Bare Essentials. Leslie Kelly

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      He pulled his jeans over his still-wet body but didn’t fasten them. He looked like a Greek god standing there next to her, staring out into the night.

      Until he turned to look at her. Those eyes of his weren’t a god’s. They were a cop’s. “Pete.”

      “Yes.”

      “Another threat?”

      “He’s upset because he can’t find me.”

      “Well, thank God for small favors.” When she didn’t answer, he sighed, put his hands on her and pulled her close. That her body wanted to be even closer felt like a betrayal. “You’re not going to ask me for help,” he guessed.

      “No.”

      “Then I’m going to ask you.” He shook her lightly until she locked gazes with him. “Let me help you, Cassie. Please. Let me do this for you.”

      “I don’t need—”

      “No, you don’t want.” His hands slid up her arms, cupped her face. “You’re independent, I get that. You’re proud. I get that, too. But you’re not stupid. You need help. We’re friends, if nothing else, and—”

      “Oh, no.” She let out a short mirthless laugh and backed up. “Not you, too.”

      He narrowed his eyes. “What, is the word friend a trigger word for you?”

      “I’ll admit, we’re…almost lovers. Sparring partners, maybe. But not friends.” When he stepped close again, she took a shaky breath because her heart suddenly and inexplicably hurt. “We’re not. We’ll never be that.”

      She saw surprise flash across his features and, damn it, hurt, too, but that wouldn’t stop her. It was a dog-eat-dog world and she had to stay on top. “A man can’t be a woman’s friend, not—”

      “That’s bullshit.”

      “—when—” she continued coolly while shaking like a leaf inside. “Not when all he wants is sex.”

      He stopped cold, stared at her. She could see the shock in his eyes. Then he pulled away, turned his back.

      Oh, yeah, she’d hit the mark that time. He felt guilty as hell, and that should have been tremendously satisfying. But the victory felt hollow.

      “I’m sorry,” he said.

      “It’s nothing personal.”

      “Like hell.” But he merely slid his hands into his pockets. “You came back here to Pleasantville to hide. That’s fact. You came here even with bitter childhood memories because you knew one thing…you knew you’d be safe.”

      “You don’t know a single truth about my past.”

      “I would if you told me.”

      She wasn’t going to tell him anything.

      “Fine,” he said angrily. “I’ll have to guess then, and you have no one to blame but yourself if I’m wrong.”

      “You’ve already heard what I was like.”

      “I have.” He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes dark and intense. “But as I’ve already told you, I think the truth is radically different.”

      He didn’t believe the gossip. So what did he believe?

      “You were right to come here.” He still looked toward the lake. “You’ll be safe. You’ll come to the station and let someone know if you feel Pete has managed to track you.”

      “Yes,” she told his sleek, still-wet back. The back she’d wanted to touch, wanted to put her mouth to.

      She’d tell him anything if he’d go away and leave her be, with her burning eyes and burning throat. “I’ll come to the station if I need help.”

      With one short nod, he bent, scooped up her towel and tossed it to her. He looked at her for a long, long moment, then his lips curved slowly. Solemnly. “Be careful, Cassie.”

      And then she was alone. Just as she’d wanted.

      * * *

      WELL, HELL, Tag thought, stretching out in the hammock in his vast front yard, studying the stars. 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?”

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