Talk Me Down (10 page)

She glanced around the room, at the little hints that someone else had been there.

Maybe less than ten days.

With a sigh of happiness, she ran her hand over the wrinkled sheets that still smelled of Ben and sweat and sex. No point in working in her office when there was so much inspiration here.

The blankets were rumpled, the fire in the wood stove still burned, and the air shimmered with remembered pleasure. Not caring in the least that she felt like a teenager, Molly grinned at the little scrap of masking tape stuck to the front of the black stove.
Open,
it said, with a crooked arrow pointing to the right of the flue handle.

Jeez, he was cute. And sexy. And
hot.
“Soooo hot.”

Molly thought of something Ben had done with his tongue and started typing. Not that she was foolish enough to use those personal details—not this time—but, boy oh boy, did that man give her good ideas.

Her dark sheriff was in the process of describing to the wicked widow just what he was planning to do to her that night when the phone rang. Molly’s phone, that is. She hit Save and picked up the receiver. “Yello.”

“Molly, you sound great!” a smooth male voice said.

She tried not to smile, but she was in a wonderful mood, and Michael
was
her favorite of all the almost-lovers. She didn’t even mind that he’d gotten hold of her new number. “Hey, Michael.”

“Are the mountains being good to you?”

“Oh, they definitely are. And how’s the race for partner going?”

“Really well, actually. I was just telling Cameron that the senior partner invited me to sail the Bahamas with him over New Year’s.”

Though her mood dipped at the mention of Cameron—of course they’d just talked. Why else would Michael have called?—she offered congratulations on the vacation coup.

“Speaking of travel,” Michael drawled, “I can’t wait to see
you
this weekend.”

Her heart stuttered over his words, a chill sneaking through the warm flesh beneath her skin. “What?” What did he mean,
see
her? She’d never have suspected Michael in a million years, but—

“The Policeman’s Ball. We all bought tickets so we could see Cameron get his award, but mostly I wanted to see you. Don’t tell Cameron.” He laughed.

“But why would you see me?”

“Uh, because you’re his date? I was hoping you’d wear that little red dress, the one with the—”

“I don’t know what Cameron told you, but I am not his date. I live four hours away, not to mention that we broke up over six months ago.”

“Yeah, but you two are kind of meant to be. This is just a little blip.”

Spoken like a true automaton. “I’ve gotta go, Michael. Have fun on your trip to the Bahamas. I’m sorry I won’t see you this weekend.”

She hung up before he could spout any more of Cameron’s lies. She was truly sorry she’d never see Michael again. He was handsome, smart and funny. She’d even trusted him enough to warn him about Cameron, yet he’d fallen faster than any of the other men. Sometimes smart guys were a little too confident in their intellect; his brain had sizzled like popping bacon in the face of Cameron’s charisma.

And what exactly was Cameron up to now?

Molly reluctantly disentangled herself from her sex sheets and stepped into the bunny slippers. She slapped down the stairs and stopped at the table by the front door to glare at the box Ben had delivered.

Measuring the sides of the square box with her eyes, she tried to determine what it could possibly be. A tiny robot that would kidnap her and fly her back to Denver? Probably not, though Cameron might have access to those little rolling guys used by the bomb squad. Did it hold a gas capsule that would break open and knock her out for a few hours? Molly shuddered, then she grabbed her keys and sawed at the tape. He wasn’t 007, for Pete’s sake.

Will you wear this for me?
the note on top said. Molly swept it aside and scrunched up her nose, anticipating some perverted underwear, but inside was a clear plastic box. At first, she thought it held a real flower, but when she drew the box out, she saw that the little bloom was made of delicate art glass in shimmering violet-blue.

As she’d predicted, a lovely gift, if only it hadn’t come from a crazy. She set the flower aside, noticing that there was more beneath it. Ah, here were the underwear, consisting almost entirely of a string to chafe the crack of her ass and a little violet bow to accent her pubic hair. Nice. Cameron had always had a thing for thongs.

Another note was lying at the bottom of the package.
The flower is for Saturday evening. The other is for Saturday night.

“You wish,” Molly growled and stalked off to find the phone.

“Cameron, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The noise of the Special Operations department clattered through the earpiece. “I was wondering when you’d call, babe. What was that drama about last night?”

“You mean the drama of you sending me underwear? We are not dating anymore. We will never date again. Why can’t you get that through your head?”

He chuckled as if she’d just promised him kinky sex.

“Cameron, I’m serious. You can’t keep this up.”

“You forgot about this weekend, didn’t you?”

“Wha—I—You were persistent before, but now you’re delusional. The next time you call me, I’ll be recording the conversation. Consider yourself notified.”

“You called
me,
babe. And don’t think there’s not a record of that.”

Molly made an obscene gesture at the phone. “So?”

“So, everyone knows you run hot and cold. Flirting one minute, pushing me away the next. I’m just trying to help you make up your mind.”

“My mind is made up! I don’t want you and I haven’t wanted you for six months!”

“Not quite six months. Remember that night in the alley?
After
we’d broken up?”

Her jaw creaked in her ear as she bit back the raging curses she wanted to rain on his head. “That was a mistake.”

“Well, it was quick and nasty, but I wouldn’t say it was a mistake.”

“Fuck you,” she ground out.

“I’ll pick you up Saturday morning.”

“You’re insane and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Sorry, babe. You promised, and I’m the guest of honor.”

“That was six months ago, and we are
through.
Over. Find another date.”

Molly hung up and then just stood there, squeezing the phone and trying not to cry. He wouldn’t come up here and ruin everything with Ben. Surely he wouldn’t. And anyway, she’d already gotten Ben into her bed. There was no turning back from that. She’d broken the cycle.

Picking up the whole box, she went to the kitchen and dumped it in the trash, hardly even a bit tempted to keep the panties and wear them for Ben. She had other sexy underwear that weren’t tainted by Cameron’s psychosis. And anyway, Ben seemed perfectly content with
normal
panties. What a relief. It was much more fun to dress kinky for a man who didn’t demand it.

She was wondering if she had a pair of black thigh-highs to go with her new red-and-black bra when the phone rang. Molly glanced around for a moment, trying to track the sound.

“Oops.” She plucked the phone out of the trash and answered it with trepidation. She really had to set up Caller ID.

“Hey, Moll,” Ben said gruffly, his tone not the least bit smooth. In fact, he sounded pretty irritated. The genuine emotion was a nice change after talking to Cameron.

“Why, hello, Chief.” She wondered if he blushed at her little purr of affection.

“Just…uh, just calling to let you know I walked all the way up to King Mine today. I’m sorry to say I found nothing. The lock’s still on the gate.”

“But it still could’ve been some kid going up there to party—he just wasn’t successful.”

“I see no reason to suspect anything more serious, but if you have any suspicions, any thoughts at all…”

“No, none.” Cameron was crazy and starting to scare her, but he simply hadn’t been in Tumble Creek.

Ben’s voice dropped to a gentler rumble. “Are you okay?”

Molly smiled and leaned against the counter, letting liquid relaxation ooze back into her muscles. “I’d say I’m more than okay. How ’bout you, Chief?”

“Maybe.”

She could definitely hear a smile in that one word.

He cleared his throat. “But you realize this means we’re going to have to talk. Openly.”

“About what?”

“Molly.”

“Mmm?”

“We’re dating now. You have to come clean with me.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and acted obtuse even though he wasn’t there. “Dating? Did you take me to Grand Valley for dinner and a movie and I didn’t even notice?”

“
Excuse
me?”

“Because I thought we were just having sex. Really good sex. Not a café or a corsage in sight.”

“Goddamn it, Moll—”

“Look, dating you seems to come with lots of conditions, and I’m just not interested, Ben.”

“That’s ridiculous. You slept with me.”

“And I truly hope to do so again. Soon. Tonight even. Are you gonna be at The Bar?”

“Don’t push me, woman. I’m not—”

“Thanks for your help last night, Chief Lawson. You’re a real doll.” She hung up on his sputtering curses, then ignored the phone when it rang again. The answering machine picked up, but he declined to leave a message.

Ben didn’t just want sex with her; he wanted more.

A grin spread so far over her face that her cheeks hurt. A serious relationship was impossible, unfortunately; he’d never accept the scandalous truth about her. She had to keep it light and casual, but it was a joy to know that he wasn’t satisfied with that.

“Ah, well,” she sighed, running her fingertips over her mouth. Light and casual it would be, and she would enjoy every minute of it because she deserved some damn fun.

Molly glanced at the calendar that hung next to the kitchen sink. If Cameron really did come, he’d be here Saturday morning, and he’d do everything in his power to edge Ben away from her. If she couldn’t keep it from happening…at least she had four good days to work Ben into exhaustion. Better than nothing, which was exactly what she’d had up to now.

Maybe she could try calling Cameron’s superior officer again, or sending a letter to…Who? Internal Affairs? But he was right about one thing. She had called him today. Not only that, but she’d called him in the middle of the night just a few hours before that.

“Shit.” The phone records would not look good for her. Plus, he really didn’t call her that often, and the last time she’d tried the old “He has all my exes calling to spy on me” line, she’d been laughed out of the station.

Cameron Kasten was too smart by half, but even he wouldn’t be able to take away the memories of a few good nights in Ben’s arms. All she had to do was make sure those arms were hot, willing and ready for action.

Dropping the phone, she raced upstairs to look for those thigh-highs.

She hadn’t appreciated coming home from her bridge game to find her husband on an extremely intimate—and interactive—phone call with another woman.

“Mr. Wenner, you need to calm down and think about where you can stay for a few days.”

“I can’t—I—There’s nowhere to go! How can I survive without my sweet Olive?”

“Perhaps you should have thought about that before you took up with her best friend.”

“Oh, God,” old Mr. Wenner sobbed. “That meant nothing. It was just sex, I swear!”

Ben hid a wince behind his hand, trying very hard not to think of seventy-year-old Ellie Verstgard rolling around with Mr. Wenner. Despite his best resistance, the image scrolled across his brain and took some of his love for the world with it. He took a deep, cleansing breath and stood straighter, determined to get this spectacle over with.

“Does your brother still live over in Grand Valley?”

“Yes, but—”

The front door opened and Mr. Wenner whipped around with a pitiful cry of “Olive!” but it was only Frank, handing out the man’s pants and an ancient pair of sneakers.

“And that’s all you’ll get out of me!” a woman’s voice shrieked from inside.

Ben tried to make a soothing noise, but it was lost in the old man’s renewed sobbing.

The door slammed shut behind them and Frank sauntered down the stairs. “She needs a little time, sir,” he offered, and angled his head toward his truck. Ben nodded as he put a reassuring hand on Mr. Wenner’s shoulders. He remembered the man as the kindly old barber who handed out butterscotch candies to kids who didn’t cry during their haircuts. That memory would be crushed beneath the weight of this one, no doubt about it.

“How ’bout you put those pants on, Mr. Wenner, then we’ll head over to the station and call your brother. See if he’ll come pick you up.”

“His wife won’t like it. Olive already called her.”

“Well, let’s give it a try. Now…the pants? Please?”

By the time Mr. Wenner’s brother drove to the rescue, forty-five minutes had passed and Ben was still an hour from the end of his shift, sitting in his office with nothing to do. He leaned back in his chair to catch a glimpse of the light flickering from The Bar.

Molly had thoroughly pissed him off with her flip attitude earlier in the day, and he’d known for a fact he wasn’t going anywhere near her tonight. Except that the station was quiet and lonely, and he’d caught sight of Lori walking over to The Bar when he’d brought in Mr. Wenner earlier. Lori was there, which meant Molly was there, not to mention all the love-starved men in town, trying to drown their libidos in beer.

He thought of Molly stretched naked beneath him, her face lost in pure lust, then thought of her flirting with another man…His chair screamed its objection when he stood up and let it snap forward. He had an hour to kill; he might as well go check on the troublemakers across the street.

Ben opened the bar door to a rush of warm, beer-scented air and the tantalizing song of women’s laughter. His eyes swept the bar, finding nothing but a couple of bundled-up ranchers, still hunched against the cold, trying to thaw out.

The giggling laughter swelled again, and his gaze shot to the back of the room and the stained pool table in the farthest corner.

He didn’t blink for a long time. Molly leaned against a pool cue, the toe of one high-heeled shoe drawing little circles on the ground as she talked to Lori and Helen Stowe. The shoes were black patent leather with a strap across the instep…just like a little girl’s dress shoes except for the thin, three-inch heel at the back.

Above that her legs were sheathed in sheer black stockings that led up to a red and gray plaid skirt that looked exactly like something a school girl would wear. A private-school girl. A very
naughty
private-school girl who was looking for trouble in a dingy bar.

She was about to find trouble, all right.

“Chief!” Juan called as Ben stalked past the bar.

Molly looked up, pink lips parted in surprise as she set her foot down and lifted the pool cue. “Hey, Ben,” she breathed when he got closer.

“Aren’t you cold in that skirt?” he barked, forgetting that he’d planned to ease into a cool and distant conversation.

She bit her lip and looked down in dismay over her hot little body. Sassy witch. “I’m wearing layers.”

Boy, was she ever. A crisp white shirt that might have been demure two buttons ago. A black tank top peeked out underneath. He imagined her unbuttoning the white shirt and wearing nothing but the skirt and a slinky black tank. And the heels. And stockings.

“I promise I’m warm as can be,” she added.

Fuck, he couldn’t think of anything to say; he just stood there, staring at her like an idiot.

“Ben, I hate to interrupt,” Lori interrupted from his side. “But it’s Molly’s turn. Think you can spare her for a moment?”

The naughty schoolgirl brushed by him and looked over the table. When she found a play she liked, she ran the cue through her fingers, shot him a smile over her shoulder, and then leaned over and poised herself above the felt.

Ben coughed, his spit drying up so fast he almost choked. The skirt had ridden all the way up to the darker strip of silk at the top of her stockings and Ben could just make out the pale flash of thigh above that.

“Breathe,” Lori whispered, and he sucked in enough air to stop the spinning in his head, but not enough to keep the blood from rushing to his dick.

“I’m on duty,” he said to no one in particular, and Lori just shook her head.

Molly made the shot and celebrated with a little squirm of pleasure that reminded Ben’s dick just how good she was at squirming. Then she sashayed around to the other side of the table and cued up another shot, while Ben stared at her breasts overflowing the bra. She flipped her gold hair back. Ben caught a glimpse of a shimmery scarlet bra edged in black lace.

“Tell her I’ll be back in an hour,” he grumbled, and spun to flee the scene. He could’ve sworn he heard the cracking sound of his dignity crashing against the far wall.

One hour left in his shift and then he could retrieve Molly from The Bar, take her home, and they would work out the question of whether or not they were dating.

He made it to the door without looking back—just barely. When he stepped outside, the cold air took his breath away. But no…that was just the anticipation of Molly.