Trouble with the Law (3 page)

He glanced at her with a wry smile. “Last year it was kids making noise outside. The year before it was a water heater that malfunctioned. Leroy knew you’d gone into the wrong room by mistake, but he thought the best way of dealing with Mrs. Harper was to get you out of there. When you refused to let him explain, he didn’t know what to do. You alarmed him with your big-city manner and your talk about lawyers.”

Justine finished buttoning up the khaki shirt and lowered her hands into her lap. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, lacing her fingers together to steady them. “I guess you think I’m some kind of a queen bitch.”

The sheriff smiled again, this time without lifting his attention from the road. “No harm done. You had a right to be annoyed. From what I hear, Mrs. Harper called you all kinds of names.”

“Hussy. Harlot.” Justine let out a muffled chuckle. “A sinful tramp.”

Her pulse quickened as Sheriff Taylor shot her another amused glance. Then he resumed looking through the windshield, and they drove the rest of the way through the sleeping town in silence.

The guesthouse greeted them with blackened windows, a single bulb casting a dull light over the porch. Justine tiptoed across the gravel drive in her bare feet. Her breath stalled as she imagined Sheriff Taylor picking her up and carrying her, but he offered to perform no such courtesy. He simply stood by the porch steps, patiently waiting for her. When she caught up with him, he bent to retrieve a key from under a clay pot with a miniature juniper growing in it.

“I told Rob to go back to bed,” he said as he opened the front door and waved her through. “He promised to leave a key to your room on the hall table.”

Justine advanced with caution in the darkness. When the ceiling lights snapped on, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Sheriff Taylor picking up a key from a small table set flush against the wall.

“Thanks,” she said, holding out her hand. “I think I can manage from here.”

He gave her a long considering look. “I’d better see you upstairs, in case Mrs. .Harper is waiting for you.” His fingers closed over the room key as he spoke.

Justine scaled the steps ahead of him, her heart pounding. Something had changed in those last few seconds in the hall, stirring up dark and dangerous undercurrents. She felt her mind slipping out of control, like she was a puppet, and she had no idea who was holding the strings.

“Here it is. Number seven. It’s a nice room, overlooks the front garden, although that doesn’t make any difference at this time of day. I mean this time of night.” Justine fell silent. God, she was babbling. She never babbled. Everyone knew anxiety made you talk too much, and long ago, she had trained herself to remain silent when her nerves stood on edge.

The sheriff unlocked the door and walked in. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even turn to look at her. Justine swallowed the panic rising in her throat, and stepped into the room after him.

A faint glow shone in from the bulb above the porch. Sheriff Taylor reached out to the lamp on the desk. Justine heard a soft click of the switch, and then a muted light filled the room. She listened to the rustle as he drew the curtains, blocking out the world, shutting them inside a private cocoon.

A queen bed stood crammed into an alcove. The desk and the chair comprised the only other furniture in the small room. There wasn’t even a nightstand, or a wardrobe, just a rack with a few hangers mounted on the wall by the entrance. A folding cot leaned against the wall in the corner, intended for the family who had booked the room.

The sheriff turned to her and gestured at the door. Justine took a step back and pushed at the panel, until it closed with a muffled click.

Tension gripped her, making her movements clumsy.

Why did he want her to shut the door? And why did she obey without a question? He had said nothing, done nothing to indicate any personal interest in her, but the air crackled with an attraction that couldn’t be ignored. It felt as if by his mere presence Sheriff Taylor had set out to seduce her, the current between them so strong it would pull them together regardless of the circumstances.

Without thinking, Justine turned the knob to secure the lock. A shiver rippled along her skin at the implication of her actions.

“I need my shirt for Monday morning,” Sheriff Taylor said, his voice low.

Justine stared at him. He took a step toward her. She matched it with a step of her own, and he followed with another step, his attention on her face. They come to a halt with their bodies almost touching.

“You’d better take your shirt then,” she said, her arms down her sides. The force of attraction that drew her to the man standing before her filled her senses, leaving her trembling and defenseless.

He lifted one hand and undid the button at her collarbone, his fingers brushing her skin as they made their way to the next button, and the next.

Justine closed her eyes. The excitement tingling down her spine was more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. She knew that her behavior amounted to madness, but she couldn’t stop herself, any more than she wanted to stop him.

This must be how it felt to sell your soul.

A thin ray of sanity pierced the sensual haze around her. “Are you married?” she asked in a whisper, blinking her eyes open.

“No,” he murmured, his fingers conquering another button and stroking the skin on her stomach. “And I’m forty-two.”

“I’ll be forty in a few weeks.”

“A good reason to celebrate.” He freed the last button and raised his hands to push the shirt over her shoulders. Sliding the sleeves down her arms he released the shirt and twisted it into a bundle with his strong fingers. “Right,” he said, holding her gaze with his. “I’ve taken my shirt.”

“Would you like to take anything else?” Justine forced the words past her tightened throat. Whatever the consequences, she knew she couldn’t simply let him go without finding out if the same madness afflicted him.

He brushed the back of his hand over the skin above her breasts, dragging one finger along the rim of the padded cups of her bra. “I don’t think I should take this. I wouldn’t have much use for it.”

Justine held her breath, and then she plunged into the torrent of lust that threatened to sweep her along. “You can take
me
,” she told him.

His finger stilled between her breasts. “I’m a stranger,” he said. “That brings risks. I could carry a disease. I could be the kind of man who gets turned on by violence. You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” she told him. “And don’t want to know anything about you either, and I’m willing to take the risk. All I want is for someone to hold me tonight. Make me feel alive. Make me feel wanted and warm.”

His fingers resumed their motion, creeping to the edge of the padded cups and reaching inside, where they made tiny forays, inching closer and closer to her nipples with each sweep. “When did you last sleep with a man?”

Justine shrugged, and shuddered as the motion brought his blunt fingertips further down inside her bra. “Over a year ago.”

“A boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend. We were both at a loose end, and it was his fortieth birthday. We got together to share old times.” She forced a smile. “Like you said, a birthday with a zero in it is a good reason to celebrate.”

“All right.” Sheriff Taylor nodded at her, his face unreadable. “I’ll help you celebrate yours. Let’s make it a birthday to remember.”

It felt as though someone had stolen the air from her lungs. Justine struggled for calm, but her legs buckled, and the room faded in her view. Sheriff Taylor untangled his hand from her bra and gripped her elbow.

“Easy,” he murmured, steadying her. She stared at him helplessly, and in one graceful motion, he swooped down and gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

“Are you sure?” he said as he lowered her on the bed.

“Yes.” It came out on a sob, and Justine wound her arms around his neck, capturing him close, preventing him from pulling away.

“Easy,” he murmured again. He lifted his hands to break her grip. “I want to look at you.” He straightened, his eyes lingering over her, and once more she became intensely aware that nothing covered her nakedness except a pair of lace panties and a bra, and the shreds of torn silk stockings.

Justine drew a shaky breath, expecting that Sheriff Taylor would continue to tease her breasts with his drifting touch, but instead he stepped back and stood in the centre of the room. His eyes never left hers as he began to undress, moving with the economy of a man who possessed no vanity.

His fingers worked their way down the row of buttons on his shirt, and when the front fell open, with a quick twist of his shoulders he shrugged off the shirt, revealing a broad chest peppered with dark hairs that narrowed to a band over his ridged abdomen and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Without turning from her, he draped the shirt over the single chair in the room.

Justine rose to a sitting position on the bed. “Let me,” she murmured, lifting one arm to reach through the air, her fingertips pulsing with the need to touch his bare skin.

“No,” he told her. “I want to watch you watching me.”

His gaze locked with hers as he methodically unfastened the buckle on his belt. Rather than reach for the zip on his jeans, he slowly pulled the worn leather band out of the loops and folded the belt in his hands before stepping aside to set it down on the desk by the window.

Then he scraped out the chair and settled on it, lifting one foot over the opposite knee. Justine felt her mouth go dry. She hadn’t looked at his feet before, hadn’t realized that instead of shoes or sneakers he wore hiking boots. She listened to the sounds as he yanked the laces loose to remove the boots and the socks beneath.

Still looking at her, he stood up and raised his hands to his waist. “Sorry,” he said, and a quick smile quirked his lips. “Commando. I was in too much of a hurry to look for underwear when I got dressed.”

The metal zip rustled as his hands edged down. With a sweeping motion he shoved the jeans down his powerful legs. His erection swung free, pointing at the ceiling. Justine couldn’t help but stare. Her breath ran in swift gasps as she tore her attention back to his face.

She caught the flash of male pride in his eyes, and then he moved to the bed and crouched down beside her. “Happy birthday,” he murmured, brushing a chaste kiss on her lips.

Justine laid the flat of her palm over his chest. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the slight moisture the steamy night had drawn on it, and the steady pounding of his heart. She swept her hand along the smooth muscles, following the downward taper of the dark line of hairs.

“Not yet,” he murmured. Gently but firmly, he placed his hands against her shoulders and pushed, until she fell back to lie down on the bed. “I want to kiss every inch of your body. I don’t care how long it takes, but I’m going to make you mine like no man has ever made you his. I’m going to find nerve endings on your body you didn’t even know existed.” A crooked smile played around his mouth. “And I’ll do my best to have you begging before I finally slip inside you.”

Justine closed her eyes. A soft moan rose from deep within her as she felt the heat of his mouth over her collarbone. Her back arched, exposing her throat. His kisses trailed along her neck. His breath brushed over her breast as he edged down her side, and she realized he’d meant it literally when he promised that he’d kiss her everywhere.

The drag of his lips in the sensitive dip of her waist sent her shivering. Her arms flew up from her sides, and she buried her fingers into his dark curls, attempting to guide him to her breasts.

“No,” he told her, capturing her wrists and pressing her hands against the bedspread. “Not yet.”

He roamed her body, found the tender spots inside her elbows and at the back of her knees. In between kisses, he smoothed his palms over her skin—the curve of her hips, the swell of her buttocks, the long line of her legs—and slowly removed the few scraps of clothing she wore.

“Please,” she whispered as he worked his way up along the inside of her thigh. He raised his head to look at her, and then he laid one of his hands against her abdomen, heavy and warm. Slowly, he inched his touch over her belly, finally reaching the valley between her breasts and halting there.

Justine closed her eyes against the barrage of sensations. She rolled to her side in a desperate search, until his hand met her breast. She cried out as a wave of tension gripped her, making her feel as if her body was a knot he’d suddenly yanked unbearably tight.

“Please,” she murmured. When his thumbs brushed over her nipples, she jerked up on the bed, a rough moan rising at the back of her throat.

He hushed her, but she couldn’t control her voice. A keening sound filled the dimly lit room. She felt the mattress dip as he climbed beside her, and then his mouth closed over hers, in a slow kiss that dulled her cries to a muffled whimper.

And just when she thought she could bear it no more, he leaned on his elbows and covered her body with his, sliding his legs between hers. “Are you sure?” he asked, his words low and husky.

“Yes,” she told him, and shifted beneath him to welcome him.

“You’ll have to wait a little longer.” He adjusted his weight above her.

“No!” She reached her hands to his hips and tried to anchor him in place.

He planted a hurried kiss on her lips and twisted away from her. “Forty is grown-up. Safe sex.” He swung his feet to the floor and took two long steps across the room to pluck his jeans from the floor. He smiled at her as he retrieved a small foil envelope from the hip pocket.