The Last Honest Man. Lynnette Kent

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СКАЧАТЬ “I’ve already f-f-filed the p-papers. I’m running for m-m-mayor of New Sk-Skye.”

      His father stared at him, speechless, for a long moment. “Dear God, son,” he said finally, too loudly. “Surely you’re not serious! You wouldn’t do something that stupid.” His anxious brown gaze searched Adam’s face. “Would you?”

      CHAPTER TWO

      TOMMY WHISTLED THE THEME song from Goldfinger as he crossed the parking lot on Thursday morning and entered the back door of the small building that housed his insurance agency. He wasn’t a player in this town yet, though his family had been around forever and the Crawford name still meant something—mostly, a long line of men who let money run through their hands like water. But Tommy was going to turn that situation around, with a lot of smarts and a little help from his good buddy Adam DeVries.

      He whistled his way to the front of the office, but there the tune died. Only one person sat in the waiting area. Her hair was shiny black, cut short in spiky strands that made her look like an elf…a very sexy elf. She wore a red suit jacket over a black top and a short black skirt that left a long, long stretch of excellent leg bare to his gaze. Tommy had no doubt who and what she was waiting for.

      “’Morning, Sam.” He fought to sound casual. “Long time, no see.”

      The reporter looked up from her magazine and gave him a wink. “I figured you would expect me to show up sooner or later, and that I might as well make it sooner.” She came to her feet with a wiggle that had Tommy swallowing hard. “Can we talk?”

      “Sure thing.” He looked across at the reception desk, where his cousin and sole employee stared at him with her mouth open. “’Morning, Bonnie. Let me know when my first appointment gets here.”

      “Your first…?” She might well be confused, since she knew damn well he didn’t have any appointments today. But he lifted an eyebrow and she got the message. “Sure, Tommy. I’ll buzz you.”

      He glanced back to Sam Pettit and smiled. “Right this way. Would you like some coffee? Bonnie makes a pretty decent brew.”

      “Sounds good.” Her voice was deep, a little rough for a woman, and rubbed shivers over his spine.

      “Sugar? Cream?” Tommy prayed the milk in the fridge hadn’t gone sour.

      “Black, thanks.”

      “That’s easy.” He poured them each a mug and put Sam’s in her red-taloned hand, then led the way to his office across the hall. “Have a seat.” His room was spectacularly neat, which might indicate a genius for organization but only represented, Tommy hated to admit, a lack of business. Shutting the door, he went to the chair behind his desk and sat down. “Now, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

      Sam eyed him over the rim of her mug as she took a sip, which allowed him to concentrate on her light gray eyes framed by dark, thick lashes. Hypnotic, to say the least. “You know why I’m here, Tommy. Tell me about Adam DeVries.”

      “Nice guy. I’ve known him pretty much all our lives. We graduated in the same high school class—1989, New Skye High.”

      “And he’s running for mayor.”

      “That he is.” Her scent filled the room, a combination of danger and invitation that made his head swim.

      “Why?”

      Tommy sank back in his chair, letting the mug of coffee warm his palms, the steam fill his nostrils in defense. “I think it’s a little early to put out position papers.”

      “But you can tell me what his motivation is.”

      “Why do you want to write an article on motivation?”

      “Because, from all I can gather, DeVries is different from every other politician in town. Maybe the whole state. He’s a dark horse coming up from behind. I think my readers will be interested in this race.”

      “So do I. But the flag hasn’t dropped yet, Sam. We’re announcing Adam’s bid on Labor Day weekend with a big rally. I’ll send you free tickets.”

      “The paper will give me tickets.” She leaned forward to put her mug on his desk, and he got a glimpse of the curves of her breasts just underneath the top she wore.

      His mouth went dry. A gulp of hot coffee did not help. Sam eased to her feet and adjusted the strap of her purse. “Well, if you’re not going to deliver, then I’ll let you move on with your day.”

      Tommy set down his own mug and joined her on the other side of the desk. “You don’t have to pout.”

      She grinned and stuck out her red lower lip. “I will if I want to.”

      “Oh, I’m sure of that. You’ll do anything you think you can get away with.” They’d met a number of times in the year she’d been in town, and he was always amazed to realize she was shorter than he, even in high heels. Since he wasn’t a big man—only five-seven—that made Sam Pettit, well, petite.

      “Damn straight, I will.” She turned in the open doorway and brushed back the spiky black bangs in her eyes. “Remember, Tommy. I never back off.”

      Watching her walk down the hall, noting the sway of her hips in that short skirt, Tommy let his mind dwell on situations in which he would be thankful if Sam Pettit never, ever backed off.

      “Whew.” He went to pour himself a big glass of ice water, drank it all down, then poured another.

      Bonnie came to the door. “Everything okay, Tommy?”

      “Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”

      “You sure? That woman looked like she could be real trouble.”

      Tommy took another long gulp of water. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

      So he hoped, anyway.

      SAM DROPPED INTO THE driver’s seat of her Mustang, slammed the car door and revved the engine into the red zone before calming down enough to pull out into traffic. She had places to go, people to see who would actually cooperate when she interviewed them. But instead, she drove aimlessly around New Skye for a while, trying to get herself under control.

      What did she have to do—proposition the man? Show up in a raincoat, garter belt and stockings and flash him in the reception area? Wouldn’t that sweet little thing at the desk be shocked?

      At the thought, Sam’s fury gave way, and she laughed, hard and long. The only other choice was to cry. She’d met Tommy Crawford more than a year ago, at a chamber of commerce luncheon, and she’d been trying to get a date with him ever since. His skeptical, irreverent attitude, his wary eyes, his sidelong smile, had captured her heart from the first moment. She liked his compact build and his sandy hair, his scholar’s slouch and his square, limber hands. She arranged to bump into him as often as possible, had exchanged her ordinary looks for a version of vamp, bought the most expensive perfume New Skye had to offer. Nothing seemed to work. The man remained oblivious. Or indifferent.

      She pounded her fist on the wheel. No, that was not possible. He found her funny. He thought she was sexy—after that maneuver СКАЧАТЬ