LITMIR.BIZ

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He’d certainly learned a few things about himself at the lake tonight, hadn’t he. And none of it was anything to be particularly proud of.

      First, he’d apparently proven to Cassie that all men were scum. Every one of them. Not that she hadn’t apparently already formed that opinion, but he’d definitely enforced it.

      What had come over him? Lust, he admitted. A red haze of lust.

      She was being stalked for crissake, and what had he done? He’d stripped down to his birthday suit like a hopeful high school kid and dove into that water without a single thought.

      Oh, yeah, he deserved her disdain, every ounce of it. But she hadn’t deserved his momentary lapse in judgment.

      Well, he could fix that much at least. On his way back from the lake he’d gone to the station and done what he could for her, not that she’d appreciate it. He’d arranged for drive-bys at her house. He’d alerted his deputies to the possibility of trouble. And he’d put in a request for a copy of the original report and the restraining order.

      She wouldn’t thank him, he knew that, but at least he had his head on straight now and wouldn’t be distracted from what he had to do.

      He wouldn’t. No matter how glorious she looked nude, swimming like a mermaid beneath the stars, her satiny skin glistening like a feast as she frolicked unselfconsciously. Her body—a mind-blowing study in curves and feminine delights—was perfection, and he’d seen every bit of it tonight. Rock-hard mauve nipples made for sucking. Rounded hips begging for his hands to grip tight. Long, tanned legs, and the treasure in between that had made his mouth water with hunger.

      Just the thought could bring him to his knees, so he stopped thinking.

      But he didn’t stop dreaming, not that night, and not the next.

      He did, however, a few days later, take his weekly phone call from his father, something he would have gladly skipped if he’d only put in Caller ID as he kept meaning to.

      “You feeling better?” Tag asked him, knowing his father had been suffering from rheumatory arthritis, and knowing the man would never admit it.

      “I’ll live, unfortunately. You keeping the streets clean of stupidity, son?”

      Tag let out a silent sigh and rubbed his temples. “What do you think?”

      “I think I shouldn’t have retired. Heard Cassie Tremaine Montgomery is back in town. The slut.”

      Tag went utterly still. “She left here right after high school. What was she, maybe seventeen? Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

      “What do you know about it? You were at college when she left. Trust me. Keep your eye on her.”

      That didn’t seem to be a problem. What was a problem was the fact that he wanted to keep more than his eyes on her. He wanted his hands, his mouth and his body on her, as well.

      “What’s happening at work?” his father asked.

      “The usual,” Tag said. “Just a D.U.I. at the moment.”

      “Any ongoing cases?”

      “Nothing I can’t handle.”

      “Sure?”

      Tag counted to ten. “Positive.”

      “Okay, then. I’ve got to go.”

      “Sure. But in case you were wondering, I’m fine.”

      “I know you’re fine. If you weren’t I’d hear about it. It’s work I want to know about. You’d best be doing a good job, upholding our family name.”

      Or what? Tag wondered wearily. He’d swing his authority around like a belt? He rubbed his temples. “I’ll talk to you next week.”

      “You haven’t been out to see me.”

      Tag hadn’t, that was true. He hadn’t been able to take the hour or so of verbal abuse he’d no doubt have to sit through before being dismissed like a worthless underling.

      He bit his tongue on the harsh words he wanted to say. He wouldn’t act like his father. “I’ve got to go, Dad.” Hanging up the phone, he gave in to a brief moment of self-hatred for not telling his father to just go to hell.

      Pretty pathetic. Thirty-two years old and he still had a deep desire to have a picture-perfect family life with warm, loving people around him.

      Or one loving person. The one he hadn’t found yet—his fantasy wife. The thought made him huff out a mirthless laugh because he was no closer to finding her than he was to really living in Mayberry, U.S.A.

      * * *

      KATE ARRIVED, and Cassie had to admit she’d never been happier to see anyone in her entire life. Her cousin hadn’t changed at all; she was still the voice of calm reason to Cassie’s wild heart.

      Physically, they were opposites as well, and Cassie had always admired Kate’s long, thick dark hair, her perfect heart face, her sweet smile. Although she hated people thinking so, Kate was sweet everything, and being around her calmed Cassie’s restless soul in a way few others could.

      On Kate’s first night back in Pleasantville they stayed up late, sitting on the floor of the nearly ready Bare Essentials, gorging on pizza and M&M’s, going over the plans for their grand opening.

      Maybe it was the bottle of wine they shared, or maybe it was simply the sheer delight of seeing each other after too long an absence, but they laughed and talked and listened to music until well past midnight.

      Cassie had to give her cousin credit. Kate let Cassie keep the conversation safe. Meaning they talked about Kate. Bare Essentials. And gossiped happily about the people in Pleasantville.

      Then the clock struck one and Kate’s smile faded as she studied Cassie. “You know I love you, right?”

      Ah, hell. “Yep.” In case Kate wanted to talk serious, she cranked up the radio to ear-splitting level.

      Kate simply lifted that superior brow Cassie was certain had intimidated hundreds of others. “You could tell me anything,” she yelled over the music. “You know that.”

      “I’m fine.”

      “Yeah.” Kate put her hand around her mouth and shouted, “So fine you have purple bruises beneath your eyes.” She flicked the radio off. “Delicate ones, of course, because you’re the only woman I know who could skip makeup and eat junk food for a week and still look amazing. But I know you, Cassie.” She softened her voice and reached for her hand. “Whether you like it or not, I know you’re not okay.”

      “Kate—”

      “You haven’t asked for your mail.” She reached into her purse and came up with a handful of letters. All addressed to her. All from Pete. “You should be giving these to the local authorities.”

      “The authorities here know about him.” Deciding she was done with this conversation, Cassie stood and stretched, and caught sight of a car pulling up out front.

      Not just any car, but a police squad car. Damn it.

      She tucked Pete’s letters into her purse and turned with her hands on her hips as one tall, dark and sinfully fine-looking Sheriff Sean Taggart entered the building with a casual nonchalance that made her every hormone stand up and quiver.

      Take what you can, honey, and spit the rest back out. Cassie thought about what Flo would say and had to admit there wasn’t much to spit back out when it came to Tag.

      Not exactly a comfort.

      “Fancy you showing up out here,” she drawled slowly though her heart had started racing at just the sight of him. She hadn’t seen him since that night at the lake when he’d stripped down and showed her he was one pretty remarkable male specimen. When she’d accused him of only wanting sex. When she’d nearly succumbed to temptation

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