Naughty, But Nice. Jill Shalvis

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СКАЧАТЬ on the wheel, the picture of impatience. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

      “You know, you’d get farther with honey than vinegar,” he said, pulling out his ticket book.

      “I save the honey for someone who’ll appreciate it.”

      Well, she had him there. She could bat her pretty lashes and flirt all she wanted, he was pretty much fed up with the tactic. No way could she bowl him over with those sexy green eyes and walk away. Nope, he was far tougher than that.

      Maybe he wasn’t big city. Maybe he had only the badge and his training behind him, but he was his own man and he knew what he wanted.

      And okay, he wanted her. He was red-blooded, after all. But a quick affair to let off some steam wasn’t enough for him, not these days. Slumming around no longer appealed. He wanted for keeps. The real deal.

      Nothing about Cassie was the real deal.

      “Meow.”

      This came from the passenger seat, on which sat the biggest, fattest tabby he’d ever seen. “Well, hello,” he said, and when the cat climbed all over Cassie to get to him, obviously using nails for leverage if Cassie’s hiss was any indication, he obliged it by reaching in and scratching beneath the chin.

      A loud rumble filled the car.

      Cassie narrowed her eyes at the purring cat. “Look at that, the Daughter of Satan likes men. What a surprise.”

      “Daughter of Satan?”

      She sighed. “Sheriff, meet Miss Priss. Miss Priss meet—” She glared at the cat when it growled at her. “Oh, never mind, you’re so huffy and snooty and rude you don’t deserve an introduction.”

      “Funny,” Tag said. “I would have said the same thing about her owner.”

      “I don’t own this cat, and I’m never huffy. Snooty and rude, most definitely. But not huffy.”

      Despite the fact he didn’t want to acknowledge his dreams hadn’t been as good as seeing her in the flesh, his gaze gobbled her up. She was wearing white today. White tank top, white mini skirt, white leather boots. It seemed almost sacrilegious, all that virginal color on that mouth-watering body. Down, boy. “Why doesn’t your cat like you?”

      “It’s not my cat, it’s my mother’s. Apparently they frown on felines on cruise ships, so she left the thing for me to take care of, along with—” She sent him a look designed to wither. “Why am I telling you all this?”

      “Because I’m irresistible?”

      For one moment she let her guard down and laughed. Her entire face softened, and he stared at her in shock. My God, she was beautiful like that, he thought, and wondered what it would be like to see her happy, really happy.

      But then he took back the thought. He didn’t care what she looked like happy; he’d prefer to see what she looked like from the back, heading right out of town. “Let me guess…you’re on your way out of here.”

      Now her frown was back, on those perfectly glossed lips. “I wish.” She flipped her hair out of her eyes and lifted a shoulder. “I think you might be stuck with me a little bit longer. Hope you can handle it.”

      “The question is, can your car insurance handle it.” He opened his ticket book and she sputtered, making him laugh again. “Why do I get the feeling that not many have crossed you?”

      “Why do I get the feeling you don’t care?” she muttered.

      When he’d handed her the second ticket in as many days, she grabbed it, tossed it over her shoulder into the back of her car and took off, her hair flying in the wind, her cat back in the passenger seat. The two of them were frowning, two obnoxious females thrusting their chins out against the world.

      

      HONEY, do what you got to do. The blazes with anyone else. Cassie heard Flo’s voice in her head clear as day. More rarely she heard Edie’s voice, Kate’s mother, and for all intents and purposes Cassie’s Mom No. 2. It seemed Cassie’s bold-as-brass lifestyle leaned more toward Flo’s advice than Edie’s.

      She wondered if hearing voices meant she was going crazy, or just that Pleasantville was getting to her. Both, she decided, and stripped out of her clothes, fingering through the things she’d brought, looking for some comfy pajamas.

      She was a clothes hound and, thanks to her job, had collected many beautiful things. They were a comfort to her, the silk and lace, and proved, if only to herself, she was no longer poor.

      Poor had meant longing, yearning, helplessness, and she hated all three. She would never long, yearn or be helpless again.

      She thought of her little stalking problem—the slashed tires, her ransacked apartment, the threatening letters—and shivered.

      Well, hopefully, she’d never feel helpless again.

      In her suitcase she came across a tin of cookies her agent had given her. Cookies were a rare treat for a lingerie model, but since she’d canceled work for the entire summer, she tore into them and grabbed her book.

      The Savage Groom. Maybe some good old-fashioned French Revolution period lust would clear her head. At least she could afford her books now instead of sneaking into the library and past the haughty Mrs. Wilkens for them.

      “Chocolate,” she moaned out loud and stuffed another in her mouth. Happy and cozy in imported silk, a fattening cookie in one hand and a book in the other, she flopped back on the bed and let herself relax for the first time in too long. “Two days, two tickets and a pounding headache. That’s got to be some kind of record, even for me.”

      Another weight hit the bed and Cassie lifted her head. Her gaze collided with the slanted yellow one of Miss Priss. “You.”

      “Meow.”

      Cassie tried to shoo her off, but the cat wasn’t only annoying, she refused to budge, letting out that terrible wail she had.

      “Meow.”

      “Hey, I just fed you…” When had that been? “Yesterday.” Oh, man, good thing she wasn’t a mother. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, the cat turned in a circle, presented her behind and sat within an inch of Cassie’s nose.

      “Eww, move.”

      Miss Priss did. She moved closer and, claiming half the pillow with her big, fat, furry body, she began to clean herself. Her private self.

      “I am not sharing a pillow with someone who licks her own genitalia.”

      Miss Priss didn’t seem to agree, and with a bolt of ingenuity, Cassie grabbed the spare pillow and threw it at the cat, who landed with a hiss on the floor. Leaning over the edge, she smiled smugly. “Stay.”

      “Mew.”

      That was an “I’m sorry” mew if she ever heard one. Damn it. What was she doing, snapping at a cat? Wasn’t that like kicking a puppy? With a regretful sigh, she reached out a peace offering in the form of a cookie, and—

      “Ouch!” СКАЧАТЬ