If Wishes Were Horses (8 page)

36

If Wishes  Were  Horses

He certainly believed in unseen forces guiding Fate, but to have it so directly applying itself to his  life in a  way he had not anticipated or prescribed was very unsettling.

He left Laura Crittenden and her aunt reviewing some sample books and went back to the main glass counter. He waited for her to come to him.

* * * * *

When Sarah returned  to the front foyer, Herne stood behind a glass counter, watching her. He had his admittedly fine ass braced against a stool, his legs  stretchedout before  him, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes lingered on the  swell of herbreasts, the curve of her waist, the gun strapped to her side. His intensity gave  her thatanimal sense of him again. He deliberately perused her as a lover, not a shopkeeper, and she knew he wanted her to be aware of it.

A moment of silence settled between them, and if he felt uncomfortable or nervous in her presence, he didn’t show it. But did she really expect a man with the brazen confidence to trespass  into the police chief's house and ravish her to be unsettled by  “morning after” thoughts?

“You're like an elf,” he said, startling her.  “One of Tolkien's elves. Tall, slim, ethereal.”

She'd had a metabolic disorder all her life,  an  inability to put weight onto legs, arms and a torso that shot out and up at an early age. When she was a child, her father called her his Black Beauty, then after  the Academy, his Secretariat, his thoroughbred. Shemade sure the gristle that was there was  tough muscle and contented herself with the knowledge  she had two things that caught  a man's eyes. Her hair and her boobs. Her lanky body hefted around a pair of beautifully shaped 36B breasts, a slightly large size for her underweight figure. Thank God they  hadn't been C's or D's, or she would have looked like  a freak. The weight would have toppled her forward.

“You have a wig missing off a mannequin  head in your costume area,” she said.  “Was that a recent sale?”

“Shoplifter.  They get past me sometimes when it gets busy in here. There's one on  order to replace it.”

She held his gaze a moment.

“So what inspired the shop? Figure it was  a good way to pick up women, cater to  all that stuff men really think is bullshit?”

“You could say that.  But my favorite method  of picking up dates is breaking into their homes after midnight.”

“That’s a dangerous thing for a man to admit to a cop,” she  retorted. “Mine is catching men with smart mouths speeding on  back roads and beating the  hell out of  them.”

“That’s a dangerous thing for a cop to admit to anyone.”

37

Joey W. Hill

She would not laugh, she told herself firmly, no matter that the gleam in his eye had her wanting to do just that.  “Don't you ever do any guy type things, Herne?” She swept her gaze over her surroundings,  turning on  her heel in a circle. “Arranging lingerie, conducting aromatherapy workshops. Don't you ever  watch football, grunt, scratch your genitals like a normal male? Makes me  kind of doubt there’s a guy in there.”

She turned around and he was right behind  her, six inches separating the two of them. She hadn’t heard him move from behind  his counter, and could only conclude he sprouted wings and vaulted it. She managed  to keep a nonchalant expression, though her pulse spiked to one-ninety.

“You're baiting me, Chief Sarah.” His  hand  caught in her ponytail, and his hip pressed against her side. “And you're the only  woman in a very, very long time, outside of a religious rite, who actually knows what's in my trousers.”

Damn, he did that well. Asserted his testosterone and stroked her ego in  onesmooth movement. The man could conduct  an orchestra with nerve like that.

He cocked his head. “You know, I have an  ice blue silk  teddy in there with sheer white stockings and heels dyed  to match. The garters have jeweled clasps. You'd lookgorgeous in it, Chief Sarah.” His gaze coursed over her. “You'd look gorgeous in anything.”

She arched a brow. Her attention had been  caught by that particular garment overall the others in the lingerie room, so she hadn’t gone anywhere near it. The man was an accomplished shopkeeper, that was all. “I suppose it has a thong back?”

He lifted a shoulder. “A male indulgence.”

“I get hemorrhoids. Often. It would chafe.”

A sparkle went through his beautiful eyes,  making her suddenly, desperately wish she was here for some other reason. “It's the softest fabric imaginable. And I don'tsuppose I'd let you wear it long, anyhow.”

Heat swept up straight from her center to  her throat at that low, intimate voice.  She'd never thought a man could  purr. This one did. Not like a tame house cat, but likea mountain lion.

“Back off.”

He deliberately lifted his hands, took two  steps back behind his counter. Lacing his fingers together on the glass, he leaned forward, bringing that heady male cologne scent and his dark eyes to within six inches of her face. Even leaning forward, he was an inch taller than she was. She refused to back up, though every muscle tightened to painfulrigidity, except her thighs, which had an infuriating tendency to loosen at his nearness.

“Tell me, Chief Sarah, how many respectable citizens of Lilesville do you thinkspent last night handcuffed to their beds, their kneecaps brushing their ears while they screamed for more?”

Anger management was part of cop training, but every officer learned to deal with it in his or her own way. Hers was visualization. In the space of three slow blinks she

38

If Wishes  Were  Horses

imagined in  great detail taking Justin Herne  by the neck, bashing  his head through the display case and letting his unconscious body lie there sprawled among the delicate  nipple chains and elegant slave collars.

The purple velvet one with teardrop diamonds and a yin yang silver pendant would look great with a cocktail dress she  had. She noted it cost seventy dollars.

Sarah smiled at him. If she were a wolf, light would have glittered off her fangs.

“It happened, Herne,” she said, taking a step forward so  her hips were against the counter and they were nose-to-nose. She was  proud to hear her words come out in an  even, steady tone that she hoped matched the expression on her face. “Maybe it was  more over the top than either of us expected  it to be, and maybe that’s making us both  edgy.” She  straightened, stepped back. “We’re adults. It’s over, and I say we  leave it at  that. “

I don't think so.
 
It pissed him off, but not  at  her. His anger left, sliding down  the

same drain as hers.

He straightened, and it  called to  his mind  two martial arts combatants, bowing at the end of a match that left each with an increased respect for the other.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “You didn't deserve my crudity.”

“I shouldn't have cursed at you, Mr. Herne.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I don’t regret last night. In fact, I thought—”

“Don't think too much,” she said, moving away as Laura and her niece came to thecounter to discuss their order.

Wrong tactic. His police chief had shields,  and she would erect them as fast as hiscock was rising at the sight of her in her  snug knit shirt and tan shoulder holster. Her jeans were not overly  tight,  but they hugged her ass and made him want to  bite into  the crotch, into the arousal he felt certain soaked the undergarment beneath. Her color washigh, the pulse beating fast in her neck. During their exchange, her nipples had become prominent, despite the  padding of her bra.

He had  taken her down, this warrior who  had trembled in his arms and made himforget anything but how much he wanted her.

He had been a Wiccan priest long enough  to discern the difference between thepost-high of ritual and the mundane planes. He had schooled himself to a rigid discipline of recognizing it, because it was too  easy to get lost in the euphoria of Their power. When he came into her home, the lingering awareness of the Rite had brought him the strong smell of her arousal, his elevated animal instincts honing in on  her. They let him know she would open to him, and  a part of him had seized the knowledge, ridden up and over any civilized  veneer he pretended to have,  because
 
she was his
.  Theirs was a true call of flesh to flesh, whether it be in the service of the Lord and Lady, or just for a strong powerful  fucking, a mutual possession. He even felt it this morning at the sight of her, the smell of her. She hadn’t showered yet. The surge of possession was so strong it had made him turn nasty, go for the low blow.
 
His
 
warrior goddess.

39

Joey W. Hill

He doubted she had much interest in the  crotchless panties she was fingering, but they were producing some delightful images  in his mind. By  the Goddess, there were times that his choice of profession was a detriment. He was glad for the plywood door at the back of the display case, otherwise  his erection would have put to shame any sexual aid in the store and likely scared Laura and her niece into the next county. Hemanaged a focused and warm smile for them  as he gave them their receipt for theirspecial order items, but he knew he wasn’t fooling the older woman. Laura’s gazeflickered between him and Sarah’s rigid back, and she  had a knowing smile as she and  Janet took their leave, wandering out onto the porch with comfortable female chatterand the expected giggles about the gargoyle.

Sarah did not immediately turn around, even  as they left the porch and made their way into  the parking lot. Her fingers still rested on the silk of the panties, absently moving as if she was using her repetitive strokes on the soft texture to soothe herself.  She didn’t realize that there was a small mirror on the far wall for checking out jewelry choices. If she had known, he was sure  she would not have allowed him to see her staring off into space, a bleakness in her eyes.

“Do you have a faith, Chief Sarah?” he asked quietly.

Her shoulders tensed. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because I think you do, and you seem  a little disappointed in it right now.”

“Well, most things don't live up to your expectations.”

“Last night did.” He watched her still profile, the fair brow and straight set of her firm mouth.  “I'm hard as a rock now, just thinking about it.”

She did turn now, her eyes remote. “You're a pretty savvy salesman, Herne.” She jerked her head toward the parking lot. “She  comes in here to buy  some skimpy nighty to impress her groom and you’ve got her  paying for a whole production number.”

“Tell me, Chief, do you always whip out  the jaded cop routine to shore up your defenses, or  do you have something more fresh and original?”

Sarah stiffened. “About as original as  dodging an accusation with a personal

insult.”

He pressed his lips together, and she  had the distinct impression he was suppressing amusement. “Very good,” he said. “Well then, I guess I could mention that their first joining is supposed to be sacred.”

“Do you think, for anybody getting married these days, it's the first time?”

“It’s their first time as husband and wife,  lifetime mates. That makes it sacred, and  special.” He leaned back against the stool, crossed his arms again in  that way that drew  her eye to the fine lines of his upper body. “Yes,” he nodded, “it does bring me more  sales if they see it that way, but it also  gives them something as well. The marriage ceremony will pass in a haze of apprehension  of last minute details.” His eyes widened  and his voice altered to mimic a breathless  bride. “Will Grandpa So-n-So get drunk at  the reception? Will the caterers remember  to pour the champagne at just the right  time?”

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If Wishes  Were  Horses

His voice returned to its normal tone, and  he pinned  her with the intensity of  thoseblue eyes. “That night, when it’s just the two  of them, that will  be the first time it willsink in, those vows they exchanged. Not just the words,  but the meaning beneath them.  They'll know from here forward, it’s the  two of them.” He blinked, once. “A good salesperson only sells a person what they truly want, and what will benefit their lives. If you do anything else, you're no better than  Dr. Feelgood, peddling his sugar-water cure-alls.”

“Until what God has brought together,  time and job stress rend asunder,” she retorted, fighting to draw a breath against the fist of emotion squeezing the air from her  lungs.

“Is that what happened to you, Sarah? Your  man couldn't handle being married to a  cop? Or you couldn't figure out how to lower the shields when you left the office?”

The emotions surged up from her unconscious as if he  had reached into her heart

and yanked  them out, as brutal as a pulp horror film. She took a step  back  into  the  cozy coffee room. She had a brief impression  of his expression, of his arrogance and annoyance with her changing to something  else, but she didn’t want to see it. She  turned away, overwhelmed by feelings gone  from flatline to overdrive, galvanized by  the truth of  his words like the slamming pressure  of a foot on the gas pedal of a race car.

“Sarah —” he was right behind her.

“If you touch me, I'll break your fucking fingers. I swear  to God I will.”