a bit. Makes him more human.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” Brock’s deep voice came from the entrance.

Cat snapped around. They’d been so loud in their mirth, he’d sneaked up on them. She glanced down at her clothing. Damn. She’d behaved like a giggling teenager, instead of taking the opportunity to change out of the outfit Karen had dredged up for her to wear while she cleaned the nooks and crannies of the two-cubicle men’s restroom.

Brock hovered on the edge of the open office, his face a stony mask of restraint. “In case you’re planning to sue me for sexual harassment, the cleaners are supposed to hang a notice on the door while they’re inside.”

Cat looked at Karen, who rolled her eyes. They started again, howling with laughter, doubled over, struggling not to collapse on the floor. Cat was only vaguely aware of the savage curse that echoed around the room, and then the slam of the door as Brock opted for a retreat.

Chapter Two

“Do I look all right in these?” Cat twisted around to stare at her backside in the small mirror propped on a chair in Dalton’s dorm room.

“You look more than all right.” Her stepson lounged on the bed. “Guys keep asking me who you are. It’s okay with me if you want to do a Mrs. Robinson thing and seduce some of my friends.”

“Dalton!”

He shrugged his shoulders while lying down in an insolent pose only a teenager could achieve. “What’s the big deal?”

“You’re my stepson. You’re not supposed to talk about my sex life, or the lack of it.”

“How am I going to learn about sex if we don’t talk?”

Cat’s hands stilled on the side pockets of the chinos she’d borrowed from Dalton. As she studied him in the idle sprawl, she saw the power rippling along his arms and took in the changes in his face that were tiny, but lent an unmistakable stamp of masculinity to his features.

Dear God. Right before her eyes, he’d been turning from a boy into a man, and she’d failed to notice. It overwhelmed her at times, the responsibility of caring for an adolescent, and the need to navigate between discipline and trust. Cat walked up to the bed and gestured at Dalton to scoot over and make space. Anxiety fluttered in her stomach, but she’d do her best to act in place of the mother and father her stepson lacked.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

Dalton huddled up on the bed, dangling his arms over his knees and lowering his head to hide his expression. “What do girls want? What attracts them to a guy?”

Cat chose her words carefully. “I don’t know if you can generalize. Maybe different girls want different things. I can only speak for the type of person I am.”

“So?” Dalton peered at her from beneath floppy hair.

“I like a man who is confident, but not arrogant or overbearing. Gentle, but not a pushover or a doormat. He doesn’t have to be handsome, but I’d like him to take care of his appearance. It is more important to have a curious mind than to be highly educated. More than anything, I need a man to be honest and reliable.”

“I’m sorry.” The words came in a whisper.

“Sorry for what?” Cat wanted to mollycoddle him, but she’d always avoided using endearments on Dalton. At thirty-three she was almost old enough to be his mother, but they’d only known each other for two years. She didn’t want to force an adult-child relationship on the boy who was growing up fast.

“I know that Dad conned you into marrying him, and then he died and lumbered you with me. Now that I’ve left home, you don’t have to look after me any more. You’re free to get a life.”

Cat froze. Her hands clutched the bedspread so tight it hurt. Dalton had never spoken about her relationship with Tim, but she’d always suspected the boy knew his father had pretended to love her in order to find someone to nurse him through the final stages of cancer and take care of his son after he was gone.

She turned to Dalton. “Let’s get this thing clear. Whatever happened between your father and me, you’re the most precious thing in my life. I’d marry him again a million times over to have you as my son.”

“It’s just that…”

“Yes, darling?” Cat said the word hesitantly.

He sent her a small smile that made her exhale with relief. Then he returned to examining the frayed knees of his jeans. “I don’t want to be the single egg in your basket. You spent a year nursing Dad, and then you spent another year sorting out his debts and fretting about how to be a mother to me. What are you going to do now? When you go home next weekend, I won’t be there. What’s going to fill your days?”

A cold trickle of fear slid down her spine. “Are you…are you worried that I’ll crowd you? Cling to you when you need to go off and find your own way?”

She could only see the back of Dalton’s head, but it was clear that he was nodding.

“I need to get a job as soon as possible,” Cat said, as if she’d given the idea a great deal of consideration, instead of improvising. “The week at the sheriff’s office will be a start, and then I’ll get together a resume and start looking for something permanent.”

“That’s great.” Dalton snapped his head upright. “Brilliant idea.”

“Okay.” Cat jumped onto her feet and adjusted the chinos around her waist. “It’s agreed then. I’ll get a job.”

“About that other thing…”

“What other thing?”

“The kind of man a girl wants.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll do just fine.”

“I was thinking more about you…I was thinking that if you expect everything you said, you’ll never find anyone. Just pick a guy and give him a chance, okay?”

Her eyes widened as she stared down at him. Dalton didn’t flinch.

Dear God. Cat let out a groan of despair. Her sixteen-year-old stepson wanted to hoist her off on a man, any man, so she wouldn’t smother him.

“I’ll think about it,” she promised. “Maybe I’ll even go out on a date.”

“Good,” Dalton said. “That’s a start.”

****

Brock drove down Main Street for the sixteenth time. He’d toured the campus twice. He could have gotten out of the car and sat down somewhere, but he’d lost his appetite for coffee, and he suspected that the latest gossip might be about him anyway.

Karen had patched through a few calls, but nothing that gave him an excuse to stay away from the office. With a resigned sigh, he turned the steering wheel and headed for the station.

Be a man. Get it over with.

Karen stifled a grin when he walked in. Walter didn’t react beyond his usual gruff greeting. Mrs. Bridgewater was nowhere to be seen. The tension in Brock's muscles eased. She must have used the opportunity to wriggle out of her sentence, and Karen had kept her mouth shut about the restroom incident. He breathed more freely than he had all night.

Brock pulled open the door of his private office and found her standing on a stepladder, polishing a framed diploma on the wall. A pair of baggy chinos and white tennis shoes had replaced the slim skirt and high heels. She turned to him, her mouth open in surprise. Just like it had been yesterday. All night, the image of her kneeling before him, her lips ajar in front of his open fly had plagued him.

Now, his groin stiffened with a fury he hadn’t felt since his teens.

“You were supposed to do typing, not cleaning,” Brock said when he found his voice.

“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Bridgewater shifted on her feet. The stepladder rocked over the floor. A little shriek escaped her lips and her arms flailed for balance.

Without thinking, Brock rushed up and caught her in his arms as she toppled down. She slammed into him with a force that knocked their bodies together. He could feel her breasts flattening against his chest and her mound pressing into his abdomen. The erection he’d tried to control hardened into steel.

She tipped her head back to look into his face. Her eyes widened, and then narrowed as comprehension struck. She shifted her hips, just a little, as if to make certain.

Brock almost groaned with pleasure at the tiny friction against his straining shaft. His arms didn’t obey. They refused to release her, instead sliding further around her to hold her tight. She made no effort to struggle, didn’t try to pull away. A little catch hitched in her breath. He lowered his head, until his lips were only inches from hers. Her hands crept up and curled around his biceps, her fingers digging into his flesh so hard it stung.

All sanity fled. His head came down to nuzzle the side of her neck. He breathed in the faint fragrance of flowers, too subtle to be perfume, more like shampoo or soap. Just when the last vestiges of resistance crumbled and Brock dragged his lips along her cheek to cover her mouth with his, a knock sounded at the door.

“Is everything okay?” Karen shouted. “There was a crash.”

Brock closed his eyes and heaved out a frustrated sigh. “It’s okay,” he shouted back. “She fell, but I caught her. She isn’t hurt.”

He eased their bodies apart. “Mrs. Bridgewater?”

She kept staring up at him. Her eyes were pale grey-green, the color of aspen leaves.

“Cat,” she whispered, so low he had to lean down to hear her voice.

His brain finally kicked in and started broadcasting danger signals for being so close to her. Brock straightened his shoulders and told her to speak up.

“Call me Cat,” she said. “It’s short for Catherine.”

“Cat.” A shiver raced over him at the thought of her cat-like eyes, and the feline grace she must posses in order to climb unharmed to the top of the clock tower with nothing but her hands and feet, and a pouch of chalk tied around her waist.

“Cat, you need to let go of my arms, and I need to let go of you.”

“Yes,” she said, but didn’t move. Her gaze skimmed over his features in a way that felt like a caress.

The pull of attraction was as inevitable as the tide. Resisting the urge to gather her close, Brock merely tipped his head and took her mouth in a soft searching kiss. She stepped into him. Her hands reached up to his neck, and her fingers slid into his hair. With a growl of impatience, he gave in, hauled her close, and deepened the kiss. She sagged against him and opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to probe inside.

In a perfect fit, her body arched into his. The throbbing in his groin grew into an ache. He feasted on her, explored her taste and texture with his mouth. One of his hands crept around to cup her breast.

“No,” she whispered on an indrawn breath, weak and without conviction.

Brock stilled. Slowly, he straightened. “No?”

She shook her head, suddenly frantic. “I can’t. Not with a married man.”

Baffled, he frowned at her. “You think I’m married?”

“Aren’t you?” She gestured toward the wedding band he still wore.

Brock released her and raked one hand through his hair, unsure of how to approach the topic. Elation glimmered in the back of his mind. If she didn’t know, at least he could be sure that her willingness to kiss him hadn’t been driven by pity or an odd sense of curiosity.

“What on earth do you talk about with Karen if my personal life hasn’t come up in the conversation?” he asked.

Her brows knotted in irritation, and Brock cursed himself for his poor choice of words. He’d sounded like an arrogant male who took it for granted that women flocked after him, wanted to know about his marital status.

A heavy sigh rocked his shoulders. “Ask Karen. It’s easier that way. For both of us.”

Cat shook her head. In her eyes, confusion replaced the languid aftermath of the kiss. “You want me to ask Karen if you’re married?”

Brock nodded. Suddenly, he couldn’t take it any more, the constant fight to ignore the demands of his body, the guilt, and the burden of the memories. He lifted one hand to dismiss her. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got work to get on with.”

When she reached the door, he called out, “Cat?”

“Yes?”

“If you’d rather not come back, consider your forty hours completed.”

She gave a silent nod and disappeared through the door.

* * * *

“Is Brock married?” Cat slipped out the question, her tone casual as she leaned over Karen’s desk, plucking dead leaves from a wilting azalea on the windowsill.

“Not you too.” A frown of disgust flickered across Karen’s features.

The anger that surged inside her seemed out of all proportion, but Cat gave in to it. Everything needled her today. The photocopier kept jamming. The roar of traffic outside screeched in her ears, and when she filed fishing permits, even the alphabet seemed to jump out of order. Worst of all, Brock skulked in his office, behind closed doors, as if nothing unusual had taken place.

As if he hadn’t given her a kiss that scrambled her brain.

“Why do people assume that every woman who crosses his path is swept off her feet by his masculine charm?” she fumed.

“Because most of them are.”

“Well, I’m not, for one. I think he is arrogant, overbearing—”

Karen sniggered.

Cat clamped a hand over her mouth and stared in horror. “Oh my God. I sound as if I’m…”

“Well and truly stirred,” Karen finished for her. “I’m not blind. You emerged from his office with a flushed face and rubbery legs. His eyes followed you like the Big Bad Wolf stares after the Little Red Riding Hood. And don’t try to tell me nothing happened. Save your lies for someone else.”

“I wasn’t going to lie.” Cat snatched her trembling fingers from the plant to stop the pot rattling on the saucer. “I fell off the stepladder, and he caught me. Our bodies seemed rather more interested in the intimate contact than our minds.”

Karen’s eyes rounded with surprise. “That’s a first. It’s true that he has to fight women off, and he does. Literally, shoves them away when nothing else works. Cat, do you realize that you’ve gotten under his skin just as bad as he’s gotten under yours?”

Cat froze as she accepted the truth. Every emotion she’d felt since Friday had been a warning sign she’d missed. The exhilaration had nothing to do with the clandestine climb up the clock tower. Anxiety about going home without Dalton hadn’t triggered the breathless anticipation that now throbbed along her veins.

Brock Leonetti was to blame for her state as a nervous wreck.

“I’m a fool,” she said. “A complete and utter fool.”

“Sit down.” Karen caught her arm and pointed her to a chair. “I need to tell you about his marriage. When I said not you too, I didn’t mean to imply that you were chasing after him. I assumed that you were following a thread of gossip you’d heard.”

Cat settled opposite Karen and got ready to listen.

“Brock’s wife was called Sandra,” Karen started. “They grew up together. Played as kids, went to the same schools. When Brock left for college, Sandra got a job as a bank teller. She’d always been…emotionally fragile, but the pressure of the job made it worse. She was dreamy, absent-minded. A position that required accuracy didn’t suit her, but she was more afraid to try something different than she was to stay in a job that made her miserable.”

Karen paused and twirled a pen in her hand, studying the flickering motion.

“It’s all right,” Cat said. “You’re not betraying Brock by gossiping. He told me to ask you. He said it would be easier that way.”

Karen nodded with obvious relief. “Brock kept coming home for the holidays. Sandra clung to him. She seemed better when he was around, stronger. When Brock finished college, he moved back here, and they got married. Sandra gave up her job, but it didn’t make her feel better. It made her worse. For years, she battled depression. She was on medication, tried all kinds of mental health programs. Nothing worked. In the end, she took her own life. Brock was away for a few days. When he came home, he found her body. She’d taken an overdose of sleeping pills.”

“Oh my God.” Cat rocked on the seat, fighting the surge of emotion—shock, horror, pity, all jumbled together..

“Brock doesn’t talk about it. He can’t forgive himself for not being able to make her happy. He tried hard in the beginning, but over the years they just drifted apart. Sandra withdrew from the world, and Brock buried himself in his work.”

“How long ago did she die?”

“It will be four years next spring. I’m not aware of Brock having dated anyone since.” Karen threw a quick glance in her direction. “Go easy on him. They were married nearly ten years. It can’t have been a bed of roses.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Cat said and got up.

Karen occupied herself with the papers on her desk.

As Cat tended the rest of the houseplants dotted around the office, an idea rose in the turmoil of her mind. She’d thought they had nothing in common, but she’d been wrong. Both she and the sheriff had married people who took more than they gave, drained their emotional resources.

She wondered if Brock Leonetti felt as empty inside as she did.

****

Brock finished his emails. He’d reviewed the expenditures for the quarter, approved the estimate for rewiring the station electrics, and written an argument to turn down the proposal that the two deputies should work in shifts.

The lights in the outside office had gone out an hour ago, but he lingered. You never knew about women. The pair of them might be sitting on the doorstep, and he’d had enough of feminine intrigue for the day.

What in hell had possessed him to lose control like that? Even now, he could recall her scent teasing his nostrils, could feel her soft curves pressing against his body, her lips warm and responsive beneath his. With a harsh growl, he tossed down the pen and stood to stretch his limbs. He’d have to find a way to survive three more days.

That’s all. Three. More. Days.

He checked his firearm, picked up his keys, and closed the office for the night.

“Sheriff Leonetti.” A slim form emerged from the shadows.

“Dalton?” He recognized the young man when they got closer.

“Can I have a moment of your time, Sheriff?”

“What’s the problem, son?” He indicated the knee-high concrete barrier around the parking lot and perched down on the cold stone.

Dalton didn’t sit but hovered in front of him. “It’s Cat. My stepmother.”

Unease clenched in Brock’s gut. Damn. Did he have it all wrong? Had he upset her with his embrace, and she’d carted off her indignation to her stepson? An odd flood of resignation and hopelessness washed over him, but he buried it beneath anger. Did she have no sense at all, pouring out her adult problems to a boy?

“What about your stepmother?” He forced his voice to remain calm.

“I’d like to request a favor from you. A huge favor.”

“Go on.”

“Could you ask Cat out on a date?”

“What?” The single word exploded in the falling darkness.

“I’m not asking you to pretend that you’re in love with her or anything, she’s had enough of that, just take her out to a movie or dinner or something. She’s promised to start dating, but it’s been so long that she’ll panic about it. If you ask her out, she’ll relax because she’ll know she won’t see you again. Then she’ll get into the groove and will find it easier to go on more dates when she gets back home.”

Something stormy gathered inside him. “Let me get this right,” Brock said. “You’re asking me to ease her into the dating game, so that she can then soar away and go out with lots of other men.”

“You’ve got it.” Dalton bounced eagerly on his feet. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“What does Cat think about you meddling in her life?”

The young man slanted him a crafty look. “She doesn’t know. But you said it yourself. While she’s here, I’m responsible for keeping her out of trouble. I think sending her out on a date with you achieves the purpose.”

Brock ignored the irritation that niggled inside him. What did the kid think he was—a eunuch, no threat to feminine virtue?

“What makes you think she’d say yes?” he asked.

“She likes you.”

His brows shot up.

“She does. She complains all the time about what a bullheaded ogre you are.”

“And that proves she likes me?”

“Yes, it does. She mutters away, not even realizing she is talking out loud. Her face is all flushed, and she keeps spilling things when her hands tremble.”

“I see.” Brock shook his head, bemused. “I’ll give the idea some thought.”

“Don’t think too long. She’s flying home on Sunday morning.” Dalton set off across the parking lot but turned to look over his shoulder. “She likes you. Trust me. I’m a psych major, and I know her.”

Brock lifted a hand to send the youngster on his way.

She likes you.

Satisfaction soared inside him. Then he recalled all the other men he was supposed to be preparing her for, and the green-eyed monster of jealousy dug its sharp claws in his gut.

Chapter Three

He had to face the fact. At age thirty-four, Brock didn’t know how to go about asking a woman out on a date. Not that he intended to. But just hypothetically speaking, he realized he’d never had to. At school, Sandra had always been around, and he’d been too aware of her sensitive nature to stray and cause her pain. At college, when he’d had his spell of wild oats, women had tumbled into his lap without any effort from his part.

He waited until Walter had set off to patrol around town and Karen carried her baby into the break room for breastfeeding. Then he got to his feet and drifted to the open doorway of his office. Cat wore the baggy chinos again, cinched in around her waist with a wide belt that gave her a voluptuous Marilyn Monroe look.

“Do you know much about Word documents?” he asked.

She turned to look at him. The white T-shirt hugged her figure. “I can try. What are you struggling with?”

The teenage rampage of my hormones. The ache in my groin.

“I’ve made changes to a document, and they show up in red. I don’t know how to make them blend in.”

“I can help you with that.”

You certainly could, but it would lead to even worse problems.

She scooted up and strode across the floor. Her breasts jiggled as she moved. Brock hurried to sit at the desk to hide his swiftly rising erection.

“It’s easy.” She leaned over the keyboard, her chest practically in his face. “You have to accept the changes. I’ll add the toolbar to the top of your screen. Then you just click on this icon to accept the changes, or this one to reject them.”

“You should wear a bra around the office.”

“What did you say?” She turned to look at him. Her lightly spoken words underlined the harshness of his tone.

Brock slumped in the seat. He’d never in his life prayed as fervently for the ground to open up and swallow him. “Sorry. That was an unacceptable remark in this day and age. I apologize. But I can’t concentrate when your nipples stick out like a pair of points at the end of two exclamation marks.”

She straightened. Her mouth pulled into a tight line. Her nostrils flared as she stared at him. Brock knew he was in for it now. Her fury practically shimmered in the air. He could picture the newspaper headlines. Sheriff Leonetti suspended on charges of sexual harassment.

“Is that what you think?” Cat said, and he’d never realized a woman’s soft voice could carry so much menace. She took a step back, folded her arms across her front, and tugged up the hem of her T-shirt.

The expanse of smooth skin over her gently rounded stomach made his gut clench. His shaft jerked against the sturdy fabric of his uniform trousers. Afraid to but unable to resist, Brock allowed his gaze to drift upward to the swell of her breasts, and found them encased in a thin layer of lace and silk.

“One Vanity Fair bra in size 36 C. Satisfied?” She yanked the hem of the T-shirt back down over her body.

Satisfied? Anything but, Brock wanted to shout, but instead he gritted his teeth in stony silence. What the hell was happening to his life, to his sanity? He must have gone raving mad, and the woman standing next to him was the cause.

Without waiting for him to regain the ability to speak, Cat stormed out. Brock lowered his shoulders over the desk and banged his forehead against the top in mock despair. How did teenage boys cope when they were learning to deal with girls? It was a miracle any males made it to adulthood.

****

Fury brewed inside her, so hot Cat expected to spew fire. The keyboard on the computer clacked like a machine gun as she hit the keys with extra force. That insolent, overbearing man! She’d actually allowed him to goad her into flashing her boobs at him, like a little girl playing a game of doctors and nurses.

Her cell phone burst to a ring on the desk. The display showed Dalton’s name. Cat cleared her throat in order to collect her voice before answering.

“Are you all set up for going out?” her stepson asked.

“Going out? I thought I might pop over and see how you’re getting on with the kids at the children’s home this evening.”

“There’s this girl from the high school who volunteers there…”

Cat exhaled a sigh. “I get it. You don’t want me there, cramping your style. I’ll just get a takeaway pizza and stay at the hotel. I’m sure I can find something to watch on HBO.”

“What about the sheriff? Isn’t he taking you out?”

Like an octopus, tentacles of understanding weaved through her brain.

“Dalton?” she asked, her throat vibrating with the angry sound.

Guilty silence met her.

“Dalton, what have you done?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I bumped into the sheriff. We chatted, and I mentioned it might be nice if he asked you out, since you don’t know anyone else in town.”

“When and where did you bump into him?”

“Err…outside the station house last night.”

“You lay in wait for him and pounced, demanding that he take me off your hands? Is that it? Dalton?”

“I wouldn’t quite put it like that.”

“Then how would you put it?”

“So, he hasn’t asked you yet. I’d better give him a call, in case he’s forgotten.”

“Dalton?” She rasped out his name through gritted teeth.

“Yes, Cat.”

“If you mention the topic to him again, I’m going to have you drugged, and castrated while you lie in defenseless stupor, okay?”

She heard his horrified gasp. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Didn’t think I’d mind?” Cat closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Forget it. Just go and do all the disgusting teenager things you do so well, and leave my personal life alone.”

She muttered a curse as she ended the call, but after a moment, excitement began to tingle on her skin. That’s why the sheriff was on edge—he was working up the courage to ask her out. Then, doubt drenched her. Maybe he was squirming with embarrassment because he believed that she expected him to ask, and he didn’t know how to wriggle out of the awkward situation.

There was only one way to find out. She’d promised herself she would no longer give a damn over what people thought about her, and that included Brock Leonetti.

Cat bolted to her feet and marched into his office.

The color in his cheeks deepened to bronze when she crossed the threshold. He watched in silence as she walked to stand beside him and seized hold of the keyboard. Cat opened up a blank Word document, turned on the tracked changes, and typed.

Will you go out with me tonight?

“Like I told you, you have these two buttons on the tool bar. If you click on “reject” this sentence will disappear. If you click on “accept” the red letters will turn black, and the question stays on the screen.

Brock took the keyboard from her, backspaced, and typed tomorrow night instead of tonight. Then he clicked on “accept”.

“I’d like that very much,” she told him.

“I’ll pick you up at seven from the Hillside Inn where you’re staying.”

Cat nodded, then turned and fled. Her heart pounded, and her legs barely carried her back to the outer office.

She had a date with Brock Leonetti.

****

Brock’s hand pressed warm and heavy at the small of her back as he steered Cat toward his car, parked by the hotel entrance. Exhilaration soared inside her. Dalton had been right. She needed to get a life. Youth and looks wouldn’t be on her side much longer. She wanted to have some fun, play the field. Enjoy a taste of freedom after the years spent caring for the sick and the dying.

“Are you expecting a call?” Brock nodded at the cell phone she’d been clutching in her shaking fingers while she waited for him in the lobby.

“I was. From you. To cancel.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he opened the passenger door and took her elbow to help her into the black SUV.

“You were out all day,” Cat said. She had to look up at him as he stood beside her. “I assumed you were avoiding me.”

“I had a court appearance. Karen could have told you.”

“It didn’t seem important. Either you’d turn up or not.”

His eyes narrowed. “Have I done something to deserve that? I don’t have a reputation for being unreliable.”

“No.” Cat bit her lip. Her new aim for honesty wasn’t turning out easy. “It’s just that I know that Dalton nagged you into asking me. I’m prepared to do anything to make him happy, but you might have preferred to back out.”

Brock closed her door and walked around the front of the car. After he sat down, he turned to face her, one arm draped over the seatback. “I don’t do things I don’t want to. I may sometimes do things that I’m not thrilled about, but only when the alternatives seem even less appealing.”

“Oh.” Cat couldn’t think of a reply.

Brock studied her face, a long lingering look that drew heat to her skin. “Something’s different about you,” he said. After a pause he added, “Glasses. You wore them the first time you came into my office, but never again.”

“They’re for long distance. I only wear them for driving and watching TV, or at the movies.” Her hand shifted, ready to sweep off the glasses that she didn’t like, but she conquered the urge. “I forgot to take them off that day after I parked the car,” she told him. The color in her cheeks burned hotter. Really, she’d worn the glasses on purpose, trying to look more serious and responsible after being caught in a student prank.

“They suit you,” Brock said. The way his brows drew together, Cat suspected that he had seen through her lie.

Then his searching gaze focused on her mouth.

Her lips opened, and a little sound of alarm caught in her throat.

Casually, without hurry, Brock leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he murmured before drawing back.

Without another comment, he straightened in the seat and started the engine. As they drove away, the rebellion that had simmered inside Cat since the morning fizzled out. In the office, she’d nurtured the heady sensation that they were playing a cat and mouse game, and for once she got to be the cat. With that long scorching look and the heady impact of the kiss, she’d shriveled back into a mouse.

****

Brock pulled up outside the Victorian villa that housed the public library and an adjoining coffee shop staffed by volunteers. They’d driven through the town in silence. She hadn’t asked him where they were going. He liked that. Not as a token of trust but as a sign of confidence. Cat gave the impression that she could handle herself in any social situation. Her linen skirt and pale blue silk blouse and medium heels were smart without being overdressed, a perfect match for his slacks, sports jacket, and open-necked shirt.

“They have a concert in the garden on Thursday evenings,” he told her as he unclipped his seat belt. “It’s chamber music today.”

She waited for him to circle the car and open the door for her. That was another thing he liked. She was strong enough to give in gracefully. He was fully aware of her mistaken belief that she was chasing him by setting up the date. He had every intention of making her realize that since he became single again, he conducted his life as he chose and could be as unmovable as a rock.

“Sheriff Leonetti. So nice you could make it.” Phyllis Bright cooed a greeting as they entered trough the arbor gate. The woman threw an acid look in Cat’s direction. Behind her, several more unmarried females had daggers in their eyes. Brock couldn’t resist sliding his arm around Cat’s waist in a possessive gesture.

He might as well use the night to shake off the pack of bloodhounds that ran after him for a wedding ring. His life would be easier if people assumed he had a long distance relationship that put him out of bounds.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked as he settled Cat at a table for two. “The usual choice is wine, beer, sodas, and some kind of fruit punch.”

“White wine, please.” She glanced around. “I thought they’d have rows of seats for the concert.”

“The garden is used as a coffee shop during the day and the tables are anchored down.”

He stopped to exchange a few words here and there and returned ten minutes later with her wine and a club soda for himself. Cat met him with a sunny smile. Not an anxious frown because strangers made her uneasy, or words of complaint because he’d kept her waiting.

“It’s chardonnay,” he said. “I hope it’s all right.”

“I don’t know much about wine. You could serve me the cheapest rotgut and convince me it’s vintage.” Cat took a sip and nodded her approval. Glancing at his tall glass, she asked, “You don’t drink?”

“I have an occasional beer, but I don’t like the brand they serve.”

She lowered her glass to the table, then leaned her head back and inhaled deep breaths, closing her eyes. “It’s lovely in here. I can smell the flowers, but I don’t know what they’re called. I’ve never had a garden. Those birds must be robins. I wish I had some breadcrumbs to scatter. They seem quite tame.”

Watching her made Brock feel lightheaded, as if the evening air carried a narcotic or someone had spiked his drink.

“The music will start at eight,” he told her, and picked up the box of matches to light the lantern on the table. “The lights will go off, except the ones by the canopy for the players.”

She glanced at him, her green eyes veiled and mysterious. He moved his chair closer, on the pretext on repositioning it for a better view of the musicians who had arrived and sat down to tune their instruments. When the darkness fell, candlelight flickered in her hair. The tension that had centered in his groin all week spread to his chest. He reached out and draped his arm over the back of her chair, idly stroking her shoulders, sliding his fingers into the nape of her neck. With a sigh, she leaned back and made the contact firmer.

The comment that had troubled him since he picked her up at the hotel rattled inside his head. When she had first spoken, the idea had caused him mild annoyance, but now the feeling hardened into anger.

Cat had implied she’d only agreed to the date to please her stepson.

Before the night was out, he wanted to make her admit that she’d lied.

****

“Do you go every Thursday?” Cat asked and almost groaned out loud as she heard her words. Couldn’t she achieve anything more original…more…daring?

Brock steered the car down the street through the evening darkness. The only light came from the controls on the dashboard. Shadows swept across the hard planes of his face. His hands gripped the wheel, strong and sure. A shiver raced down her skin at the memory of how those hands had explored the nape of her neck while they were listening to the music.

“I check the program before deciding. If it’s classical, I try to make the time.”

Cat curled her fingers over the lapels of his jacket as she tried to think of something else to say. He’d noticed her crossing her arms for warmth when the evening breeze cooled. Without asking, he’d shrugged out of the light wool blazer he wore and draped it over her shoulders. His body heat clung to the fabric, surrounding her like an embrace. The need to get closer to that heat, to feel those hard muscles against her naked body had soared inside her with every plaintive note of the cello and the clarinet that had floated in the fragrant air.

“I…I could offer you a cup of coffee.” A fierce blush stung her cheeks. He might think that she had invited him into her hotel room. She closed her eyes, pictured the desk with the single chair. Although the room was spacious, the only place for both of them to sit down would be the edge of the bed. “They have a little pantry with coffee and tea in the lobby,” she added. “It’s quite pleasant.”

“We’ll go to my place.”

A fireball of heat exploded in her belly. We’ll go to my place. Just like that. No questions, no hesitation. She swallowed, awkward and uncertain. Was she really broadcasting her willingness so loud and clear?

Brock didn’t look at her as they covered the short journey. A sense of purpose clung to him like an aura. Cat’s heart pounded, as if trying to break out of her chest. They swung into a narrow drive outside an old house with a wraparound porch. She waited. Brock pulled her door open and offered his hand to help her out. She stared at him, trembling with a mix of anticipation and panic.

He didn’t smile. Something hard and dark had settled over his features. He released her elbow and led her up to the front door. A soft whoosh in the air skimmed by her cheek. Cat cried out, grabbing his arm.

“Bats,” Brock explained as he unlocked the door. He made no attempt to use her clinging as an excuse to pull her into his arms. He pried her fingers loose and strode on ahead. She followed, glimpsing into a living room and dining room as she hurried past. Dark oak armoires and heavy stuffed sofas created a formal feel, like echoes of a genteel past.

“Do you mind instant coffee?” he asked. “That’s all I have.”

“I thought cops lived on coffee.”

“They do. I get mine out in town.” He poured water into a kettle and set it to boil. Then he turned to face her. He propped his hips against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest. As he surveyed her, the hard and closed look returned to haunt his face.

“What do you want from me, Cat?” he asked. His voice was silky soft.

“I…I don’t want anything from you.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I…” Cat swallowed and closed her eyes. She should be blushing, but instead she felt the blood draining from her face.

“Whatever it is, I can’t give it to you,” Brock said.

She blinked her eyes open. “I just want to…feel alive again. For so long, I’ve been surrounded by death. First I nursed my mother, then my husband. I want to do something totally and utterly selfish. Hedonistic, if you will. I want the experience the sort of mindless abandon I’ve read about in books.”

Surprise flickered across his face. Slowly, in complete control of every move, he closed the two steps that separated them and stood in front of her.

“Mindless abandon?” he murmured. Raising one hand, he dragged a fingertip over the hollow of her collarbones.

Her head tipped back. Her eyes drifted shut. She felt his hands curling around her upper arms and his mouth coming down against the side of her neck. Hot. Burning. He kissed her with a savage hunger, all the more startling since no hint of his intention had passed between them. He nipped her skin with his teeth, his lips roaming and feasting on the sensitive curve of her throat.

He paused, as if waiting for her to protest. When she remained silent, he resumed the contact. His tongued traced the shell of her ear, dipped inside, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from her. His arms slid around her and crushed her into him, molding her body to his. She could sense how the hard muscles that pressed against her quivered with need.

His lips found hers, drank deep. She reached up to tangle her fingers into his hair, anchoring him close. His tongue probed inside her mouth, delivering a bold hint of a more intimate penetration.

Too much. Sensations bombarded her. A wild pleasure streaked along her nerves. Low in her belly, desire twisted in a knot that pulled at her, reached down between her legs and made her breasts tingle and tighten.

Brock lifted his head, and she could see his eyes glittering with arousal. The heavy bulge in his groin pressed into her abdomen. Lips ajar, breath ragged, Cat stared up at him. Not thinking, acting on instinct, she rose on tiptoe to better fit his erection in the notch of her thighs. Her hips rocked in the ancient invitation between a man and a woman.

A growl tore from his chest. His hands traveled down, bunched her skirt around her waist and lifted her in the air. With a curse ground out between gritted teeth, he surveyed the kitchen, then carried her out and lowered her to sit on the edge of the glossy mahogany table in the dining room.

The moon had risen, and a faint glow fell in through the uncovered window. Oblivious to the prospect that someone might see them, Brock nudged her legs apart and settled to stand between them. His head bent to her mouth for another fevered kiss. One of his large hands cupped the back of her head to lock her in place, while his other hand dealt with the buttons on her silk blouse.

As soon as the front fell open, his hand slid up her skin. With an impatient sound, he broke off the kiss and pushed her bra over her breasts to free them, one side first, then the other. The elastic scraped over her puckered nipples.

Excitement rippled over her, like liquid fire.

Not hesitating, never pausing to ask for permission, he curled his hand over her left breast, caught the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled the tight bud. Cat arched her back and cried out. He repeated the action on the other side, his mouth returning to savor the sensitive spot on her neck.

His head sank lower before her, and the wet heat of his lips dragged down past her tangled bra to her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth and suckled hard, his teeth closing around the peak. Pleasure arrowed down her spine and fed the heat that throbbed between her legs. She leaned back, planting her hands on the tabletop behind her for support.

A whimper rose in her throat and the sound floated in the air, constant and uncontrollable as he wrought a barrage of reactions from her. Finally he eased away from her breasts. Dark and unfathomable, his eyes skimmed over her features, lingered on her exposed breasts before drifting past the skirt that bunched around her waist.

Curling his hands over her knees, he urged her to open wider. One hand rose to play with her breasts, gently now, cupping and kneading, the rough pad of his thumb stroking the peaks. The other hand found the centre of her panties, feeling her intimate folds through the fabric. Up and down, the teasing finger stroked. Moisture pooled between her legs, and the heat grew into a mindless pulsing fire. Her whole world shrunk. All she could focus on was that single finger, chasing the elusive release from the tension that made her so frantic she wanted to scream.

He never said anything. No soft whispers, no roughly murmured words of encouragement. With a stony mask of control on his face, he continued to torment her, stroking, circling. His touch was so maddeningly light through the thin fabric that a sob of frustration caught in her throat.

She wanted to beg. The words hovered on her tongue. Inside. Touch me. Instinct warned her that he might ignore her plea, and she couldn’t face the humiliation if he refused. She kept silent and braced her arms against the dining table, hair streaming down her back, legs wantonly wide, clothes in disarray.

Soon, the rhythm of that searching finger altered. Instead of the slow glide up and down, other fingers joined it and closed around her swollen bud. Harder, bolder, they rubbed and kneaded, feeding the storm that gathered inside her. His other hand descended from her breasts and resumed the slow stroking, lower now, circling her opening, then pressing inside as far as the flimsy barrier allowed.

It caught her like a volcano, the eruption of pleasure that seized her. Waves of ecstasy crashed over her, making her body buck on the table. Brock slipped his arm around her waist and held her, her shoulders bent back over his strength as he sheltered her through the slowly subsiding contractions that rocked her on the hard timber.

Still he didn’t speak.

Her lids lifted, heavy and listless in the aftermath of the shattering release. She saw Brock’s throat move as he swallowed. A flush tinged his cheeks, and a muscle leaped at the side of his jaw. Beads of perspiration shone on his skin. Every fiber of his being trembled, and suddenly it dawned upon Cat what incredible control he must exercise over his body and mind.

The passion that had swept her along reached out for him, sought to share, give as well as take. She raised one hand, languid and dreamy, and brushed her fingers in a feathery touch over his straining erection.

“No,” he said. Then he released her and stepped away.

Cat flinched, as much from the sharpness of his tone as from nearly toppling over on the table when he withdrew the support of his arm.

“I…why…?” She shook her head, confused. Cool air bathed her burning skin, and suddenly the dark square of the window reminded her of the world outside.

“I can’t,” Brock said. “I don’t believe in sex outside marriage.”

“You don’t believe in sex outside marriage?” Anger stirred.

“No.”

“So, what was this?” She swept a hand across her body. Awareness of her disheveled state dissipated the hazy aftermath of satisfaction. She sat up and pulled her bra down to cover her breasts.

“It was…foreplay,” Brock replied, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Foreplay?” Cat made an unladylike snort. “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand that you don’t want me? Before you…”

“Before what?” His face darkened. “Before I gave you an orgasm that made you scream with pleasure and writhe in my arms?”

Fury, shame and disappointment fought inside her. “Karen should have warned me that you have such antiquated principles.”

“Karen? How the hell would she have known? I don’t discuss my sex life with my deputies.”

“It’s the sort of thing that becomes known in a small town.” Cat huffed out an angry sigh and began to button her blouse. “God, I can just see people snickering at me, for trying to seduce the local pillar of virtue.”

“I’m not a pillar of virtue.”

“Then why…?” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “I’d like to know why. This is the second time this has happened to me. In the case of my late husband, he refused sex before marriage because he didn’t want me to find out he was impotent. What’s your explanation?”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” Brock turned to pace the room, raking his fingers through his hair. He threw her a look mixed with anger and defeat. “I might be many things, but by now you should have discovered that impotent isn’t one of them.”

“I think you owe me an explanation,” she said softly.

He shot another glance at her, then stopped in front of the dark window and stared outside. “I was brought up with old-fashioned values. When I went to college, I discovered a different world. I brought that world home with me. I’d never slept with my high school girlfriend before, but when I did, I came face to face with the fact that she still lived in that old-fashioned world. She expected me to marry her, and so did everyone else. I caved in to pressure, and for the next ten years I paid for my mistake.”

“Oh Brock,” Cat said in an aching whisper, but he didn’t turn around.

“I tried my hardest to make her happy. Money was always a problem because of the medical bills, and I had to take all the overtime I could. In the end it just wore me out. I felt almost as much relief as grief when she died.” He turned to her now, pain burning in his eyes. “I swore that I’ll never put myself in a position again where I’m expected to marry someone just because I’ve slept with her.”

Pity unfurled inside her. The only way of soothing his pain Cat could think of was to share her own miserable history.

“I gave up my job when I was twenty-nine to nurse my mother who had cancer. She died two years later. I took a holiday after the funeral. I’d done rock-climbing at college, so I did an outdoor activity course. Dalton was fourteen. He was on the same course, and we were paired on climbs. Despite the age difference, we hit it off. Dalton is an enchanting mix of high intelligence and old fashioned good manners and naïve innocence. He introduced me to his father. I was swept off my feet and three weeks later we were married. Tim, my late husband, hadn’t told me he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. He’d tricked me into marrying him. I had told Dalton that I’d nursed my mother, so Tim knew I could handle caring for someone about to die, and he knew I got on well with his son. He married me so he would have a companion for the final stages of his illness and someone to take care of Dalton after he was gone.”

“When did you find out?”

“He told me on our wedding night. Partly to explain why he was impotent, and partly because he’d had a pang of ill conscience and thought he’d give me a chance to back out.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“How could I?” Cat exhaled a tired sigh. “Dalton’s mother died when he was small. He had no relatives who could take him in. I couldn’t just walk away and leave him to care for his dying father and then be shut away in a children’s home.” She tried to smile at Brock through the haze of tears. “Or maybe I was just too used to being needed, too afraid to resume my life after my mother passed away. Whatever the reason, I chose to stay, but I felt chained into a marriage that didn’t give me anything it was meant to. I have absolutely no desire to get married again. And if I ever do, I’ll insist on sleeping with the man beforehand to make sure he can satisfy my needs.”

She slid down from the table and straightened her skirt. “And now, I suggest that you take me home. I won’t be in tomorrow. You can tell Karen and Walter goodbye from me.”

Brock gave an awkward shrug. “I have to be at court tomorrow. You’ll be safe from my presence in the office, in case you want to drop by.”

While he drove her back to the hotel, Cat sat in silence beside him, her back rigid and her face expressionless. Only when she got to her room did her composure crack. She threw herself on the bed and burst into bitter tears of humiliation, frustration, and loneliness.

Chapter Four

“I hear Brock took you to the concert at the library last night.” Karen bit into a chicken wrap. “The town’s all agog.”

Cat stirred milk into her coffee. Unable to suppress her sense of duty, she had come to work as usual, knowing she wouldn’t need to face Brock. “There’s nothing much to be agog about,” she replied. “My stepson bullied him into asking me. Dalton is petrified that I’ll cling to him and stop him from enjoying the debauchery of student life. He thought Brock might be a suitable distraction.”

“That he certainly is—a distraction.” Karen rolled her eyes, something she liked to do when words failed her.

Cat managed a smile. All night, she’d battled to regain her equilibrium. Her nerves still grated raw, and her hands didn’t feel quite steady. Disappointment and shame lurked beneath the surface, but her impeccable manners and willpower helped her to present a calm front.

“A distraction even to a married woman with a newborn baby?” she asked.

“Being married doesn’t make me blind. I can still admire, in a platonic way.”

In the past four years, Cat had told herself that she had no friends because she’d been too busy with responsibilities, too worn out from looking after others, but the truth was that she didn’t trust people easily and tended to pull back from overtures of friendship. Now it crossed her mind that the small kernel of affection between her and Karen could grow if nurtured.

“Karen,” she said. “I’d like to keep in touch. I expect to come down again at the end of term. Perhaps we could get together for lunch. Not here, but somewhere in town. I’d like to take you out to thank you for all your help this week.”

“That would be nice.” Karen lowered her sandwich and fiddled with the wrapper. “Brock’s a good man, you know. He’s had a difficult time, and he wears the scars. Don’t write him off just yet. Give him a chance.”

A denial of any interest in him hovered on her tongue. Cat drew a deep breath. If she wanted to have friends, she needed to learn to open up.

“I’ve had my own difficulties.” She told Karen about Tim and her marriage.

“He was impotent? So, if you don’t mind me asking, how long ago…?”

“It’s more than four years since I slept with a man.” Cat’s lips twisted in a rueful smile. “So, you can see that Brock’s not the only one around here with baggage to ditch.”

Karen shook her head in disbelief. Then her eyes sparkled. “Hey, why don’t you apply for the opening we have for a secretary? You said you need a job. It would sure liven up things here, you and Brock working together.

Cat scrunched up her sandwich wrapper and dropped it in the trash. “I’m not going to become your personal reality dating show, thank you very much.”

But when she packed her briefcase and drove back to the Hillside Inn, she had to admit Karen’s idea held certain crazy merit.

****

“Kitty. Kitty.” The little girl in pigtails tossed the beach ball along the lawn.

Cat laughed. “No. Cat. My name is Cat, not Kitty.”

“Kitty.”

“All right then.” She collected the ball and tossed it back to the girl.

The clear sky had chased away the autumn cool and her skin felt tender after two hours in the sunshine. From the corner of her eye, she kept an eye on Dalton and the pretty brunette organizing a volley ball game for the older kids.

Instinct told her that Marybeth was like Sandra and would expect a wedding ring in exchange for her virginity. Cat made a mental note to discuss the topic with Dalton, make sure the boy understood the way of things.

A sense of parental responsibility had brought her out to the children’s home, even at the risk that Dalton might think she was smothering him. After meeting the high school student who was the object of his interest, Cat had carefully kept away from the pair, loitering in the garden, trying to form an idea of how serious Dalton was, so she could find the right tone when she talked to him about the girl.

Reluctant to return to the hotel and face the sense of failure and rejection that had filled the sleepless night, Cat had accepted the invitation to play with some of the younger children.

“Sheri. Sheri.”

Tammy, the little girl, ignored the bouncing ball and tore down the gravel path with wobbly legs.

Oh no.

Cat glanced around for a means of escape, but a high hedge surrounded the yard from three sides. Along the only possible exit route, Brock Leonetti scooped the little girl in his arms and walked over. The faded jeans clung to his narrow hips. He’d rolled up the sleeves of the casual white shirt, exposing corded forearms, and as he came to a halt, Tammy gripped his collar, popping open enough buttons to reveal an expanse of hard muscle sprinkled with crinkly black hair.

“Sheri. Play with Kitty.”

Cat sucked in a breath. Of the million things the child could have said, why did she have to pick that?

“Sure,” Brock said, with an enigmatic look in her direction. He lowered Tammy to the lawn and picked up the beach ball, tossing it to Cat.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, frantically trying to control the fiery surge of blood to her face. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Brock tucked his chin down as he buttoned up his shirt. “I sometimes come by on Saturdays. Practice, in case one day I have kids of my own.” He smiled at her and flicked his hand, inviting her to toss the ball back.

She hurled it at him with all her might. Why did he have that predatory glint in his eagle eyes? Wasn’t rejecting her enough for his masculine ego? Why did he have to taunt her, oozing sex appeal and tugging at her heartstrings with the display of the little girl in his arms?

“Whoa. You sure pack a punch.” He caught the brightly colored ball with ease. “But I guess I already knew that.”

“Sheri, Sheri.” Tammy wrapped herself around Brock’s leg and stared up at him in worship. He flung the ball to the ground and picked up the child. Tammy threw her arms around his neck and smacked a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek.

“Kitty kiss Sheri,” Tammy said, shifting in Brock’s lap to point at Cat.

Cat backed up a step, but to her utter confusion Brock settled Tammy in the crook of his arm and came after her. He draped his other arm across her shoulders and folded her close, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her quietly. “She is just trying to create a family for herself for a brief moment, the way she sees families getting together in television commercials.”

Her head snapped straight and she stared at Brock. The tenderness in his expression knifed right through her heart. Her own troubles, the year in a loveless marriage and the loneliness of her responsibility for Dalton paled in comparison to the yearning of a child without a family. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she couldn’t keep them in, couldn’t stop them from falling. Warm and wet, they rolled down her cheeks.

“Kitty is sad,” Tammy said, her mouth trembling.

“No, sweetheart.” Cat leaned over and kissed the child’s satiny cheek. “Kitty is happy because today she has met you.”

“Why don’t you go and get cro-cro?” Brock withdrew his arm from Cat’s shoulders and settled Tammy on her feet. “We can teach Kitty to play.”

Tammy scampered away. Brock turned around. He reached out and gently wiped away a tear from the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry about the other night. I knew you’d be here. I rang up to check how Dalton is doing and heard you were with him today. I sought you out to apologize.”

“There’s no need to apologize for anything.”

“I’m apologizing anyway. Perhaps, when you’re in town next, I could take you out to dinner.”

The sounds around the yard seemed to fade. His warmth and strength enveloped her, not a sexual heat, but something deeper, real and lasting.

“I…I’d like that,” Cat answered in a low murmur.

Tammy trundled back across the lawn, dragging behind her two small croquet mallets.

“Sheri teach Kitty,” she said and dumped the mallets down.

“Come along, girls,” Brock collected the mallets and pointed to the playing field behind the low red brick building. “Let’s go and play happy families.”

****

Tammy squealed with joy as Brock gripped her around the waist and flew her like a plane. The sun baked overhead and coated his body with perspiration. He felt edgy, itchy, and the sensation crawled inside him, just as it did on his skin.

He should have left long ago, he’d only intended to drop by, but it felt as if an invisible string tied him to the playground.

“Okay, here goes,” Cat said and lined the mallet against the ball.

The chinos clung to her backside as she leaned in to strike. Brock propped Tammy on her feet and stepped away. He felt his muscles tighten. For an hour, he’d been fighting an erection. Not in front of a child. He repeated the words in his mind like a mantra. So far it had worked.

The mallet connected, sending the ball rolling through the gate. Cat gave shout of victory and raced to retrieve the ball. Brock turned his head. He didn’t dare to look in her direction. Didn’t she understand that her blouse sagged at the front, allowing him a peek at her breasts every time she bent down?

“Three-two to the girls.” She loped back and grinned at him. “Well, Sheriff, where’s you sporting prowess? Unless you hit the ball through the gate—she pointed at an impossible angle behind a tuft of grass—you’ve been beaten.”

Well and truly beaten, Brock thought. He shook his head as he took aim and swung the mallet. How on earth had he been able to resist her on Thursday night? Did he have ice water in his veins instead of blood? It tore him up to know that he’d had the opportunity to lose himself in her soft body, and he’d passed it by.

“Whoops,” Cat said as he missed the gate. “You’ll just have to be satisfied with being second best.” Her green eyes sparkled in the sun. A dusting of freckles he hadn’t noticed before warmed her pale skin.

Never. The word soared in his mind. I’ll never want to be second best for you.

Tammy scampered across the lawn.

“Sheri win?” She beamed up at him.

“No, sweetheart.” He scooped her up. “You and Kitty win.”

“Sheri kiss Tammy.” She pursed her mouth and closed her eyes.

Brock pecked her lips. He hadn’t quite decided if the child’s sudden obsession with kissing suited him or not.

“Sheri kiss Kitty,” Tammy demanded and reached a hand out for Cat.

“Here we go again,” she said and walked up to him. It had to be the fourth time, and so far he’d limited himself to a brush on her cheek or forehead. Now, Cat imitated Tammy, pursing her lips, then rose on tiptoe and rubbed her mouth against his. It wasn’t even really a kiss, but it sent a pull of desire tugging deep inside him.

“I have to go,” he said, and handed Tammy to Cat. “Remember, when you come back again, let me know, and I’ll take you out to dinner.”

As Brock walked away, he cursed himself for the millionth time. Weeks, even months would go by before he got another chance with her. Worse, she might never get in touch when she returned. What about all those other men he was supposed to have prepared her for, those dates she planned to go out on? His hands clenched into fists as he considered the prospect of her with someone else.

He’d been a damn, damn fool.

****

Sleep wouldn’t come. Cat turned over and checked the time on the alarm clock. Ten past ten. She’d gone to bed early in preparation for the morning flight home. Every time she closed her eyes, Brock filled her vision. Smiling tenderly, his guarded amber eyes turning warm and inviting, the way they had as he watched her striding across the sunny field of grass.

Karen’s words echoed in her mind. Brock’s a good man, you know. Don’t write him off just yet. Give him a chance.

Remember, when you come back again, let me know, and I’ll take you out to dinner. His voice reached out to her, as if he’d spoken by her bedside

The end of term when she’d return seemed forever, and in a flash Cat knew she couldn’t wait that long. Couldn’t wait at all. She flung the covers aside and jumped out of bed. Using one hand to dial Dalton’s cell phone, she began to pull on a pair of leggings and a tight long-sleeved top.

“Dalton? Where are you?”

“I’m in the bar on campus. What’s up?”

“Have you been drinking? Is your judgment impaired?”

“I only just got here,” Dalton said with a defensive huff. “And they know I’m only sixteen. They won’t serve me anything stronger than ginger ale.”

“When does the freshman Clock Tower Challenge officially end?”

“Midnight tonight.” His voice fell to a secret whisper. “No one made it this year. Are you suggesting…it will be dark.”

“Climbing is mostly by feel anyway, and I think there are some floodlights.”

“Are you saying…?” Dalton paused, let out a muffled whoop of excitement. “I’m just sitting here on my own. No one will take any notice if I leave. If you’re sure, I’m up for it.”

“Get your gear and meet me in the parking lot outside your dorm. I’m on my way over.”

“Cat, you’re the best stepmother a boy could have. I’ll go get my rock boots.”

Cat’s lips curved into a tight smile as she pressed the button to end the call.

Brock Leonetti would find out what it was like to be chased.

****

“Do it again.” Cat shook her arms to ease her cramping muscles while she watched Dalton leap and windmill in front of the alarm sensor on the wall.

“The damn thing’s not working,” he said in a growl. “What do we do?”

“We’ll carry on to the top. There must be another alarm by the clock.”

Cat tipped her head back and surveyed the brickwork on the tower in front of her. They had made it without incident to the flat roof of the main building, where climbers normally triggered the alarm. The Clock Tower Challenge was to make it up to the top in the time it took for the law to arrive. According to the rules, the climbers had to stop when the sheriff or one of his deputies stepped out of their vehicle.

“We’ll be disqualified,” Dalton said. “We’ll get to the top, but there’ll be no time pressure.

“We can’t be sure,” Cat protested. Although the darkness covered them, occasionally a car drove by, and she kept her voice down. “Even if the alarm isn’t going off, it might have sent a signal to a dispatcher.”

She started up ahead of Dalton. Her hands crept over the brickwork, finding tiny cracks for her fingers to slip inside, giving just enough purchase to hoist her weight up to the next foothold, where her rubber-soled boots clung to the small ridges in the vertical surface.

“Are you okay?” she called down to Dalton.

“Cakewalk,” he answered. “Hurry up. I want that ledge for my handhold.”

The application of skill and balance and strength pumped a sense of triumph through her body and mind. There had been no signs of Brock or one of his deputies by the time they reached the open chamber at the top of the clock tower. Breathing heavily, Cat flopped inside.

“Where’s the alarm?” Dalton circled the small square room.

“There.” She pointed to the infrared sensor on the wall.

“It’s not blinking.” Dalton moved his hand side to side in front of the small plastic box. “The fucking thing’s broken.”

Cat frowned at him. “Don’t use that word.”

“Why not?” Dalton complained. “Don’t you realize? Unless you’re prepared to down-climb, we’ll be stuck here until morning.” His face clouded. “Shit, if no one comes within shouting distance, we might be stuck here until Monday morning when people arrive for work.”

“I hate down-climbing,” Cat said. “Much too dangerous in the dark.”

“So, what the heck do we do?”

The night chill wrapped around them. Cat surveyed their surroundings. No source of heat, no toilet, no food, only limited shelter. “Try the trapdoor,” she told him.

Dalton crouched by the wooden square in the floor that provided access to the staircase inside the tower. “I don’t need to try. You can see it’s padlocked.”

“Try it anyway.”

She waited while Dalton yanked the metal ring that served as a handle.

“It won’t even budge. Shit. I’ve arranged to go down to the shore tomorrow with Marybeth’s family. They want to leave at seven. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Cat took out her cell phone from the zippered pocket on the front of her top. A crack ran along the plastic casing, and the display wouldn’t switch on. “Damn. I’ve broken my phone. I slammed my side against the railing when I swung over the top. I heard a crunching sound. It must have been the phone in my pocket.”

“I’ve got mine,” Dalton said. He extracted the phone from the pouch tied around his waist. “I’ll dial 9-1-1.”

“You can’t.” Cat grabbed his arm. “Brock would kill me.”

Dalton lowered the phone. “What else do you suggest? It’s a cold night. Sooner or later we’ll have to call anyway, and it’s better to call now, before we have to make things worse by peeing in the corners.”

He raised his hand, scrolled down the stored numbers. “If you prefer, I can call the sheriff. He gave me his number when I started working at the children’s home.”

Cat closed her eyes. It had seemed such a good idea two hours ago, but Brock would be furious. She had wanted another week with him. Instead, he might end up throttling her.

“Go on then,” she muttered. “Tell him I’m with you. He might calm down a bit on his way over.”

Chapter Five

Brock parked by the entrance to the Town Hall and jumped out of the car. Of all the harebrained women in the world, why did Catherine Bridgewater have to be the one to invade his life, turning his beliefs upside down, firing up every male instinct he possessed?

He found the pair of them shivering in the open chamber at the top of the clock tower.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted before he fully emerged through the trapdoor. He scowled at Dalton. “You were supposed to keep her out of trouble.”

“Sorry.” The boy had the audacity to grin. “I tried.”

Brock turned to Cat, and the fear that clenched in his gut almost brought him to this knees. “Don’t you understand you could have been hurt?”

She stood before him, arrow-trim in the black leggings and top, hugging her arms for warmth. A forlorn expression flickered over her face as she stared up at him, eyes full of uncertainty.

“Christ, Cat.” He gathered her into his arms. “Don’t you realize what it would do to me to find your lifeless body sprawled on the sidewalk?”

“Sorry,” she said. “We’re good climbers. There was no danger.”

His hands roamed her back, as if to make sure she remained unharmed. Nothing else mattered. In that moment, when he cradled her body against his, attempting to share his heat with her, it dawned upon Brock that if Cat had fallen and died, his grief would have eclipsed the pain he’d felt when he lost his wife.

“Let’s get you out of here.” His voice was gruff when he released her. “I’ve got some blankets in the car.”

Dalton stared at the pair of them, satisfaction stamped on his face.

Brock sighed. Cat’s stepson added another twist to a situation already far too complicated.

“I’ll lead the way,” the boy said cheerfully and disappeared down the steep staircase.

“You’re freezing.” Brock ran his hands up and down Cat’s arms. “You should have huddled together for warmth.”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s a teenage boy just discovering girls. We’re not related by blood, and we’ve only known each other two years. It would have been awkward.”

“I see.” He nodded his understanding. “You need a hot bath. Is there a tub in your hotel room?”

“Yes,” Cat said, and promptly sneezed.

Brock searched his pockets until he found a clean tissue. He handed it to her before guiding her down through the trap door.

“We’ll pass by the campus first,” he said when they reached his car.

“Why didn’t the alarm go off?” Dalton asked.

“Some jerks cut a wire this morning, trying to cheat.” Brock assisted Cat up to the front seat. “I’d have posted a guard outside, but I didn’t expect anyone to be crazy enough to try the climb at night. It’s usually done at dawn.”

“Cat’s a good climber, and I’m not bad myself.” Dalton settled in the back and craned his neck to inspect the car. “Cool wheels, sheriff.”

“What about my rental car?” Cat asked as soon as Brock had settled in the driver’s seat. “It’s due back by ten in the morning.”

“I’ll get it picked up.”

“What about my flight? It’s at eleven.”

He glanced over. “You can try to claim from your travel insurance, but I expect getting arrested isn’t a valid reason for missing the flight.”

“Are you arresting us? Do we have to do another forty hours of community service?”

The hopeful lilt in her voice curled around his heart. “No,” he said. “That’s for first time offenders. Repeat offenders get eighty hours.”

****

Brock led Cat through the lobby to the elevator. The reception area was empty, but the lack of audience didn’t ease his terse mood. He didn’t give a damn if he was seen on his way up to her room. His life was turning upside down, the needs that he had tried to shut away were breaking free, and he no longer cared to fight back.

“Thank you.” Cat paused outside her door. “I’ll be fine from here.”

“The hell you will.” He took the plastic keycard from her and inserted it in the lock. “You clearly need a keeper.”

“Wait.” Her hand touched his, and the feel of her smooth skin against his deepened the turmoil inside him. “You’ve taken off your wedding band.” With one fingertip, she traced the pale line at the base of his finger. “Why?”

Brock pushed the door open and waved her through. “It was time,” he replied. “I’m closing the door on the past.” Suddenly uncertain, he paused. “Right now, I feel that I’m on the threshold of the future, and it’s up to you to invite me to take the next step.”

For one interminable second, he waited while Cat stood still, a look of worry drifting across her face. Then a hesitant smile curved her mouth and she beckoned him to enter. Moving with her usual grace, she went deeper into the room, but the nervous flutter of her hands as she adjusted the heating controls betrayed her agitation.

The years of abstinence inside Brock twisted and snapped, and he knew that he couldn’t handle small talk. Not now, not tonight. His ears rang with the pulsing of his blood as his body signaled its demands.

Mindless abandon. That’s what Cat had told him she craved.

That’s what he wanted too.

“I’ll start the bath running,” he told her. “Take your clothes off.”

She stared at him, surprise etched on her features. In silence, she continued to the foot of the bed and began to undress. Her movements were quick, simple, not designed to seduce or titillate, and he knew that she had sensed his mood, had understood they were beyond playing games.

He turned away and strode into the bathroom. The feminine clutter on the vanity stoked the desire already rising swift and hard inside him. He set the tub to fill with hot water, found a miniature bottle of bath foam and poured the contents into the current. Steam curled in the air, clouding the mirror.

Brock waited, but Cat didn’t follow him inside. He tested the water, added enough cold to prevent scalding, and went to find her.

She stood completely bare, arms down her sides, not making any effort to shield her body from his gaze. Eyes shining with excitement, she contemplated him as he closed the distance between them. When he swung her into his arms, she gave a playful squeal of protest.

The happy sound snapped the last of his restraints. His heart hammered in his chest. New emotions burst free inside him. Brock didn’t pause to analyze them. There would be time later on. Now he just wanted to take her, possess her.

Turning his shoulders, he eased her into the bathroom, then stood by the tub and lowered her in his arms, until she touched the water.

“Let me know if it’s too hot,” he said.

“No. It’s fine.” Cat untangled her hold from around his neck, but rather than release her, he crouched down to settle her all the way inside the bath.

“You’re getting wet.” She splashed water at him to make sure. A hesitant smile tilted the corners of her mouth, and he understood that she was holding back, waiting for him to show what he wanted.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned her. “I’m getting in with you.”

Elation streaked down his limbs as he left her and quickly discarded his clothing on the single chair in the room. It seemed so easy now, so clear in his mind. What was the point of denying what he needed so badly, what they both wanted?

He returned, pausing at the bathroom door. Cat turned to look at him. Water cascaded from her shoulders and ran in rivulets down her breasts. Her skin gleamed wet. Her lips parted as she stared at him, her eyes dark with passion. For a long moment, Brock stood still, admiring her.

His, to conquer.

Not taking his eyes off her, he moved up to the tub and lifted one foot inside. The heat gripped his flesh and reverberated up to his groin.

“Scoot over,” he ordered.

She sat up, and he fitted his large frame inside, reclining against the end. He made space for her, but instead of settling between his legs as he had expected, her back to his chest, she stretched on her side beside him, partly in the narrow gap by his side and partly draped over him, one leg folded beneath his knees and he other hooked over them.

He slipped his arm around her. “Are you getting warm?”

“Yes,” she murmured. Her hand traveled up his torso, slippery with water. A thousand small explosions raced down his abdomen. His arousal stirred amid the clouds of bath foam. He tipped his head back and groaned out loud.

“Tell me what to do,” Cat said. “I’m not…experienced.”

Fatigue swamped him. Part of it was a release of the fear he’d felt for her safety, and the heat lapping over his skin, but deep down his relaxation came from the sweet surrender in the fight to resist her and ignore his own physical needs.

“Have you ever…?” he asked.

Cat shook her head. Her eyes drifted down his body, came to a halt at his straining shaft. “The thought has never appealed to me before,” she said in a low voice.

“And now it does?”

“Oh yes.” She shimmied like a lizard down his chest. “Very much.”

Water rippled and sloshed as she moved. His muscles tightened with fierce anticipation. He withdrew his arm from around her and placed both his hands on her head. With gentle but insistent pressure, he brought her down to his straining cock.

“Open your mouth,” he told her. Then he released her and stretched his arms along the sides of the tub, leaving her to decide whether to engage in the act or not.

A tremor ran though him as her lips closed around him. After the heat of the bath, the inside of her mouth felt cool, and the contrast magnified his lust. From the first sight, she’d been full of contradictions. Prim and sexy, demure and forward. Her unpredictability kept him on edge, his mind constantly on her and what she might do next.

“Run your lips up and down.” His voice was hoarse.

She obeyed the instruction, tentatively at first. Gaining confidence, she began to swirl her tongue over the bulbous end. One of her hands crept up from beneath and cupped his balls.

“Jesus, Cat,” he groaned. “What are you doing to me?”

She emitted a low sound in her throat and picked up speed. Her teeth scraped his flesh, but he didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about anything but the explosion that was building up at the base of his spine.

Without any prompting from his part, she shifted to a kneeling position between his legs. The angle took him deeper into her mouth, gave more friction. He caught her head in his hands, gripped the sides to hold her still, his cock buried between her lips. With a few quick thrusts of his hips, he climbed the final steps toward release.

The world went dark around him. A harsh cry tore from his chest. Pleasure streaked along his nerves, raw and volatile, ripping right through him. It felt as if his very soul soared away and then slowly gathered back into his body with the steady pulse that rocked his shoulders against the end of the tub.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked when she pulled away.

“Un-uh.” She made the sound without opening her mouth.

“Don’t spit in the water,” he told her as sanity returned. “The little buggers are good swimmers.”

Brock watched as she reached for a handful of tissues and dealt with his sperm. His hands clenched into fists as he realized he couldn’t fully take her, not tonight, not without protection. He cursed himself for not being prepared and almost laughed out loud at the thought. Prepared? How could a man be prepared for breaking his principles?

“The water is cooling.” Cat sprawled on top on him again, not bashful in the least. Her head tipped back and she inspected him with sultry eyes. “I didn’t realize I’d enjoy it so much. I’ve always thought it’s something women do only because men demand it.”

“That’s what I’ve always thought too.” He clasped his hands around her waist and levered her up, then hoisted her to her feet. “Let’s get you dry.”

****

“You do remember that I’m not on birth control?” Cat stared at Brock as he carried her across the room and deposited her on top of the bed.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll manage.”

He had dried her with a mix of gentleness and efficiency, not pausing to linger on her curves. Apart from one single kiss on her belly as he knelt to rub the towel along her legs, he hadn’t caressed her. Disappointment ached inside her. He’d had his pleasure, and now he’d lost interest.

Heat swirled around the room, drawing moisture back to her skin. She’d flipped the thermostat to maximum when they arrived, planning to turn it down again after a few minutes, but she’d forgotten.

“Could you adjust the temperature?” she asked.

“No.” He unraveled the fluffy white towel from around her. “I want it warm, so we don’t need to get under the covers.”

He straightened and raked his gaze over her naked form, his eyes hot and unfathomable. Reaching down, he trailed his fingertips along her front. “How did your husband satisfy you, if he was impotent? What did he do to give you pleasure?”

Her mouth went dry. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I want to do every single thing to you that he did and more. I want to put my stamp on you. Wipe out any memory you have of anyone else ever touching you. I don’t care if it takes all night, or uses up every ounce of energy I have left. By the morning, you’ll belong to no one but me.”

Heat pooled between her legs at his words and the predatory glint in his eyes.

“There are no memories to wipe out,” she told him. “When I realized I’d been tricked into a marriage of convenience, I agreed to stay, provided that’s what we would have. A practical arrangement, nothing more. He never touched me, and anyone else was so long ago that I’ve already forgotten them.”

Satisfaction flashed in his expression. His jaw tightened with determination, like a man facing a challenge—scale a mountain, traverse a desert, sail across an ocean. He climbed up on the bed and settled kneeling beside her.

“Turn over,” he ordered, placing one hand at her hip.

Cat rolled on her stomach and pressed her face to the shiny comforter. Every cell in her body tingled. When his lips brushed her neck, she cried out, startled. It was nothing but a fleeting contact, but the pleasure radiated all the way to her toes.

Her breath began to pant as Brock explored her spine, vertebra by vertebra, until he reached the top of her buttocks. With his calloused hands, he cupped one side, then the other, gently squeezing. Too soon, he withdrew his touch, leaving her bereft.

Then a fingertip drifted to the top of her cleft and hovered there before breaking the contact.

“I’m thinking of all the ways I could make love to you if we had protection.” His voice came out hoarse. “How do you like it, Catherine? Do you like it hard or gentle? Fast or slow? Do you like it face to face, or from behind? On top, sitting across my lap, kneeling down?”

The hand descended to the back of her legs. Starting at the hollow behind her knees, it began a slow travel up. A sob of frustration tore from her throat, and Cat tried to stifle the sound by pressing her mouth to the bedclothes.

“No, Catherine. I want to hear your pleasure. Don’t hide anything from me.”

“I can’t wait,” she wailed. “I’m burning up.”

Brock hushed her and used his hand to nudge her legs apart. “Don’t rush it. I want to touch every part of you.”

His finger dipped between her legs, found her opening.

She arched her back, jutting out her rear to give him better access.

“Turn over,” he ordered once more.

She rolled around, found him up on his knees, staring down at her.

In silence, he stretched out over her. His erect shaft nudged her belly. Her knees sprang apart, and she realized that if he made a move to enter her without protection, she wouldn’t try to stop him.

He settled between her legs, but inched higher up, so the restless motion of her hips wouldn’t tempt him inside.

“No,” he told her. “Not tonight.”

His mouth came down to her neck and found the spot that ignited all her senses.

“Oh my God, oh my God.” Her voice drifted around them, an incoherent stream of sound. Her head trashed side to side, at the same time seeking and avoiding his lips as their impact shattered her usual reserve.

Brock traveled down her body, pausing to kiss her breasts. Teasing, tugging, gently biting the peaked nipples. Tension screamed through her, and Cat thought she’d lose her mind if he didn’t do something soon. She felt his muscles bunch as he got ready to move again, and the prospect sent a shudder along her limbs. She tried to wriggle up on the bed to shorten the remaining distance, but his hands gripped her waist to hold her still.

His warm breath swept across her belly, not touching, barely nuzzling. Then, finally, his hands curled around her thighs and he urged her legs wide, impossibly wide. He repositioned her, angling her hips upward. An almost unbearable heat exploded inside her as his mouth came down on her.

His tongue opened and searched and stroked and tasted. Pleasure washed over her as he possessed her with intimacy she hadn’t known existed. Her hips bucked and reared, out of control. Ragged sounds burst from her throat as she obeyed his command, not hiding her pleasure from him. The cool façade she had learned to hide behind combusted and fell to ashes.

All too soon, he drove her over the edge. She arched like a bow on the bed as contractions seized her, ripping through her on a release that splintered her mind. Tears seeped out through tightly closed lids. She screamed out his name, so loud that Brock had to reach up and place a hand across her mouth to silence her.

When the waves of completion stilled, he released her and got up, but only long enough to turn down the heating.

Her body felt liquid, boneless. She lay languid on the bed and allowed him to lift her up and tuck her beneath the covers. When he stretched out beside her, she curled into his side. His arms closed around her. He pressed a kiss on her forehead.

“Get some rest,” Brock told her. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”

With a sigh, Cat closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He woke her twice more, and brought her to violent climax each time, until she lost all awareness of what was real and what was part of a dream.

In the morning, Cat became aware of the loss of Brock’s body heat. Her eyes blinked open. He stood beside the bed, looking down at her, already pulling his clothes on. The reading lamp bathed the room in muted yellow light.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” he said.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Nine o’clock.” He finished strapping the holstered handgun to his ankle before leaning down to give her a quick kiss. “I’m sorry. It’s a family gathering, arranged weeks ago. I have to drive up to Maryland. I won’t be back until late. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning.”

“I see.” She lifted a brow.

“Cat. It’s not like that.” He caught her chin with the edge of his hand. “I’m not running away because I spent last night in bed with you and have scored you off some mental to-do list. I have a prior engagement, and you have to admit, it makes sense to stand back a little, get some perspective.”

She pursed her mouth and nodded, unwilling to argue.

“Good girl,” he said, and leaned down for another kiss, longer this time.

When the door closed after him, Cat sank against the mattress and sighed. The words she’d longed to hear were nothing to do with love. Far more casual, they would have meant just as much to her, but he’d never said them.

Would you like to join me?

Was it really too much to expect that he would include her in his day?

****

Cat prowled about the hotel. She had coffee in the lobby and settled by the pool to leaf through a magazine. A few minutes later, she bounced to her feet again and returned to her room to flick through the television channels.

Images of Brock bombarded her brain. She saw him lying naked in the bath, dark whorls of hair covering his powerful chest—arching in the water as he shouted out a hoarse cry of release—bent over her on the bed, droplets from his hair falling on the inside of her thighs.

The sensations he’d wrought from her made her body flush with heat. She had asked for mindless abandon, and he had certainly given it to her. Even now, the memory sent a tingle of awareness along her skin.

All at once, Cat couldn’t face the loneliness a second longer. Dalton had gone on his daytrip to the shore, and it tore her up that Brock remained distant, too aloof to allow her to lay claim to his Sunday. She ached to belong to someone, to be his first and last priority.

I come by on Saturdays, to practice in case one day I have kids of my own.

The memory of his words pierced the wall of anxiety around her. She’d go and help out at the children’s home. She’d never had much to do with small children, and they made her nervous, all blunt questions and bold eyes that saw hidden truths. The experience would do her good.

As she drove down Main Street, a woman was busy hauling a display board outside a drugstore. Cat hadn’t expected the shops to be open on a Sunday. On impulse, she pulled over and went inside. If Brock gave her another night, she wanted to feel him inside her. The thought of that power rippling through her as they came together made a hot flush flare all over her.

Idly, she loitered around the rows of display racks until she found the condoms. She cruised by twice more and chose by color, a dark purple. She snatched up a box. Holding it hidden in her palm, Cat waited until no other customers stood in line by the cash register.

The stout woman with brassy blond hair piled up on her head took the box and ran it past the scanner. “The barcode’s not working.” She shrugged her shoulders and shouted out to the thin old man stacking the shelves. “Jack, can you bring another box of condoms? The purple ones?”

As luck would have it, a group of women walked in through the door just as the words rang in the air. Cat recognized one of them from the Thursday concert.

The gaunt man returned with the condoms and handed them to the woman behind the cash register.

“So, you are the lady working in the sheriff’s office,” the woman said to Cat.

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know anyone else in town?”

The newcomers clustered by the counter, waiting for their turn, listening in to the conversation. As they watched her, their eyes turned cold and their expressions accusing, like the inquisition setting up court.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Cat could see where the conversation was heading, and this time Brock would surely strangle her.

“These are not for him,” she blurted out. “My stepson wants me to do the Mrs. Robinson thing. You know, seduce some of his friends.”

Silence fell. Everyone stared, mouths agape. Her face burned, but she forced herself to hold her head high and walk out of the store with unhurried steps.

As Cat sat in her car, terror closed in around her. Instead of salvaging the situation, she might have just made it much, much worse.

Chapter Six

“Brock’s not usually late. Oh, there he is. What’s on earth’s wrong with him?” Karen’s normally calm features furrowed with concern.

The entrance door flung open with a force that rattled the frame. Cat didn’t dare to turn around. Hunching down behind her computer, she listened to the heavy trail of footsteps that thundered across the floor toward her.

“In my office. Now.”

She winced at the controlled fury in his voice and stole a glance over her shoulder. Brock appeared ready to explode. His arm shot up to a vertical line that pointed to the half-glazed door.

Cat got up slowly, gaining a few precious seconds. Karen’s eyes strained in their sockets as her gaze shuttled between the pair of them. Brock stood like a stone pillar, waiting until Cat reached the threshold of his office. Then he bore down with the speed of a hurricane and slammed the door shut behind them.

“I want to know why three women called me this morning to warn me that a person of questionable morals works in my office. What the hell did you do this time? Who’s you latest target for seduction? I had no idea that in your bid to experience the kind of abandon you read about in books you were willing to throw yourself at any man.”

He pulled out the chair from behind his desk and slumped down. Anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving a dark shine of disappointment in his eyes. “You really had me fooled with all that soft innocence. I should have known it was an act.”

“I—”

“You can bloody well listen until I’m finished.”

“No,” she yelled. “Don’t try to brush me off with that again.” Fury rose inside her at his condemnation of her. She planted her hands on his desk and leaned closer. “I’ve done nothing but try to protect your reputation. I know it was a stupid remark, but I was under some pressure, and that’s the best I could come up with.”

He exhaled slowly. “What happened? No one is willing to give me details.”

She told him about the box of condoms and the Mrs. Robinson remark. “They were all staring at me, challenging me to admit that I hoped to sleep with you. What did you expect me to do? Tell them I’d give it my best shot but you were a hard nut to crack?”

His mouth quirked. “My nuts are no harder than any other man’s.”

“What? You think this is funny?” She stared at him, aghast. Then humor began to tickle in her belly, seeking a way out.

Brock propped his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands. Groaning, he shook his head, but Cat could see that he too was struggling to keep the laughter inside.

“Did you really think that I...?” She reached out a hand and gently touched the thick locks of dark brown hair. “It’s four years since I last slept with a man. You must realize I wouldn’t offer myself to just anyone. I simply didn’t want to deal with another situation where we both wanted it, but the practical considerations of birth control got in the way.”

He raised his head and studied her with a thoughtful look. “There’s only one thing we can do now.”

She waited in silence.

“We must appear together in public, make it clear that we’re involved. Those women have no sense of humor. It’s up to us to make people accept that you were joking.”

Cat exhaled in relief, unable to stop her lips from curving into a smile. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Good. We can start tonight. Do you have a dress? It’s black tie.”

“I don’t, but I’ll have one by tonight if you give me the afternoon off.”

“Scoot.” Brock waved her away. “And please try to save me from further embarrassment. I’ve got a reelection to think of next year. Consorting with a woman of dubious morals could ruin my campaign.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Cat saluted and scampered out.

Her heart soared. He’d been jealous. That scorching anger had been a sure sign that he felt possessive about her, regarded her as his property.

“Everything okay?” Karen asked as Cat flounced back to her desk.

“Couldn’t be better.” She beamed at the young deputy. “Sometimes, doing something stupid is exactly the right thing to do.”

****

“This is Catherine Bridgewater.” Brock steered her toward a broad shouldered man with curly russet hair and piercing gray eyes. “Hank Malone is our chief financial officer.

Cat shook yet another hand and smiled. Curious stares had followed her every move. If she hadn’t been aware of the effort it took to organize a formal party, she’d have assumed that the gathering at the mayor’s residence had been arranged with the express purpose of allowing people to inspect her.

She’d bought a sleeveless sheath dress in black satin that cost far more than she could afford, but she had cast aside all thoughts of their precarious financial situation. The high back and white tuxedo collar gave her a demure look, offsetting the impact of the slit on the side that revealed a full length of leg. Brock hadn’t said anything when he picked her up, but his sharp intake of breath had made the expense worth every cent.

“So, you’re the young lady who tries to invade our offices,” Hank Malone said.

Cat gave the man an apologetic smile. “My stepson wanted to try the Clock Tower Challenge. I’m an experienced rock climber, and I felt it safer not to let him do it alone.”

“Brock keeps asking for extra funds so he can post a security guard permanently outside the Town Hall, but I keep refusing. They’ll just pick another building.”

“It shouldn’t cost too much just for the first week of the term,” Cat said.

Brock shook his head. “I’ve tried that. They changed the dates of the Challenge. At least this way, the danger is over in a week.”

Hank directed a speculative look at Cat. “You wouldn’t like to have another go, would you? We could set up a video camera and get the footage on the evening news. Would do wonders for our tourism.”

“Forget it, Hank.” Brock reached his arm around Cat’s waist and tucked her against his side. “She isn’t going anywhere near that clock tower gain.”

Hank raised a brow. “Why, sheriff, you speak as if you owned her.”

“An astute observation,” Brock drawled, and leaned down to brush a kiss on her lips. “I do, at least for the next two weeks.”

“Keep your voice down, Sheriff,” Hank said with a grin. “Otherwise you’ll be rescuing women halfway up the Town Hall every month from now on.”

“Perhaps I’ll put out the word that the next offender has to serve their sentence in your office. I know exactly who would leave the party right now in her little sports car, without going home first to change out of her evening gown.”

Hank nearly choked on the sip of champagne he’d taken and cast a frightened look around. “Don’t you dare, Brock.”

“You can keep that in mind when you review my request for increased funds,” Brock shot back. With a smooth excuse, he steered Cat toward the next cluster of people.

At nine, the orchestra raised the volume and switched from Mozart to dance music. People holding drinks and canapés retreated to the edges of the room, clearing the floor for the dancers.

Brock pried the empty champagne flute from her clinging fingers and found a table to prop it on. “Ready?” he asked.

Cat glanced up at him. He contemplated her, unsmiling, heat smoldering in his amber eyes. She took a deep breath and nodded. He led her into the throng of couples. When she stepped into his arms, it felt as if the music entered her veins, pulsing through her, each note flickering deep and low inside her.

Brock gathered her close. His hands traveled restlessly up and down her back, pressing her to his muscled chest. Cat closed her eyes and lowered her head on his shoulder. A sense of safety, of being cherished, swept over her. It might only be an act to convince people that they were serious about each other, but at least for the moment it felt all too real.

“Cat. Look at me.” His hand rose to cup her chin, lifting her face. The rough pad of his thumb stroked her lower lip. “You are the most beautiful woman in this room. Every man in here would like to be in my place right now. I don’t want you to dance with anyone else. Not tonight. Will you do that for me? Let me keep you all to myself?”

She gave him a wordless nod. Slowly, he lowered his head and molded his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and tender, and by now Cat knew Brock well enough to understand that he’d impose strict limits on their public display of affection. If only life could always be like this. She wanted someone to love her, love her with a fierce possessiveness that left no room for doubt. Being needed had never been enough. She wanted to feel the full measure of a man’s passion, not some pale imitation because having her around was convenient.

“I know we planned to stay, but I think an early exit is just what we need to get people talking,” he whispered into her ear. “Let’s go and say goodbye to the mayor and his wife.”

****

Cat’s hands trembled around the beaded black evening bag, as if the two foil squares she’d slipped inside were firecrackers about to go off. Taking the condoms with her had filled her with a mix of thrill and embarrassment and hope. She’d never acted predatory before, had never sent signals that screamed take me, I’m yours.

“Are you warm enough?” Brock said when he helped her into the car a valet had driven up.

“Yes.”

He didn’t pause to ask where she wanted to go, and she leaned back in gratitude. She wanted to be swept along by the current between them, not to have to make decisions or consider how she’d feel in the morning.

He pressed a button on the console and music flowed through the car, curling around her, drawing out the yearning that already pressed inside her chest.

Brock drove faster than she remembered, speeding past a changing light and swerving around corners. He pulled up in the drive, jumped out and circled to open the passenger door for her. Inside the house, he tossed the keys on the hall table and turned to her.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

He took her hand and led her up the stairs. His bedroom was dark, masculine, with a large divan bed flanked by a pair of low chests. “I redecorated last year,” he said. “We had a sleigh bed, and I don’t like a footboard. I feel hemmed in.”

Cat tried to smile. Nerves skittered up her back and made her shoulders shudder.

“You’re cold,” he said. “Let me make you warm.”

Brock cupped her face between his hands and lowered his head. The kiss started out light, but with a growl of impatience he hauled her close and slanted his mouth across hers. His tongue swept inside, stroking, tasting. When he finally broke the contact, he closed his arms around her, rocking her while he spoke.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me. I never expected to be knocked off kilter by a woman so fast. I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be happy, to wake up in the morning and look forward to the day.”

Cat reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m scared by how much I feel.”

“You’re not alone.”

She looked at him and saw the need in his eyes. A sense of calm settled over her as she accepted the power of destiny. Everything in her life had brought her to this moment. Without her marriage to Tim, she wouldn’t have Dalton, and without Dalton starting college, she wouldn’t have traveled out for his first week. Each disappointment along the way had been nothing but a stepping-stone to Brock.

Her hands rose to the zipper at the back of her gown.

“No. Let me.” Brock moved to stand behind her and slowly revealed her, pressing kisses on her skin as he moved down along her spine. He straightened and slipped the dress from her shoulders.

Cat turned around and stood before him in her bra and panties, the dress pooled at her feet. “My turn,” she said and reached out for him.

Brock took her wrists and pushed her hands away. “No. I can’t wait.”

She stripped out of her underwear, watching as he discarded his evening clothes, dropping each garment to the floor in his haste. His shaft sprung free, jutting out from the curls at his groin.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered. Searching on the floor, he picked up his jacket and pulled a pale blue foil envelope from the pocket.

Confusion clouded her mind. “Where did you get that from?”

“I bought a packet from the drugstore this afternoon. Jack was at the cash register. I told him I didn’t like the ones you chose and wanted to try a different brand. He was very helpful, remembered what you bought.”

“You did no such thing!” she cried, horrified.

His eyes gleamed, sweeping the length of her naked body, full of masculine glee. “I most certainly did. I thought it best not to leave any room for doubt.”

She watched as he readied himself. Muscles bunched on his biceps as his hands moved with a single-minded intention of not wasting one more second. He turned to her, his arousal thick and heavy.

“I told you to get on the bed.”

His hands closed around her waist and Cat found herself tossed on her back across the covers. Like a shield, his weight descended over her. His mouth found hers, hot and consuming. His tongue plunged deep inside, mating with hers, seeking to conquer and seal his ownership.

A hot surge of desire exploded inside her. She’d never realized how erotic a man’s weight upon her could be. His broad chest and powerful limbs caged her in, pressing her against the mattress, limiting her movements, almost as if she’d been leashed to the bed.

Brock’s body heat enveloped her. His hips shifted, one leg wedging between hers to push them apart. A tremor of excitement shot up her spine. All her senses intensified. Waiting. Wanting. Her breath caught as his body inched down along hers, the crisp hairs on his chest rasping at her tender nipples.

Brock used his hands to push her knees wide, so wide that she had no choice but to wrap her legs around him. She felt his fingers at the juncture of her thighs, probing but not sliding inside. A hoarse sound of satisfaction rumbled out of his chest as he felt the gathering moisture.

She gasped with pleasure and tipped her head back on the pillow.

He moved up and again lowered his weight over her. The sense of being trapped sent a rush of desire tingling along her skin. She crossed her ankles at the small of his back and clung to him. The thought of capturing inside all that power now harnessed above made her inner muscles clench.

Just as she coiled tight, Brock reached down to position himself. Cat felt the small nudge, the slight push at her opening. Her hips jerked up in a bold invitation as a contraction tugged in her abdomen.

“Ready?” Brock said and curled his arms beneath her shoulders to anchor her in place. The hard lines of his face reflected an intense focus, the effort he made to hold in check the urgency that drove him on.

“Yes,” she said.

He rose on his elbows. In one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside her.

Impossibly deep, he stretched her, poised above her to allow her to get used to his size and shape, the fierce penetration that demanded that she accommodate him.

Her body pulsed around him, holding him in.

He slid back out, slowly, inch by inch, only to surge back inside and halt there once more. This time the pause was restless, with short jerks of his hips that sought to embed him deeper, make her take all of him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Cat nodded. Her lungs wouldn’t obey and breathe. A violent trembling seized her legs around him. Blood hammered in her ears so hard the sound deafened her.

“Don’t let me hurt you.” He lowered his shoulders to press a light kiss on her mouth, a sharp contrast to the hard invasion inside her.

Raising his head, he looked at her. “Beautiful,” he said. “And mine.”

He braced his weight up on his arms, lifted away from her, withdrew once more and thrust back inside, then repeated the motion. Over and over again he surged in and out of her, forging a pounding rhythm that rocked her on the bed, would have pushed her up along the mattress if she hadn’t used her legs to lock her in place, to stay close to him.

Inside her, the tight muscles flexed and throbbed, trying to hold onto him as he withdrew, inviting him back as he returned. Higher and higher, she soared into the mindless abandon that she had told him she craved. Increasingly frantic in pace, his advance and recoil pushed her toward release. He gave her no choice, no respite, even when the tension inside her ratcheted so tight that she feared she’d go mad when it finally broke.

And then it happened. The orgasm burst inside her, gripping her in its current and buffeting her like a leaf. She was only dimly aware of how he arched above her, arms locked at the elbows, head thrown back, his mouth open in a roar that echoed around the bedroom, as primal and powerful as their coupling.

The waves of pleasure continued to ripple through her. Cat felt her inner contractions, felt the spurts as he emptied himself inside her. Above her, Brock remained frozen, eyes closed, his face a mask of agony. Then he collapsed, not down on top of her, but by her side, rolling her with him, so their bodies didn’t separate.

“Sorry,” he muttered, the apology muffled as he buried his face in her hair. “I didn’t mean to be so rough. It’s just that…well, depression kills the libido, and I didn’t want to be unfaithful. It’s been a very long time for me.”

She lay languid in his arms. “You didn’t hurt me. It was…” She sought for the right word, then gave up and shrugged her shoulders. “Wonderful.”

Brock rolled over on top of her, sliding out of her. He cupped her face between his hands and met her gaze with a taut smile. “Wonderful, huh? That’s good news, because I have a feeling I’ll want to do it again.” He pressed his mouth on her lips. “And again.” He paused for another kiss. “And again.”

****

The ringing sound tore Cat from deep sleep. Brock had already reached over and picked up the cell phone he’d placed by the bedside. He snapped on the light and sat up on the edge of the bed. Squinting against the brightness, Cat watched his face harden as he talked.

“Yes…how many…who’s there…?” He rattled out a series of questions. As he spoke, he rolled to his feet and pulled a uniform out of the closet with one hand while holding the cell phone to his ear with the other.

“What is it?” Cat asked as soon as he ended the call.

“Someone tried to hold up the all night gas station. No fatalities, but Lester Silverton was shot in the shoulder. He’s on his way to the hospital.”

“Oh?” It seemed such an inadequate thing to say, but her listless mind couldn’t come up with anything else.

“I’ve got to go over, take statements and try to apprehend the shooter.”

Her brain awoke slowly and focused on the situation. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes.” Brock finished dressing and bent to press a quick kiss on her lips. “You can stay here and answer the phone if anyone calls on the landline. Tell them that I’m at the scene and dispatch can get me on my cell. If you need anything, here’s the number.”

He pulled a pad from the bedside chest, wrote a string of digits on the top sheet, tore it off and handed it to her.

“Should I give the number to anyone who calls?” she asked.

“No. I don’t want reporters and concerned relatives blocking my line. Tell them to call the dispatch, and they’ll put through anything important.” He straightened and looked down at her. “Will you be all right on your own?”

“I’ll be fine.” She forced smile. “Just be careful.”

Brock nodded and strode out. Cat heard the front door close, and the car back out of the drive. Then silence closed in around her. She lay down again and tried to go back to sleep. For a while, her mind drifted, reliving the night they had shared and the passion that had soared between them. An edgy longing began to race along her skin, and Cat made an effort to shut away those thoughts.

She wanted to get up, find something to do, but she only had an evening gown to wear. Feeling awkward by her intrusion, Cat got up and peeked into the closets until she found a gray sweatshirt and draw-cord pants. She pulled them on, tightened the cord on the pants and rolled up the legs and the sleeves on the garments that swamped her.

The bathroom contained no clutter, but she found a disposable toothbrush in a wicker basket on the shelf and used it.

Downstairs, Cat drifted through the rooms, switching on the lights and turning them off again after admiring the antique furniture. Finally, she settled down in the kitchen. The cupboards were nearly bare, but she found some eggs and cheese and bread. She prepared the table for breakfast, assuming Brock would return before the morning.

As she busied herself with the chores, Cat couldn’t stop her mind from building daydreams, imagining it was just one of many nights she’d wait up for Brock. It might just be a fling between them, but if she had her wish, something more would come of it, something solid and lasting.

****

Brock parked in the drive and unlocked the front door quietly. Lights shone from the kitchen.

“Cat?” he called out.

“I’m here.” She patted down the hall, her feet muffled in huge socks, her body dwarfed in his gray sweats. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I raided your closet for something to wear.”

“Looks good on you.” He bent to kiss her lips.

“How is that man…Lester?” Her brows knotted as she searched her memory for the name.

“He’s fine. They got the bullet out. Flesh wound, no permanent damage. His wife is with him.”

“Did you catch the shooter?”

“No. We have footage from a surveillance camera, but I’m not sure how much help it will be.’ He scrubbed his face, tired and angry at the defeat. ‘He was driving a stolen car and wore a baseball cap low over his head.”

“Do these kinds of incidents happen often?”

Brock sat down and reached out an arm to pull Cat into his lap. “When you’re with me, there’s always a possibility that I’ll have to leave in a hurry. Dinner out, movies, shopping…making love…anything can get interrupted.”

“Heavens. Does that mean that we need to take two cars every time we go out?”

“No.” He smiled. Some of the tension eased out of his muscles as he realized she wouldn’t complain about being neglected, at least not tonight. “But sometimes you might have to get a cab home.”

Cat nodded. “Okay.”

“Does that bother you?” He wound a strand of her hair around his finger and nuzzled her neck.

“No. But I want to learn more about how everything works. Emergencies, dispatch, that sort of thing. So that I can be of some use if people call when I’m stranded in your house.”

Brock studied her expression as she spoke. She seemed calm. No signs of panic or anxiety. She offered him support and warmth, instead draining the last of his energy. What would it be like to always come home to a woman like that?

“Did you go back to sleep?” he asked.

Cat shook her head. “I was too edgy. I roamed about the house. Where did you get the furniture from?”

“My grandparents. This house used to belong to them.”

“I puttered about a little. Cleaned in the kitchen and set up things for breakfast. You’ll have to show me where you keep your laundry. I like to do ironing when I can’t sleep at night.”

“Ironing, huh?” He blew into her ear. “Can’t you think of anything better?”

“Not anything that I can do alone.”

“You’re not alone now.” He pushed up to his feet, holding her in his arms. “I vote we go back to bed.”

“I second the proposal.” She opened the top button on is uniform shirt and kissed his chest. “I could get used to this, you know.”

“So could I,” Brock said as he set off to carry her upstairs.

Chapter Seven

“Mrs. Bridgewater!”

Cat halted by the reception desk on her way back from her extended sentence of community service. She’d snuck into the hotel early that morning, wearing her evening dress and high heels, and rushed out again after hastily showering and dressing for the office.

“We put a charge through for your first week on your credit card. Could I take another imprint, please?”

“Of course.” She stepped up to the young man behind the counter.

He took her Visa card and swiped it. Frowning at the display, he keyed in the number manually. “I’m afraid it’s not going through,’ he said. ‘Do you have another card?”

Her lungs stopped working. “No. Could I…write a check?”

“You don’t have to pay until you leave. Perhaps you can speak to your credit card company tomorrow and find out what the problem is.” The young man handed the card to back her, not appearing particularly concerned.

Cat’s legs barely supported her as she made her way to the cramped business center and sat at the computer. She logged on to her account. Oh God. She’d maxed out on her credit card. The car rental company took prepayment, and she had upgraded her flight home to a flexible ticket, and bought that horrendously expensive dress. Her hands shook as she entered the password to her checking account. The balance stood at just under two hundred dollars. She transferred it all to her credit card. The amount would cover the previous night at the hotel.

A shudder ran through her as she read through her emails and learned that the accountant dealing with the closure of Tim’s business had found another unpaid invoice. The small safety net she’d relied on was gone, the last of their funds depleted, leaving her with nothing to fall back on.

Cat pulled herself together and returned to the counter. Quietly, she explained to the young man that she had a problem at home that needed taking care of. His eyes grew cool, but he had enough compassion to let her check out immediately and not charge her for the coming night. She rushed upstairs and packed her things. The evening dress didn’t fit in her trolley case. She considered trying to take it back for a refund, but she’d cut off the tags, and fifty people had seen her wearing the outfit.

Feeling numb, Cat went over her options. She could sleep on the floor in Dalton’s dorm room. No. Her mouth compressed into a hard line. It would break all the college rules, and if her Mrs. Robinson remark had been repeated around town, she couldn’t be seen mixing with young men.

Go to Brock. Ask him for help. Temptation whispered in her ear. She crushed the idea at once. He’d been out of the office all day, but he’d called her to let her know he was thinking of her and would see her tomorrow. His words filled her mind. I’ve got a reelection to think of next year. Consorting with a woman of dubious morals could ruin my campaign. The rumors about her moral corruption could be written off as a joke, but if she stayed, she’d end up writing bad checks.

There was only one answer. She’d have to go home. She had a few pieces of jewelry she could sell, and they would have to give up the condo Dalton had inherited from his father. She’d fly home tonight, get a realtor in tomorrow, and call Brock in the morning to explain.

Cat called the airline from the room, cursing the fact that she hadn’t replaced her broken cell phone. Bitter laughter caught in her throat—more like a sob really—when she realized she couldn’t afford a new phone anyway. She got a seat on the last flight and called Dalton. He wasn’t picking up, and she left a brief message to say she was flying home tonight and would call in the morning. At least she had upgraded to a flexible ticket. If she hadn’t, she might be stuck on a park bench while she tried to raise funds.

It took her two trips to the car, one with her luggage and another with the evening dress folded over her arm in the protective plastic bag from the store. She paused at the reception and paid for the telephone calls.

Tears of panic stung her eyes as she sat, listless, in the rental car. They were broke, totally and utterly broke. Like a train hurtling down the tracks, the disaster had been looming down on her, but she had ignored it, always hoping for some last minute miracle.

She should have known better. Miracles didn’t happen in real life.

****

It had been one of those days—a pile-up on the highway, a brawl at Stan Merrill’s diner, and a case of theft at the metal foundry on the industrial estate. Brock didn’t get home until eight. In the kitchen, cups stood on the table, arranged for the breakfast they hadn’t had the time to stop for in the morning.

Loneliness pressed around him. He’d barely had time to call Cat in the office for a quick hello. The urge to see her seized him. He picked up the phone and called the hotel. One thing was sure—he knew what to get for her for Christmas, a new cell phone in the same network as his.

“Mrs. Bridgewater, please. She’s in room 335.”

“I’m afraid she checked out today.”

“Checked out?” His voice rose in surprise. “Did she move to another hotel?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Brock thanked the man and slowly lowered the receiver. Concern and anger fought inside him. What had happened? Where had she gone and why the hell hadn’t she let him know?

He found the number to Dalton’s cell phone and dialed.

“Where’s Cat?” he asked as soon as the young man picked up. “She has checked out from her hotel.”

“I don’t know. She left me a message an hour ago that she’s flying home tonight and will call me from there. Her flight is at ten-twenty.” The young man lowered his voice. “I thought she might have had an argument with you. Her message sounded terse, but I guess she was just in a hurry to catch her plane.”

“Thanks.” Brock broke the connection.

She was gone. Just like that. The worry that something had happened to Cat faded, and the fury that had been brewing inside him sprung free. She’d set out to seduce him after he told her that he didn’t approve of sex before marriage. It must have given her a thrill, seeing a reluctant man turn into a rampant bull in bed.

He’d been nothing but a challenge to her.

Brock’s jaw tightened. He might have thrown his own principles out of the window, but he still had law and order to uphold. She’d committed a misdemeanor, and the charges wouldn’t be dropped unless she served her full eighty hours of community service. By God, he would see that she worked every minute of her time, even if he had to drag her back himself.

How had he allowed himself to fall in love with such a manipulative little vixen? The thought struck Brock as he rushed through the hall, reaching for his car keys on the side table. His feet rooted to the floor, and his hand froze in the air.

Love?

His shoulders fell and he blew out an angry sigh. Hell, it had caught him like a hurricane, an inevitable force that brooked no resistance, gave no choice. The idea of the kind of life she could give him had simmered in the depths of his mind until he wanted that life with a ferocity that left him reeling.

Cat had toyed with him. She was a fool if she thought he’d just let her walk away without paying the price for her actions.

****

Around Cat, people settled in their seats. Businessmen, two soldiers in uniform, families with sleepy children. Anxiety pressed in her chest. Tomorrow, she’d have to explain the situation to Dalton. She’d have to remain firm, refuse any suggestions that he could give up college.

How much should she reveal to Brock? She didn’t want his pity, or his scorn for failing to deal with the financial mess sooner.

Cat closed her eyes and sighed.

In a few months, when she’d sold the condo and tidied up the last loose ends of Tim’s business, she could take another trip down and see if anything remained between them. By then, a long line of beauties might have jumped in and out of Brock’s bed. His passion as a lover had given her an inkling that he might want to make up for lost time.

So be it. She couldn’t stay and risk harming his career.

The loudspeakers pinged. Cat opened her eyes. The seatbelt sign had come on. A stewardess walked down the aisle and bent down to her. “Mrs. Bridgewater, would you please come with me? You’ll need to take your bags with you.”

They were going to upgrade her! At any other time she’d have whooped with joy. Now she could barely be bothered to move, but obediently she gathered her tote and paused to extract her trolley bag from the overhead compartment.

They proceeded past the seating, to the galley at the front of the plane.

“That’s her.” The tightly spoken words came from the open exit door.

Cat whirled around. A startled cry left her mouth as she saw Brock looming at the top of the steps. How could he at the same time look totally expressionless and angrier than any man she had ever seen? It seemed as if his entire being radiated menace. A handgun rode in full sight at his hip, and a pair of steel cuffs dangled from his hand.

“Catherine Bridgewater, I’m arresting you for attempting to leave the state with pending criminal charges against you.”

“I…” Words failed her, and for a crazy moment Cat wanted to roll her eyes, the way Karen usually did.

“Did you understand that you wouldn’t be allowed to leave?”

His gaze met hers. In the hard amber glint, a burning fury flickered, and she understood that his question was personal.

“I was going to come back,” she said in a whisper.

“That’s not the way it works. You break the rules, you stay to face the consequences.” Brock reached out, took the tote from her shoulder, and slapped the cuffs around her wrists. Turning to the stewardess, he asked, “Can you bring her bags?”

“Yes.” The girl picked up the trolley case and the tote that Brock had dumped on the floor. Her eyes darted between them, wide with curiosity.

Brock led Cat down the steps from the plane, a strong hand curled around her upper arm to make sure she didn’t stumble. An airport security vehicle waited on the tarmac. He ushered her inside and sat beside her.

“Let’s go,” he said to the uniformed guard at the wheel. “My car is by the short stay entrance ramp.”

“I can explain—” Cat stole a glance at his stony features.

“Later.”

In silence, they weaved along the service roads until they reached the multi-story parking.

“Over there.” Brock pointed at the blue and white patrol car carelessly parked on the verge. Big letters spelled “Sheriff” on the side. A pair of security guards waited by the vehicle, and a third man with something hanging around his neck was rushing down the slope of the entrance ramp.

Cat shrank back in the seat as she saw the marked vehicle and the audience. The full extent of her public humiliation broke through her preoccupation over what was happening between her and Brock.

They pulled to a stop behind the patrol car, and Brock helped her out. The two security guards got in the back seat they had vacated and the airport vehicle drove off. The third man stayed, halting ten yards away from them.

Brock propped her to stand with her back against the side of the patrol car and caged her in with his arms. “Why were you running off? If you wanted to leave after you got what you wanted, I expected you to have the courtesy to say thank you and goodbye before you went chasing after more sexual thrills.”

“What are you talking about?” Her brows drew together.

“That’s what Dalton planned when he asked me to take you out. He wanted me to give you confidence, awaken you, so that you’d find it easier to start dating other men when you got home.”

Her jaw dropped.

Brock leaned in until they were nose to nose. “Let me tell you this. You’re going nowhere, my sweet, at least not until you’ve served every second of your eighty hours. And, as long as I’m around, I don’t expect you to date any other man, not if you want to sleep in my bed again. Is that clear?”

Beneath her shock at his angry outburst, a wheel of joy began to spin. The harsh growl and the narrowed eyes were symptoms of pure masculine jealousy, an affliction that sprung from possessive love.

Which could only mean that he cared for her.

In that instant, Cat threw herself in the current of emotion she had tried to resist. She was tired of trying to cope on her own, tired of being the resilient one whose role was to alleviate the suffering of others and keep shaky finances afloat. She wanted to bask in the strength and heat that emanated from Brock as he trapped her against the side of the patrol car.

“You ought to know better than that,” she said in a low voice. “As long as you’ll have me, other men won’t even exist in my eyes.”

“What do you want from me?” he said. The tone of his voice her told her she wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than complete honesty.

“Everything a man can give to a woman. For the rest of my life.”

“Then why?” He drew a deep breath, blew it out again. “Why did you just take off without letting me know, without making any arrangements to meet up again?”

“I have no money,” she told him quietly. “I couldn’t pay the hotel if I stayed another night. I didn’t want to risk putting a blemish on your reputation by getting into trouble over unpaid bills.”

“You have no money?” He shook his head in confusion. “But you look like a million dollars. When you first appeared in my office, I took you for some trust fund princess. The way you dress…and LaSalle isn’t a cheap school.”

“I’ve never been rich. I just happen to have a conservative taste in clothes and I was brought up to buy good quality that lasts.” Cat gave a tired shrug as she launched into an explanation of her strained circumstances. “My late husband had his own business, importing and distributing light fittings. I thought he was well off. When he died, I discovered that he’d been neglecting everything in the final year. There was a warehouse full of inventory but no shipments had been made. Suppliers were waiting to be paid but customers hadn’t been invoiced. It has taken me a year to unravel it. That’s why I haven’t been looking for a job. Sorting out the mess has occupied me full time. It’s done now. The debts have been paid and the business has been wound up. We were left with a small condo, which is in Dalton’s name, and our personal possessions.”

He scowled at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.” Humiliation heated her skin. “What would it have looked like if I slept with you and the next day I asked you for money?”

“It would have looked like you needed help, and I was the most logical person to turn to.”

“I didn’t want to give the impression that I can’t handle my own affairs. I didn’t want you to think I’d be a burden, someone who dumped problems on you.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He kept one hand propped against the side of the car and moved the other hand to cup her chin. “You should have come to me.”

She met his gaze. ‘I wanted to…so badly.’

Brock lowered his head and kissed her gently. “Let’s go home,” he said when he raised his head.

Love surged inside her at his tenderness and support. Cat opened her mouth to blurt out how she felt, but a flash of movement caught her eye. The man who had stayed behind when the security guards drove off held something high in his hands, something shiny and black.

“Brock, I think there’s a man pointing a gun at us,” she whispered and gestured with a discreet tilt of her head.

He turned to look over his shoulder. “No. That’s Seth Williams from the Echo, and that thing he’s holding is a camera.”

“A camera?” Cat closed her eyes and groaned.

“Let’s give him a good one,” Brock said. He swung her out from his shelter, wrapped his arms around her, and proceeded to give her a kiss that made her forget everything but him.

****

Cat opened her eyes. Brock surrounded her with his heat, one arm folded across her waist, a powerful leg thrown over hers. The sun was coming up, the brightness filtering in through a gap between the curtains. She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside. Almost eight.

“Brock?” She shifted against him.

His lips grazed her shoulder. “Not yet.”

“We’ll be late for work.”

“I arranged to go in late.”

“Oh? In that case...” She wriggled around in his arms and slid her hands up the ridged muscles on his chest.

“No,” he said. “I told you, not yet.”

Troubled, she frowned at him. He’d said the same thing last night. They didn’t get back until midnight, and she’d expected him to take her fast and hard, to seal the ownership he’d implied but never bluntly declared. Instead, he sent her to bed and retreated into his den, making telephone calls. When he finally came upstairs, he cradled her to sleep in his arms, saying he preferred to wait until morning.

Didn’t he want her after all? Had it just been about male pride? Now that she’d revealed how much she needed him, had he lost interest in her? Was the whole mad chase to the airport only so that he could be the one doing the rejecting, instead of being the one left behind?

“Aha. I think it’s arrived.” He flung the covers aside and got out of bed. Splendid in his nakedness, radiating power, he strode across the room and turned to look back at her from the door.

“Stay there,” he ordered.

Cat waited with worry threading along her nerves.

A smile tugged at Brock’s lips when he returned. He tossed a folded newspaper into her lap and climbed back in bed, settling on his side, one hand idly drifting along the curve of her hip.

“I’ve never made love without a condom,” he said in a husky tone. “In my college days it was for safety, and while I was married birth control would have interfered with other medication. That’s why I wanted to wait until morning.”

Excitement tugged in her belly, both at the thought of feeling him deep inside her, no barrier separating them, and at the hidden meaning in his words. No birth control meant the possibility of pregnancy. And the prospect of a child meant…her mind refused to contemplate any further.

“Read it out loud,” Brock prompted. “Front page.”

Cat unfolded the paper and gasped. A picture of Brock holding her in his arms took up half the space.

She was staring up at him, and his lips were about to meet hers. Handcuffs encircled her wrists, and the patrol car featured prominently in the background. No doubt remained of the fact that she’d been under arrest when he kissed her.

With a strangled voice, Cat began to read.

SHERIFF APPREHENDS ESCAPED PRISONER

Our brave sheriff Brock Leonetti was yesterday forced to delay a flight in order to prevent a fugitive from escaping the state. Catherine Bridgewater, 33, of New Hampshire, had been repeatedly apprehended under the local statutes and sentenced to community service in the sheriff’s office. She fled without serving her punishment in full. A reliable source confirms that as a result of her failed escape attempt, her sentence has been increased to life without parole. When the paperwork for her conviction is completed, she will be known as Mrs. Brock Leonetti. We congratulate the sheriff for having successfully detained this persistent offender, and we trust that she will make no further attempt to climb up the Town Hall, at least not on the outside.

Her eyes narrowed. “A reliable source?”

“Seth Williams who runs the paper called me to check if I was happy for him to print the photograph.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said fine. Saves the cost of an engagement announcement. I want to move to a bigger house where we’ll have room for kids, so money will be tight for a while.”

Cat felt a smile tugging at her lips but made an attempt to look stern. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“Like what?”

“I haven’t agreed to marry you.”

“Yes you have, sweetheart. I told you I don’t approve of sex outside of marriage. The moment you stripped off your clothes and set about seducing me, you accepted the consequences.”

“I did no such thing!”

“You most certainly did.” He paused for a reassuring kiss. “I love you, and you love me, so getting married is the logical thing to do.”

“You…love me?”

Brock propped on his elbow and traced her cheek with one fingertip. “Every time I see you, it feels like the sun has come out. I’ve lived in shadows for so long, I want to hurtle head first into the happiness that I know you can give me. I see no reason to wait and get to know you better. I already recognize you as my missing half, in my heart and deep in my bones. I want it all now.”

“But…” The cautious side of her protested, tried to remind her how badly things had gone wrong before. “Shouldn’t we take things slowly, make sure?”

“No. I’m in too much of a rush. I’ve already waited all night so I can make love to you without protection.” He rolled over, covering her body with his, and captured her lips in a deep kiss.

Her legs rose to wrap around his waist.

Brock entered her in a single thrust and sucked in a harsh breath. “Jesus. I never knew how good it would feel. You can forget about condoms from now on, until we have at least four kids.”

Love flooded her. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair, holding him close.

Cat recalled the envy that had knifed through her when she first saw Brock Leonetti.

He’s the sort of man who has four sons just like him, adores his wife, and on his days off they all romp around the backyard.

It would all be true.

She would be the wife he adored, and she would give him those sons.

Tatiana March writes contemporary and historical romance, as well as romantic suspense.

In her spare time, Tatiana enjoys hiking and camping, particularly in Arizona where some of her historical novels are set.

Tatiana lives in Buckinghamshire in the UK.

You can read more about Tatiana and her books on www.tatianamarch.com

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Smyth Parker is running from life. From work, from society, from a jealous ex-wife—his only consolation the solitude of Newport Island. He doesn’t need to anyone to screw up that plan. And he sure as hell doesn’t need to complicate it with Megan Thomas.

But when Megan fears she’s been found, she runs to the only safe place she knows, and straight into the arms of the one person who might be able to help, Smyth. Her escape might yet still be perfect. Or is it?

Rough Edges by Jannifer Hoffman

When Julia Morgan M.D. miscarries twin girls, she divorces her husband, believing he is to blame. He forces her out of her position at the hospital and threatens her credibility as a doctor if she attempts to practice medicine. Without mentioning her medical degree, Julia accepts a position as nanny on a Colorado ranch 900 miles away.

Dirk Travis is in trouble. His wife has gone missing, and his housekeeper is threatening to quit. He is in desperate need of a reliable person to look after his four-year-old twins. Even though Julia appears to be the answer to his prayers, he can’t help but think she’s a bit too perfect.

Both insist their relationship will be business only. While those plans start to go awry, other things begin to happen. People are getting killed and Dirk is the prime suspect, but that doesn’t stop the heat index from rising between Dirk and Julia, even as she appears to be the next target.

Lie to Me by JL Wilson

Grace Jamison has always been unlucky in love but this is ridiculous. What was supposed to be a blind date has turned into an FBI sting operation, complete with handsome Special Agent Ben Braden, a train ride and chase through the Badlands, and a final confrontation at a safe house—which turned out to be not so safe. If she can survive that, she can probably survive having her heart broken by Ben...unless she can convince him to take a chance on love.

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