Rebecca Zanetti - Under the Covers

But she was. The way he’d put himself in danger, how quickly he’d disarmed the bad guy impressed her. The rainstorm raged around them, yet Quinn remained a solid island in a dangerous storm. “I like you, Quinn,” she said quietly.

He flashed her a surprised look. “I like you, too. Feeling a bit vulnerable, sweetheart?”

Man, he could read her. “Yes.”

“I won’t let anybody hurt you. Ever.” The quiet vow emerged deep and guttural.

No, but she’d hurt him. Quinn Lodge wasn’t a man you lied to, and she could never undo what she’d done. “I wish we’d met years ago.”

He reached over and smoothed the hair off her forehead. “The robbers drove a small compact to the lodge and not a SUV. Why did you think you were being followed? Did something spook you?”

Wow. Talk about foolish. “It’s silly. I had a prank call, then went outside and my imagination ran away.” She picked a loose string on the blanket. “Overactive imagination here.”

“What kind of a prank call?”

“Just a goofy hang-up.” Now she’d created problems where none existed.

He leaned forward to peer through the storm. “I can run your phone number, if you want.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, that’s okay. It’s silly.”

“All right. But if it happens again, promise you’ll tell me this time.” His jaw firmed.

“I promise.” Her gaze dropped to his capable hands on the steering wheel. Broad, rough, those hands could bring a lot of pleasure.

As if he could read her mind, he tangled his fingers with hers. “How would you like to spend the night tonight?”

Her heart leaped. The town bachelor, the sexy sheriff nobody could catch, was offering her intimacy. Pleasure coursed through her to be quickly dashed by icy reality. Every time they were together, she came that much closer to blurting out the truth—and that she’d lied to him. But she couldn’t help herself. She wanted this. Wanted him. “You want me to stay the entire night?”

“Yes. The whole night.”

Juliet settled into the overstuffed chair in Quinn’s family room, her gaze on the sparking fire, her hand around the stem of a wineglass. Wild oil paintings covered the walls, and masculine leather furniture decorated the room. “I don’t usually drink more than one glass of wine.”

Quinn set another piece of wood on the fire, the muscles of his back shifting nicely. He stood, grabbed his beer, and dropped into a matching chair. “Why not?”

Her limbs felt heavy. “My mother. She had specific rules about how lady should act.”

“Hmmm.” He tipped back his head and swallowed, and the cords in his neck moved with the effort. Sexy and male. “I know from Sophie that your parents have passed on. Was your mother a society-type lady?”

“Yes. Well, she wanted to be.” Fond memories lifted Juliet’s lips in a smile, and then she grimaced. “My real father was a drunk, and I remember a lot of yelling. My mother divorced him and remarried a man with money, and she started climbing the social ladder. Somewhat.” Considering Juliet’s stepfather was a criminal, her mother could climb only so far. But she gave the journey a great shot. “She died of breast cancer four years ago.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Quinn’s eyes softened in the flickering firelight.

A hard man with soft eyes. Dangerous. Way too dangerous to her heart.

She sipped the cool wine. “How did your father die?”

“A snowmobile accident when I was six and Jake was eight.”

“I’m sorry, Quinn.”

“Me, too.”

“He was full Kooskia, like your mother?”

“Yes.” Quinn leaned forward on his elbows. “Is your stepfather still alive?”

“No. He died of liver failure two years ago.” While she’d never respected his job, he’d been kind to her, and she missed him. “I’m alone now.”

“No, you’re not.” Quinn leaned back and stretched out his legs. “I promise. You’re not alone.”

Thunder bellowed outside. The wind whistled angrily above the sound of pelting rain.

Juliet studied the sheriff. The flickering light wandered over his angled face, highlighting his predatory features. Shadows danced along the angles, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be his. Even if it was only for the night. She wanted to belong with the sheriff.

Very gently, she placed her wineglass on the table. She folded the blanket and laid the thick cotton on the chair. Her gaze on the quiet man, she crossed the room and dropped to her knees. His thighs pressed in on her shoulders.

His dark eyes darkened further. “What are you doing?” Low, rough, his voice caressed her skin until a fire sparked inside her.

“Taking you.” She unbuckled his belt and pulled the heavy leather free of his jeans. The buckle clanked when she dropped it to the floor. “Lose the shirt.”

Keeping her gaze, he yanked off the shirt. Powerful muscles shifted.

She swallowed. “I adore your chest.” Ignoring all decorum, she crawled right up on his lap, her thighs bracketing his. Three round scars dotted his left shoulder, and she leaned over to kiss each one. “What are these?”

“Bullet holes.”

She stilled, her heart catching. “Oh.” She kissed them again. Then her mouth wandered to a long, diagonal scar across his left pec and rib cage. “And this?”

“Knife.” His voice lowered.

“I’m sorry.” Deep down, something ached for him. She sat up. Her fingers tapped a jagged scar wrapped around his bicep. “What in the world?”

“Barbed wire when I was a kid.” He shrugged. “Rode my bike where I shouldn’t have.”

“You’ve had a rough life.” She caressed the raised flesh.

“I’m feeling pretty good right now.” His eyelids dropped to half-mast. “Is it my turn yet?”

Captured by his tone, she nodded.

“Good.” He reached behind her neck and undid her necklaces, placing them on the table. Her earrings were next. “This jewelry is pretty.”

“The pieces are Celtic—Irish trinity knots,” she whispered, her voice going hoarse.

He slid his hands under her wispy shirt, his palms on her flesh, his knuckles raising the material over her head. “I’ve never seen a woman more feminine than you.”

Hard and fast, the sheriff was sexy. Slow and thoughtful, he was downright devastating.

“Feminine, not fragile.” She inhaled his strong scent of male and pine.

He traced her clavicle with calloused fingers. “Fragile, too.” His gaze stayed on his fingers as he flicked open her bra and smoothed the straps down her arms.

She blinked, exposed to him.

“You’re beautiful, Juliet,” he breathed, hands palming her breasts.

“I’ve never felt like this.” He made her feel beautiful.

His dimple flashed. “Every once in a while, you’re completely bare. Saying what you feel without holding back.” His hands firmed, and he lifted his gaze. “That’s how I want you tonight.”

Vulnerability slithered right down her spine. “I, ah—”

He rolled her nipples.

Heat flooded to her sex.

With just enough of a bite, he pinched. “I told you how I want you. Understand?”

The dominant tone flashed through her and offered an intriguing sense of safety. One she wanted so badly.

To free herself for one night and take all Quinn could give? The idea should be terrifying. But it would be worth the broken heart and sleepless nights after she left town. She’d always have this to remember.

“I understand. One night. No holding back.” She ran her hands up the hard cords of his neck. “That goes for you, too. No holding back.”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” Cupping her head, he lowered his mouth to hers. Firm lips, gentle pressure, so much sweetness in the kiss that tears sprang to her eyes.

Even sweet, a sense of control emanated in his touch. She leaned back and gave in to the need to trace his angular face. “Sometimes, when I’ve watched you, I wished so badly I was a better sculptor.”

He smoothed the skirt up her thighs, his fingers skimming her skin. “When I watched you, I wished for this. For you, in the firelight…becoming mine.”

“That’s a better wish.” She cradled his face and brushed his lips. Her heart jumped even while her mind shut down the fantasy. She couldn’t be his. No matter how much she wanted to. Even if she never broke another law, sometimes a person couldn’t negate their past. “I wish more than anything in the world I could be what you want.”

“You’re exactly what I want.” He curved his wandering hands around to cup her rear end. “Someday you’re going to tell me what those shadows mean in your eyes, and I’m going to fix whatever is haunting you.”

“I wish you could.” This whole “holding nothing back” was going to get her into trouble. At least she’d have this image to take with her. A strong man in firelight to remember forever. “But tonight, there are no shadows.”

“No shadows.” He stood suddenly.

She gasped, her legs tightening around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“I’ve got you.” The fire in his eyes and low tone of voice held more vow than temporary reassurance. “You’re safe.”

“You’re not safe, Sheriff. Not at all.”

His dark eyes glittered. “Do tell.”

Silky strands tempted her fingers when she threaded them through his hair—and tugged. Just hard enough. “I’m feeling dangerous.”

“Juliet,” he drawled while carrying her through the room and up the stairs, “I have handcuffs.”

She breathed out a combination of heat and humor. “Sounds like a threat.”

“Oh no, darlin’.” He set her on the bed. “I don’t threaten. Ever.”

“Really? What was that statement?”