Tucker. Lori Foster

“You’re no fun at all.” Taking pity on him, she pulled around in front of his SUV, put the vehicle in park and turned off the engine. He walked to the driver’s window, ready to ask what she thought she was doing, but she turned away out of her seat and beckoned him with a finger. “Come around back.”

       Said the spider to the fly...

      Though the rain was cold, it was a smothering hot night, and he could almost feel the steam rising from his shoulders and the back of his neck.

      With or without the storm, that was a typical reaction when he was around Kady.

      He hesitated, but he wasn’t a coward, so he trudged through the puddles accumulating on the road and walked around the van.

      Kady opened the doors. “Come on up here.”

      He eyed her skeptically. With all the equipment, there wasn’t a lot of room left in the cargo area of the van. She’d laid an already muddy towel on the floor, but held a clean one in her hands.

      Almost as if she expected to dry him herself.

      His skin prickled at the thought, and he swallowed heavily.

      Voice softer now, she promised, “I don’t bite, you know.”

      Damn it, now she was taunting him? Not tonight.

      Mouth tight, he reached for a handhold and pulled himself up next to her. “I never said—”

      “Not unless you ask me to.”

      His gaze clashed with hers, and she actually smiled.

      Oh God, he envisioned that soft mouth open on his shoulder, the wet touch of her tongue, the sharp edge of her teeth grazing his burning skin...

      As if she knew the image she’d planted in his brain, her cheeks flushed and she leaned a little closer.

      Her scent was that of damp skin and body heat and smoldering sex appeal. He continued to stare, all but mesmerized—an unfortunate reaction to being this close to her—until she finally lowered her lashes, freeing him.

      The second she did, he sucked in a deep, necessary breath and tried to regain his famed cool demeanor.

      Kady nodded at the muddy towel on the floor. “I had to clean up after being in the storm.” She plucked at the front of a too-large shirt, no doubt a backup because he knew she wouldn’t have come to work in something so unfashionable. “I’m not sure how you managed it, but you’re as muddy as I was. I assume you don’t want to ruin the seats of your SUV, so you’re welcome to clean up, too.”

      She said a lot, all of it in a breathless rush that made him uneasy...and a little horny.

      Annoyed with himself, he snatched the towel from her lax hand and asked, “Where’s Cleets?”

      “I dropped him off at home.” Recovering, her voice turned playful again. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’ll return the van, get my car and get home well before midnight, I promise.”

      She shouldn’t be out here alone, period. Yes, she was a grown woman who handled a demanding job with finesse, and yes, Buckhorn was mostly free of any serious crimes, but the weather was shit, and he’d already helped two locals who’d gotten stuck in the muck. Anything could happen to a woman alone, and when the woman was Kady—

      “My, my,” she murmured, interrupting his dark thoughts. “You look grouchy as a bear. Very uncharacteristic for you.” She shifted, putting one shapely hip against a cabinet, and her voice lowered more when she asked, “Anything I can do to improve your mood?”

      She infused so much suggestion into those words, his spine stiffened. “No.” He toweled off vigorously, then shot her a look. “But you can tell me why you’re out in this storm.”

      “Yes, sir.” She watched him a little too intently as he ran the towel over his head and the back of his neck, cleaning off most of the splattered mud. “Cleets and I got some live shots of the storm from different locations, one of them near the lake.” She scrunched her nose. “It’s so blasted muddy, I slid, which is why I’m in these clothes and why there’s a muddy towel on the floor.”

      Appalled, he stared down at her. “You slid into the lake?”

      “No, near the lake.” She continued patiently, “But if I had fallen into the lake, I assure you I can swim. I’ve been in and out of the lake since before I could walk.”

      “Not during storms.” He’d seen the lake earlier. Turbulent winds carried waves up and over the surfaces of docks, crashing them against the rock-lined shore.

      “No lightning,” she pointed out. “Just rain, so it’s safe.”

      The words were barely out of her mouth before lightning cracked behind them, followed by a deafening boom of thunder.

      Tucker lifted a brow. “Seems like your forecast is a little off.”

      Frowning, she moved close to him—so close he held his breath—then reached past him to close the door, sealing them both inside.

      “What...?”

      A mere inch away, Kady cocked her head. “We don’t want to invite the lightning in, right?”

      He could feel her warm, moist breath, damn it. Stepping back seemed like a good idea, but it also felt gutless. “You’re the meteorologist.”

      Her attention dipped to his mouth, then the open throat of his ruined, button-up shirt. Casually, without any evidence of the turmoil he felt, she returned to her position against the cabinet. “I really can swim, you know.”

      “I assumed.” Much of her family lived right on the lake. Her dad was still one hell of a water-skier, and all of them spent plenty of time on various boats the family owned.

      “The storms will end sometime tonight, and tomorrow it’ll be sweltering.” She bit her lip, for once looking unsure of herself as she softly suggested, “You should come by and take a dip with me after work.”

      Get wet with her? While she wore a bikini? Ah, no. “Can’t.” He swiped at the mud on the front of his jeans, studiously avoiding her beautiful blue eyes.

      The silence stretched out, straining his composure—and his resistance.

      Finally, she asked, “So why were you playing in the mud?”

      “I wasn’t playing,” he replied, his tone thankfully moderate. “But it’s not easy to help push a car free without getting splattered.”

      She looked him over, then turned and knelt in front of a duffel bag, rummaging inside until she stood again with a large black T-shirt. She thrust it toward him. “Here you go.”

      He eyed the shirt warily.

      “Don’t be modest, Sheriff. There’s no wiping away the mud.”

      “It’s fine.”

      She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a shirtless man before.” She tipped her head, her tone whisper-soft. “I’d offer you pants, too, but I don’t have any more.” She gestured at the loose athletic pants she wore. “I had to do my own wardrobe change.”

      “With Cleets?”

      “No one has accused me of being shy.”

      It was the oddest thing, but heat crawled up his neck and behind his eyes, feeling a lot like anger.

      Or jealousy.

      Mouth tight, he took a step toward her before he could even think about what he was doing. “You changed in front of him?”

      Her lips twitched, then she actually laughed. “If I had, Cleets would still be blushing. He’s shy, you know. And very much a gentleman. Plus he has a sweetheart, and he would never be disloyal to her by ogling another woman.”

      Feeling