LITMIR.BIZ

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you’ve heard the stories.”

      “And I sincerely doubt any of them are true.”

      Her gaze jerked up to his. Oh, yeah, he’d managed to surprise her. Had no one ever believed in her?

      “I’m just having some trouble with an obsessed guy, that’s all,” she said finally.

      “A fan?”

      “Sort of.”

      This he didn’t like. He imagined, given her chosen occupation, she faced similar problems all the time. That she actually needed a restraining order was deeply disturbing. “How serious is the trouble?”

      She lifted a shoulder and didn’t look at him.

      “Serious enough for a restraining order.” He turned her to face him, left his hands on her bare upper arms because he wanted her unsettled enough to talk. “I can find out with or without you, but I’d rather you tell me.”

      “It’s not that big of a deal.” She shrugged him off. “I’m safe here. Nothing bad can happen in Pleasantville, right…Sheriff?”

      “Do you have a thing against all cops or just me?”

      “Oh, definitely all cops, but especially second generation ones.”

      It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered. “You know my father.”

      “I grew up here, didn’t I? Right here in good old Pleasantville, where, like I said, nothing bad could ever happen.” Her laugh didn’t convince him, but mostly because it wasn’t humor in her eyes now but…hurt? If he had to guess, he’d have said plenty of bad things had happened to her, right here in Pleasantville.

      “Look, I just…had a long night last night and got a little spooked. Okay?”

      “I can’t imagine you being spooked for anything less than a good reason.”

      “I know. I’m so tough I’d scare away the mob.”

      She didn’t look so tough right now. “Cassie. You’re scaring me.”

      “Look, Pete’s just a typical guy. He thought he could have something I didn’t want to give him, and he’s pissed. He’ll get over it.”

      “Pete. A…lover?”

      She ripped off her sunglasses, her eyes gleaming. “None of your damn business. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed to the lake for some time alone.”

      “It’s going to be getting dark soon.”

      “Thanks, Einstein.”

      He looked into the open convertible. Miss Priss lay asleep on the passenger seat, next to a picnic basket and a book. “The Rogue’s Kiss?” he asked in surprise, staring at the historical romance novel with the half-naked guy on the cover.

      “Do you think underwear models can’t read?”

      “You read…romance?”

      “Shockers, isn’t it?”

      What was shocking was the layers to her. Who’d have thought Cassie Tremaine would have a romantic side?

      She sank into the car, started it. “Unless you didn’t meet your ticket quota for the week, back off. I’d hate to run over those toes on my way outta here.”

      Risking it, he held open her door. “Is that why you’re in town? To get out of the limelight for a while to avoid this guy?”

      “I’m in town opening—”

      “Bare Essentials. Yeah, yeah.” He gripped the hand that would have slid on her sunglasses again. “I’m not buying that anymore, Cassie. You’re here because you’re scared. How long are you staying?”

      “Until I feel like hitting the road again. Now move.”

      He did, only because he felt the tremble in her fingers and it shocked him. Vulnerability? He’d seen a flash of it before and dismissed it because it was unthinkable. The smart-ass, tough-as-hell Cassie couldn’t be vulnerable.

      Or was she? He couldn’t help but feel that he’d missed something about her. That there was more to the tall, incredibly beautiful, distant woman than she wanted everyone to see.

      He watched her peel out of the parking lot, heading toward the lake. It frustrated him that he’d been unable to figure out who the hell she really was.

      He went back inside the station, thinking maybe he’d just try harder.

      Roxy looked at him with a raised brow. “What’s up with the lingerie lady?”

      “I haven’t a clue.”

      “You’d better get one.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Well…” Roxy glanced at the door, a worried look on her face. “I know people like to whisper about her behind her back, talk about her like she was the wild child from hell all those years ago…”

      “And?”

      “And I think it was just that…talk. I think she’s got guts, coming back here. She holds her head up like it doesn’t matter what people say, but…”

      He sighed, because Roxy was always like this, always had to be coaxed out of her stories. “But?”

      “But she’s scared, Sheriff. A woman like that, who’s been through so much…she doesn’t get scared easily. And yet she is.”

      Tag thought about that as he changed out of his uniform. As he promised himself pizza and a beer. But then the funniest thing happened.

      His car drove to the lake, just as the sun took its final dip beneath the horizon. Bypassing the popular swimming hole, he drove around to the east side, where a quiet bay surrounded by trees and growth made a more private area.

      It was where he’d kissed Cassie only a few nights before.

      He parked next to the only other car around, a sunshine-yellow Porsche.

      It was open and unlocked, and he shook his head. She should be more careful. He stopped to stroke Miss Priss, who stretched, purred, and went right back to sleep on the passenger seat. “If only your mistress was as easy to please,” he said, then headed off on the trail down to the beach.

      The night was a dark one already, with just a few silvery clouds. The heat from the day hadn’t begun to fade, which was why the sound of the water hitting the shore in gentle waves made him yearn to dive in.

      The small bay was deserted—unless he counted the sexy mermaid playing around in the water. She popped up about twenty feet out, her back to him. Her long wet hair clung to her shoulders, which gleamed in the meager light. Tipping her head back to the night sky, her eyes were closed, and on her face was an expression he’d never seen before.

      Contentment.

      Then she bent to dive deep. For a second he had the magnificent view of her backside, and the small patch of wet material dividing the most perfect set of buns he’d ever seen.

      Then she was gone.

      He stared at the water, waiting for her to surface, and she didn’t disappoint. She came up only about five feet out now, and facing him. “I already ate the picnic,” she said, treading water.

      “I’m not hungry.” For food, that is.

      Still treading water, she studied him, only her elegant neck and face showing. “You coming in?”

      And have that long, sleek, wet body within reach? Slowly he shook his head. “That would be a bad idea.”

      “No bathing suit, huh?”

      “No.”

      “That can be fixed.” She reached behind her back for a moment, then flung something

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