Bare Essentials: Naughty, But Nice. Leslie Kelly

she knew what he was about, he turned, lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. “So it wouldn’t, couldn’t, happen again, right?”

      She barely caught herself from closing her eyes and sighing at the surprising tenderness of his big, warm hand. “Of course not.”

      “Liar,” he whispered softly. Before she could snarl at him for that, he walked away.

      5

      TWO DAYS LATER Tag still couldn’t get that kiss out of his head. It went with him to work, to play, to bed…and that’s where it was the worst. Bed.

      He wanted Cassie there with him, he couldn’t deny that. He wanted her badly.

      But why? She was bad attitude personified. She hated everything about him, his life, his job.

      So what did that say about him, being so undeniably attracted to her?

      That he was sick, very sick.

      But knowing it didn’t stop the desire, so that when he walked into his office after a day from hell, desperately in need of coffee and some time off, and saw her standing there in front of his receptionist, his gut took a hungry leap.

      He told himself it was simply because she exuded sex appeal and it had been…well, longer than it should have since his last sexual experience.

      It was the outfit, he decided. She wore a microskirt the color of a field of daffodils, and a matching zippered crop-top, out of which came two spaghetti straps from what he assumed was a bathing suit worn beneath. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, with strands tumbling free to her shoulders. And then there were her legs—long and toned and bare except for a pair of strappy sandals.

      “I was just wondering if the restraining order I took out in New York protects me here,” she was saying, and all Tag’s lusty thoughts flew right out the window. “Because I’ve received some more threatening mail and—”

      “What restraining order?” Tag asked, moving close. “What threatening mail?” She smelled like coconut oil. He loved coconut oil. Ordering himself not to notice her scent, or to picture what she was obviously dressed for—sunbathing—he looked into her green, green eyes.

      “If you don’t mind, I’m having a conversation with your receptionist,” she said. “A private conversation.”

      Roxy, who’d been working at the station since his father had been sheriff, shot him a sympathetic look, then turned back to Cassie. “You do have a restraining order already in place? In New York, you said, right? Can you give us the details?”

      Cassie glance sideways at Tag. “Us?”

      “Well, the sheriff here is really good at what he does,” Roxy assured her. “He can help protect you—we just need to know what’s going on. We’ll need to know who the restraining order is for, what specifically, and any other pertinent details for our records.”

      “Such as why you didn’t tell me when you first hit town,” Tag said lightly, not feeling light at all.

      Cassie picked up the purse she’d set on the counter. “You know what? Never mind.”

      “But—” Roxy made a frustrated sound when Cassie pivoted away and headed toward the door.

      “Thanks anyway,” Cassie called over her shoulder.

      Not even her curvy little ass could sidetrack him now. With one last glance at Roxy, who lifted her shoulders to indicate she knew as much as he did, he followed Cassie.

      Who gave no indication that she even noticed.

      “Cassie,” he said as she strode out of the station and into the early evening.

      Her heels clicked on the asphalt. Everyone she passed took a good long second look, both men and women. Some started talking. Cassie didn’t so much as look at a single one of them.

      “Cassie,” he said again, but as she was having no part of him, it left him following her like some damn puppy dog. But she’d tweaked his curiosity—and concern—and if there was anything more dogged than a curious, concerned cop, he didn’t know what it was.

      At her car, she opened her purse. Slid on sunglasses.

      “Cassie.”

      Pulling out her keys, she opened her door, and would have slid inside if he hadn’t put a hand on her waist.

      Going still, she stared down at his hand, which looked large and imposing on the paler, softer skin of her very tantalizing middle. “I paid the debt the other night,” she said very quietly. “We’re even, remember?”

      With a rather unprofessional oath, he dropped his hand. “Do you think I care about that?”

      “You’ve got a penis, don’t you?”

      He sucked in a slow careful breath because something about her stoked his temper every time. “You wanted the teddy bear, I won it for you.”

      “Thank you, Mr. He-Man. And I paid your price.”

      “That’s right,” he said, keeping his voice even with effort. “End of story.”

      “Then why are we still talking about it?”

      “Because you brought it up!” Lord, she could try the patience of a saint. He took a deep breath. “I want to hear about the restraining order. About your threatening mail.”

      “Yeah, well that was a private conversation and you were eavesdropping.” But she seemed less hostile now and he forced himself to relax.

      Forced himself to be the calm cop he knew he was. And once he did that, he had to admit it bugged the hell out of him that she thought he’d insist on more “payment” for that damn teddy bear.

      Had she really never met a guy who didn’t want something from her? He knew she didn’t have a father around—never had. He knew what Biff had wanted from her. But what about others? Hadn’t there been others? Anyone who’d just been there for her? Given her attitude, he had to doubt it. That thought unsettled him to the core, and if the kiss hadn’t so rocked his world, he might have spared a moment to feel guilty he’d asked her for that much.

      Then he realized something else, that she was avoiding looking at him, and when he took a good look, he saw why.

      She was uncomfortable around him. Interesting. If she’d paid the debt, and it was as over as she’d said, why wouldn’t she look at him? “Cassie, talk to me.” He paused. “Please.”

      With an exaggerated sigh, she tipped her head and looked skyward. “You know me. Wild Cassie Tremaine. I go looking for trouble. Just ask anyone.”

      “Pleasantville isn’t Mayberry,” Tag said. “We have our fair share of village idiots.” With his cousin leading the pack.

      “Surely you’ve heard the stories.”

      “And I sincerely doubt any of them are true.”

      Her gaze jerked up to his. Oh, yeah, he’d managed to surprise her. Had no one ever believed in her?

      “I’m just having some trouble with an obsessed guy, that’s all,” she said finally.

      “A fan?”

      “Sort of.”

      This he didn’t like. He imagined, given her chosen occupation, she faced similar problems all the time. That she actually needed a restraining order was deeply disturbing. “How serious is the trouble?”

      She lifted a shoulder and didn’t look at him.

      “Serious enough for a restraining order.” He turned her to face him, left his hands on her bare upper arms because he wanted her unsettled enough to talk. “I can find out with or without you, but I’d rather you tell me.”