Tumble Creek (2 page)

No matter what he wore, Brock Stewart was hot, and now in front of everyone her body took off on its own pleasurable erotic trip. Sofie dared to crane her neck and look up. Oops, someone wasn't happy. His flinty, brown eyes penetrated hers before slowly taking in her state of undress. She clutched the red blanket closer around her, hoping it would somehow calm things, but it just made matters worse, because now a muscle in his jaw flicked. Then, strangely, he folded his arms and shoved his hands deep into his armpits.

Ignoring all the muttering which, to Sofie's reckoning, had no effect on him at all, and mouth tight, he growled, ‘Come with me.'

‘Why? I'm in the middle of—'

‘No time to explain,' he said, his tone none too happy. ‘Get up, get dressed and come with me.'

‘Has something happened to Claudia?' Claudia was Sofie's teenaged daughter.

‘No—'

‘To Jen? To anyone I love or know?'

‘No—'

‘Right, then I'm staying here to …'

In a disbelieving stupor, Sofie watched Brock's hands as he tugged them free of his armpits, reached over and scooped her off the chaise. She squealed like a girl who'd seen her first big hairy spider.

‘Put me down!' Sofie yelled, and clutched the blanket tightly around her body. But, his look of determination told her, he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. She called on her pupils for help. ‘Somebody stop him!'

‘But Sofie, honey,' Janet replied helpfully, ‘he's Sergeant Stewart!'

‘He's a detective now and in civvies!' Oh lord, now she was sounding snippy. Sofie wriggled but Brock flexed his arm muscles and held her tighter. ‘You
can
stop him!' But, shaking their heads, her students stayed rooted to the floor.

A helpless feeling stole through her.
Damn!

‘Clothes,' Brock ordered. In the cavernous hall his voice punched through the drapes, sounding like an avalanche of boulders tumbling along the floor. But it didn't stop there; the vibrations in his chest seeped through Sofie's flesh to lodge in that very personal place between her legs.
Shit!
Without thinking, she squeezed her thighs together. Brock's head dipped, his intense gaze captured hers. And, oh God, he knew what was going on inside her … what was going on between her thighs. In a fraction of a second his serious look disappeared. The longer he gazed at her the more his eyes softened and the more his luscious mouth curved into a teensy lopsided grin.

Holy crap.
If they'd been alone, he would've had her up against a wall and … hopefully.

A thrill filled her chest, heat rose up her neck, and—damn it all to hell—her cheeks were aflame.

‘Detective,' Gina prompted, holding out a bag.

He cradled Sofie to him and stuck a hand out from under her bottom for the plastic bag of clothes, as well as Sofie's handbag. He gave Gina a nod of thanks then, boots clomping, headed through the drapes, down the steps and along the hall to the back entry.

The moment his back was turned, her pupils muttered loud enough for them to hear, ‘What do you suppose is going on?—Perhaps it's against the law to be naked in the community hall—Maybe she hasn't paid her parking fine—Maybe …'

Sofie tried to peer over Brock's shoulder. But his big body blocked everything behind them from view, so she yelled instead, ‘I paid all my parking fines in Sydney, there's no place in this town where you could get a parking fine! Don't worry I've tried.'

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Brock was shaking his head, ever so slightly. Was he having fun at her expense? Sofie had had enough. ‘Put me down this minute!' She thumped his shoulder for emphasis, but he didn't even flinch.

He eased her down in front of the ladies toilets, handed over her clothes and handbag, then hands on her shoulders he spun her around, and gave her a nudge with his fingers in the small of her back, saying, ‘Get dressed.'

She swung back around. ‘Wait just a minute!' Defiant, Sofie prodded his chest. ‘I don't know what this is all about, but I've had about enough of the cat and mouse thing
you've
been playing with me for months.' She waved her hand for emphasis. ‘
I
have a new class.
I'm
not there, they'll go home,
and
someone has to turn off the heaters, plus I'm not leaving my art equipment!' She flung an arm out indicating the door they'd just come out of.

He held out his hand. ‘Car keys. I'll turn off the heaters, get your stuff and put it in your car. You get changed.'

‘Why the hurry? What's going on? Tell me or I won't take another step!'

He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and widened his stance, like he was ready to wait it out. His chest expanded with a deep breath, then he slowly exhaled. It didn't take an idiot to know he was trying to control his patience. He sighed, head slanted to one side, and gently said, ‘No one's hurt—I'll explain in the car—for fuck's sake get dressed, I need you to come with me—
now
!'

Sofie stared at his deadly serious expression, exasperated. ‘God, you're so annoying,' she grumbled.

He grabbed her shoulders, leaned in to within an inch of her face, and forced out through clenched teeth, ‘Sofe! There's been an accident at your house, and for safety reasons people need info. You want to tell them about your house over the phone, or d'you want to get dressed?' Eyes hard, he growled deep in his throat. ‘Or as you seem to like flaunting yourself in public I'll take you as you are—naked!'

Shit, the way he barked out the word ‘naked' made her feel as if she'd done something wrong, and she hadn't. How dare he? ‘I was
not
flaunting myself, and this is hardly a public place. Why didn't you let me change behind the screen?' He merely gave her a look. Sofie continued on her rant, and God it felt good! ‘You came charging in uninvited and … and scooped me up in the middle of a life drawing lesson!' she finished yelling, and emphasised her point with a wave of her hands. The forgotten blanket untwisted its hold and slid off her breasts to pool at her feet. Horrified eyes wide, she determined not to crack and burst into tears, nor laugh hysterically. She also determined not to bend over and pick up the blanket; he'd see all of her bare back, not to mention the top of her
arse
. So, no way was she doing that. But, she thought sarcastically, much better he see her ample breasts, even if they weren't as perky as they used to be, and at least her belly was reasonably flat; unfortunately, this meant she couldn't hide her pubes which should have been trimmed last week!

Nice one, Sofe.

She had to hand it to Brock; his eyes didn't stray but steadfastly held hers, even though away from the heaters and no blanket, Sofie's nipples pebbled into hard, rosy nubs, and then she started to shiver.

Maybe she just wasn't his type. Shit … what was she going to do with that?

Brock's dark, burning gaze slowly travelled down her body. Oops, maybe she was wrong. He hunkered down, retrieved the blanket, came up and tucked it around her shoulders. Quietly, and with controlled authority, he clipped, ‘Get—dressed—Sofe.'

Mouth pressed together, she snatched her clothes out of his hand, rummaged in her handbag for her keys and slapped them into his waiting palm. He lifted his chin indicating the ladies toilets and strode back towards the hall muttering, ‘Not a fan of you being
naked
in front of other men.'

Sofie peeked around the corner to see him disappear. ‘What the …?'

She could not work him out. Half the time his look screamed hungry for sex, the other half he was angry … actually it was both at the same time. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Okay, she had to get a handle on her emotions before she dived headlong into hysterics. So what if Brock Stewart had shown signs he found her attractive over the past six months, she sure as hell wasn't going to take the first step. And she'd better get dressed, and fast, because she was damn sure he wouldn't even blink twice about coming into the ladies to drag her out. She certainly wasn't going to sit next to him, in his car, naked. Though, if he ever gave her the chance, that might change somewhere down the track.

***

Out in the cold, Brock grabbed Sofie's hand and dragged her straight to his Ford Ranger. She glared at the beast, its engine running, making a show of how confident he'd been that it wouldn't take him long to fetch her. Misty clouds of vapour mixed with diesel fumes floated through the parking area and up into the surrounding leafless, twiggy oak trees. She tried to yank her hand out of his; of course that didn't work. At some stage he'd have to let her go to open his car door, she could easily make a run for her car, then she wouldn't have to sit next to his ongoing mixed messages. Damn, no keys—not a problem, she could try hot wiring her car. He opened his passenger door, let her hand go, and just as she was about to take off, he scooped her up again. Ignoring Sofie's squeal of protest, and without a word, he set her down in the passenger seat. Then his actions got more bizarre. Brock grabbed the seatbelt, pulled it across her lap and chest, and snapped it in, as if she were a child not capable of performing this simple routine task.

‘Stop that!' she smacked at his hands. ‘I'll follow you in my own car.'

Brock peered over his shoulder at her station wagon. ‘That's not a car.' He turned back to face her. ‘That's an accident waiting to happen.'

Outraged, Sofie opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind when he slammed the door shut and locked it.
The nerve.
Brock rounded the bonnet, unlocked the driver's side door, and slid his big frame behind the wheel. Then palm open flat on the steering wheel, he swung his car around and headed out of the car park.

‘You'd better tell me what's going on.'

His masculine hand left the steering wheel and moved across to hold hers where it was resting on her lap, but he didn't say anything, didn't have to—his action spoke volumes, only she didn't know what it meant.

Apprehension tightened her chest until it squeezed all the breath out of her. ‘You said no one's hurt,' she said, her voice strained, ‘but it's something else, something bad.'

Brock's manner scared the crap out of her. Right from the moment he'd walked into the hall, she'd been fighting an ominous sense that something dreadful had happened.

Brock slowed as he turned the corner into Lavender Lane and Sofie's worst fears, that this was
very
bad, were confirmed. Her beautiful, peaceful street had been turned on its head. How bad was this accident that it could attract a crowd of onlookers, and turn her tranquil, pretty street into a circus? She craned her neck, but couldn't see past cars, vans and trucks. Gawkers were blocking the road. Mouth tight, Brock growled long and hard, sounding very pissed off. Everyone in town respected him, he was their police detective; unfortunately, he could never really let his anger rip. He beeped his horn and people scurried aside. His frown deepened, and muscles ticked above his jaw.

‘Brock! Talk to me!' Sofie demanded. ‘Is Claud—'

‘I told you, Claudia's fine. Last we checked, she was at Veronica's cooking with Jen.'

Nodding, Sofie screwed her eyes shut, imagined Claudia cooking up a storm with her aunt and let it settle inside her, easing her fears. She opened her eyes again and her heart seized. Brock couldn't hide the emotions mapping his face, concern, understanding … anguish?

‘There's no way to soften the blow, I'm sorry, Sofe,' he told her quietly, and with feeling. ‘A truck ploughed into your yard and …'

Every muscle in her body braced, she just didn't know what for, exactly, except it was bad—very bad.

Up ahead, gathered around the front of her house, was a police car, ambulance and fire engine, all with lights flashing. ‘It's not just the yard, is it?' Sofie asked, hoping he'd allay her fears, but he merely shook his head. Dread ripped through her, making her stomach clench and her skin feel cold yet sweaty at the same time. As they approached, onlookers and their vehicles moved out of their way and the scene opened up. ‘Brock?! Why is there a semi in my … my …'

Leaning in, she gripped the dashboard while Brock edged his car as close as he could to her house.

The destruction was heartbreaking. Weird noises came out through her constricted throat, she tried to stop them but couldn't breathe, couldn't get air into her lungs. The Ranger stopped at the kerb. Brock leaned across the console to unclip her seat belt, and somewhere in her consciousness the strength of his big hands curling around her shoulders filtered through as he forced her to face him.

He took her hand and gently placed it palm open on his massive chest. ‘Focus on me, Sofe. Slow down your breathing.'

‘Okay, no one was hurt—no one was hurt,' she repeated firmly, adding, ‘I can do this.' Eyes locked with Brock's caring, dark-brown ones, she followed the rhythm of his chest.

‘Of course you can, you're Sofie Dove.' He gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Breath out … in again … slowly. That's it.'

Staring at his face and chest, listening to his steady voice, Sofie had calmed enough to speak and not fall apart any second. ‘I'm all right now.' But he didn't move his hand covering hers on his chest.

‘You sure?'

‘Yes. I'm fine. I'm afraid to look, but at the same time, I know I can't avoid it.' And Sofie hoped to God that she wasn't wrong, because to fall apart anytime was bad enough, but doing it surrounded by the entire community, and the local photojournalist, would be appalling. That's not the way she was brought up, her mother insisted on maintaining a strict proper image at all times, but like her sister, that was still a work in progress for Sofie.

Back straight, she muttered, ‘I'm okay.'