The Sheriff Meets His Match (5 page)

J
ack hesitated
with his hand fisted to knock on Laurel’s pumpkin-colored door. His aunt had this thing about brightly painted doors being good luck, or some such hogwash. The murmur of a voice from within told him Laurel had company.
Male
company. He tapped the file in his other hand against his thigh and glared a hole through the door.

“Guess it can wait ’til morning,” he grumbled, turning to step gingerly down the snow-covered stairs. Whoever-the-asshat-was, he could have at least shoveled them off for her. Just as he reached the sidewalk an angry shout coming from inside the house startled him. Jack grabbed for his service revolver and jumped for the door. He missed the stairs entirely and dropped the file, allowing it to fall unheeded into the snowbank. The papers from within tobogganed down the slope.

He rammed a fist against the wood. “Sheriff’s department, open the door.” His heart thundered in his chest and there was a ringing in his ears. Was he having a frigging heart attack for crying out loud? He’d never reacted like this before, not even when he’d chased after a murderer a few months ago. But the thought of someone hurting…

“Laur…el,” he shouted, panic clawing the back of his throat. Jack tried the knob but it was locked. He took a step back, angled himself sideways, and prepared to slam his shoulder into the wood. He started forward, slipping a little on the icy deck boards. Good thing, because it slowed him down just enough to narrowly avoid ploughing Laurel over when she pulled the door open.

“Hello?”

When she saw him barrelling toward her with a gun in hand her beautiful eyes took over her face. “Yee…ahh,” she cried, tumbling backward and smacking her head against the now swinging door.

Fuuuck.

Jack tried backpedalling, but the slippery footing beneath his cowboy boots—dumb choice of footwear—had him sailing right into her already off-balanced body.

“Laurel, holy shit.” His hand reached out to grip her shoulder, conscious of the soft womanly feel of her plastered against his rapidly hardening body. Great. “I’m sorry, honey. Are you okay?”

* * *

S
tunned
, Laurel nodded, flinching at the pain radiating from the back of her head. It took a moment for her eyes to uncross and realize that the weight crushing her into the door was none other than her boss. And was he happy to see her or…?

Oh yeah, a gun.
She had to lift a hand to her mouth to block the nervous giggle threatening to erupt.

Jack’s brow rose at her reaction. A slow smile lit his gorgeous brown eyes. “What’s so funny?” he murmured, his voice a velvet rumble that reverberated in her blood, heating her from the inside out.

His head had a fine dusting of melting snowflakes, turning his hair a dark chestnut. Without thinking Laurel lifted a hand to brush her fingers through the damp curls. The air around them fairly steamed with sensual tension. Jack groaned, his gaze going dark with carnal intent.

Laurel’s breath stilled, everything within her poised for the moment those oh-so-sinfully delicious lips found hers. Lights sparked behind her eyes the moment his wickedly mobile mouth took control. Her heart jumpstarted, pumping much needed oxygenated blood to her brain. What was she doing? Her uncle would be checking on her any minute now.

But then his hands found the tips of her breasts and she was lost. Her head fell backward with another thunk—this time going unnoticed—and her eyes practically rolled back in her head. Her nipples were one of her main erogenous zones, almost painfully sensitive. Most men thought they were giving pleasure when in reality it was torture. Not Jack. He played her body like it was a fine instrument, and he, a master musician. Dexterous fingers gently strummed her nerve-endings to blazing life. It was too much. It wasn’t nearly enough.

“Jack.” She inhaled, panting like she’d just run the Boston marathon. “Jack, we have to stop.”

“Hmm?” he hummed and the vibration tickled her core and made her ache with needs and desires fated to be unfulfilled.

“My uncle is in the other room.”

That got a reaction, but not the one she expected.

Instead of leaping away like a scalded cat, Jack laid his forehead alongside hers and took a few cleansing breaths before leaning back.

“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.” And then he saw her puzzled frown. “I heard a male voice when I arrived and assumed you had a man here.”

As if that should explain everything.

Laurel scowled. “I do have a man here. I just told you that.”

Now he was getting irritated also. He stood straight and glared into her upturned face. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said.

She gasped in outrage.

“I was talking about a lover, of course,” he growled.

What the h-e-double-l did that mean,
of course
?

Men.

You can’t live with them, and you can’t shoot ’em. It’s a felony.

J
ack glared
down at Laurel’s tensed body and fisted hands. The ugly orange door clashed with her flushed cheeks and hair the color of autumn leaves. What just happened? One minute they were locking lips like a couple of randy teenagers and the next… hell, he wasn’t sure what set her off like that. All he’d said was that he was glad it was her uncle who was visiting. No need to get all huffy.

Women.

He gave the long-suffering sigh of put upon men everywhere, and took a step back from the scowling wildcat in front of him. “I dropped a file outside when I thought you might need saving.”

I should have known better
.

Who would be crazy enough to mess with that temper? “I’ll be right back. Maybe by then you’ll have cooled down some.”

Without waiting for a reply he stomped out the door, wincing when an icy ball of snow hit him in the back of the head before sliding under the collar of his coat. He turned around in time to see her gloating smirk just before she slammed the door shut.

It took him a moment to get over the shock—and dig the snow out from around his neck—but then he pictured her adorable face when she thought she’d put one over on him. He grinned. Life with Laurel would never be boring.

Whoa.

Where did that come from? Just because the woman turned him on like a match to a keg of dynamite, didn’t mean he needed to think long-term relationship. He bent to gather up the fallen papers and reminded himself how well it turned out the last time he thought with his little head. He’d ended up with a pregnant wife and a truckload of responsibilities.

But Laurel tempted him as he hadn’t been tempted in a very long time, and it wasn’t only about the attraction, though there was plenty of that between the two of them. He liked that she made him forget his obligations and just be himself for a while when he was with her—without all the excess baggage that comprised his everyday life. It felt good, beyond good. Freeing. Between his daughter, his family, and his job, Jack spent most of his life bogged down by responsibilities. With Laurel everything seemed fresh and new and bright with possibilities. He was loath to walk away from that without giving them an honest shot.

That is if she’d have him.

He knew she wanted him. The feeling was mutual. Her kisses were so addictive. Those expressive brown eyes betrayed her hunger, and her soft hands tugged him closer instead of pushing him away. They made him forget his own name. But he’d made himself a vow after April walked out on him and Tina that he would never let another woman hurt his daughter that way again. And Laurel was leaving soon.

He needed to back away and let her go.

Heart heavy, Jack finished catching up to the slippery pages in the snow, brushed them off, and trudged up the stairs. Laurel must have been watching for him because she opened the door as soon as he reached the top tread. Their eyes met; his were fatalistic, while hers were apprehensive. Jack knew he was on the right track with the case. He just hoped she’d trust him enough to help her.

* * *

L
aurel took
one glance at the folder in Jack’s hand that she just knew was full of incriminating evidence and felt her stomach drop through her shoes. He was too good a cop not to dig into the background of anyone he deemed suspicious. She’d seen the way he’d looked at Uncle Max and known it was only a matter of time. And speak of the devil.

“Who is it, m’dear?” Max asked from behind her. She stepped aside and a quick frown marred her uncle’s brow before he smoothed it out and remarked with forced gaiety, “Sheriff, so good of you to come a calling on a chilly night such as this. Laurel, child, hurry and let the poor man in.”

Poor man
, as if he were a decrepit old guy. Laurel had never seen anyone less frail than the six-four giant ducking his head to enter her home.

“She was just telling me how grateful she is to be under your care… uh, I mean employment,” Max said, and slid a sly glance her way.

The crafty old bugger. Trying to weave a sense of responsibility for her onto Jack’s shoulders. And was that a glint of humor she saw in Jack’s eye? He turned away to close the door before she had a chance to be sure.

“Sheriff, you remember my Uncle Max, I’m sure.” She resigned herself to the coming confrontation. Maybe he’d just dropped in for a visit and the papers had nothing to do with them.
Yeah, and pigs fly.

Jack took his own sweet time to unbutton his jacket and peel it off those mountainous shoulders—she grinned at the residual clumps of snow dampening his collar. He hung it beside her uncle’s on the coat rack and brushed a casual hand down his chest to straighten his shirt, tucking the cotton material into his pants where it had worked loose. Her knees quivered in reaction. She licked her lips and bit the inside of her mouth—hard.

“Your niece was just reminding me how cold the snow is, sir.” Jack slid a knowing look in her direction before refocusing on the older man. “I’m actually here on business. I have a couple of questions I was hoping you might be able to help me with.”

Laurel forced herself to relax, but it was darn hard to keep her gaze off that tan folder.

“We can try, sheriff.” Max was all cloying sweetness. Laurel shot daggers in his direction. Did he seriously think Jack couldn’t see through his subterfuge?

“I just made a fresh pot of tea and some snacks. Let’s go into the den where we can be comfortable, shall we?” As if she could ever get comfortable with the law breathing down their necks. This was a disaster waiting to happen.

Max led the way, with Laurel sandwiched between the two men. Every. Single. Nerve knew Jack followed two steps behind her. The natural sway of her hips suddenly felt like an invitation to have his fingers latch on and pull her back so that she could nestle against his hard… chest. His lips would find her neck and his hands would cover her breasts. They would make love right there, on the floor in front of the fire. Minus Max, of course. Everything within her yearned for things to be different. For her to be a normal woman, free to lo… care for a man like Jack. But she was who she was, and he….

He was the enemy.

Max resumed his seat in the armchair, forcing Laurel to kneel in her previous spot on the floor. She was unwilling to sit next to Jack on the sofa. Not that it mattered; his legs were so long that his knees were still uncomfortably close. She fancied that she could feel the heat of his big body warming her back and his breath tickling her ear. A flush rose up her neck and heated her cheeks. She tried to unobtrusively move away but overbalanced and almost fell into his lap, saving herself at the last moment with a hastily placed hand high on his thigh. His very firm thigh.

The muscles contracted and turned to tempered steel beneath her fingers. She froze. Shocked, she met his amused gaze. Amusement that changed to heated invitation in the blink of an eye. Her tummy tumbled around like a roller coaster ride and she gasped when he placed his hand over hers and gently squeezed.

Oh, my lord.

The back of her fingers brushed against the swelling hardness and she moaned under her breath.

“What’s that, my dear?” Her uncle asked.

Laurel jumped and pulled away, but not before she got an eyeful of all… that. Swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat she attempted an easy smile as she turned her back on the temptation behind her.

“Nothing, Uncle. Would you like your tea warmed up?” And if her hands rattled the lid on the ceramic pot a little, hopefully the men put it down to clumsiness.

Determined to get back to a more even footing and find out just how much Jack knew about her uncle, Laurel lobbed the ball into his court.

“So, boss, you going to share what’s in that file, or keep us guessing all night?” She passed him a cup of tea made the way he liked it, two sugar, no cream, and was distracted by how carefully he held the delicate English porcelain. The flowery cup looked like a child’s play set in his giant hands, yet he handled it with seeming ease.

“Do either of you know a man by the name of Joe London?”

That got her attention.