Rebecca Zanetti - Under the Covers

His dark eyes narrowed. “Did I upset you?”

“Of course not.” Why in the world did he have to be so observant? She had to get away from him. No way could she spend time in his vicinity and keep her secrets. While she hadn’t broken any laws in Montana by using a fake name, she had definitely crossed a line or two. Or maybe having fake identification was a crime. But she hadn’t used it, so did it count? Of course, the laws she’d broken back home would land her in prison, without question. She hoped to any God who listened that Quinn Lodge wouldn’t be the man slamming the steel door shut.

Quinn leaned closer. “What thoughts are flashing so quickly through that pretty head of yours, darlin’?”

She dropped her eyelids to half-mast. “I was just noticing how sexy you are in a suit, Sheriff.” If all else fails, flirt.

“Hmmm.” He gestured toward a round table in the center of the room. “How about we go sit down before I press you to be honest with me?”

Instinctively, she batted her eyelashes. “You’re talking in riddles.” Turning on her high heel, she sauntered through tables and chairs to reach their spot. Her rear end burned from his gaze, and she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder.

She shouldn’t have looked. He stood, his focus on her bare skin, fire in his eyes.

The sheriff wanted her—and he had no intention of hiding it.

Grabbing a chair back, she stopped moving before she fell on her face. This was going to be a long night.

Quinn waited for the bartender to count his change, his gaze on the woman sitting at their table. He’d settled her in her seat before returning to the bar. They had the white wine she liked, and he wanted her happy.

His brother shot him a grin. “Sorry I couldn’t ride in with you earlier—my hearing today took longer than I thought.”

“No problem.” Quinn had always been damn proud Jake was such a hotshot lawyer.

“I know.” Jake eyed the table. “You and Juliet, huh? Finally?”

“Yes.”

“How?” As usual, Jake went right for the throat.

Quinn dropped a tip in the jar. “I told her I needed a date, in fact, I needed a girlfriend until the election.” Which was the truth. Her sticking by his side would certainly ease the situation with the governor and his niece.

Jake snorted. “Juliet fell for that?”

“So she says.” Quinn couldn’t stop the wry grin. “She required a push, she’s a sweetheart who wants to help, and it seemed to work.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t want to date you. How many times as she turned you down, anyway?”

“Twenty or so.” Quinn lifted a shoulder. “Though she’s interested.” He frowned and accepted the change. “There’s something about her that seems off. Not dangerous, just off.”

Jake took a glass of Scotch and an orange juice from the bartender. “I’d run her.”

Yeah, Quinn had thought about a background check. He grabbed Juliet’s wine and his ginger ale. “I’d rather she told me the truth.”

“I get that.” Jake turned toward the table. “My daughter is thrilled you’re finally out with Juliet because she’s ready for a new aunt.”

Quinn almost spilled the wine. “I like Juliet and think we’ll have some fun. You need to explain things to Leila.” Leila was five years old and way too wise for her years, maybe because her mother had passed away right after she was born. But she’d found a new mama when Jake married Sophie, and now she wanted everyone married and happy.

His brother shrugged. “Sometimes marriage sneaks up on you. Trust me.” He sat next to Sophie and handed her the juice.

Quinn sat down. Nothing sneaked up on him, and he wasn’t the marrying kind. At least, he wouldn’t marry until he stopped being a threat to the people around him. While he had his emotions mostly under control, some nights he awoke from a nightmare, thinking he was in Afghanistan and looking for somebody to hurt. Until reality set back in.

Juliet reached for her Riesling and cut him a quick glance.

Next to her, Amy Nelson chattered on about the summer collection of designer shoes she’d just bought. What was it with women and shoes? She should’ve spent more money on material for a dress. The white one she wore stretched tight against her ample bust and stopped several inches too far away from her knees. Her boobs pushed out the sides and up the top, and she’d probably have bruises from the fabric cutting in. Her uncle, the governor, sat next to her, texting something on his phone. A widower, he’d apparently brought his niece as a date.

Next to him sat Miles Lansing, one of Quinn’s two opponents in the sheriff race. Lansing was a politician, not a cop, and didn’t belong with a gun in his hand. His wife, a brunette with hard eyes and a slinky black dress, sat to his left, her gaze appraising.

Quinn glanced at Juliet again. Her green dress clasped at one shoulder, leaving the other one bare and inviting for his mouth. It cinched at her tiny waist and flared down to her feet. Although the sparkles covered most of her, she was sexy as hell. An Irish sprite in his Montana world. He cock instantly sprang to attention, which was nothing new when Juliet was near. He leaned over to whisper, “You really do look stunning, Juliet.”

A sweet blush rose from her neck up over her porcelain skin.

Sophie’s head jerked, and she raised an eyebrow at Amy, the expression a woman got when she was about to defend a friend. Quinn rolled back the last few minutes of chatter in his mind. Oh. Amy had made a comment about homespun dresses and Juliet’s sparkles. That was a girl insult, right?

He opened his mouth to say something nice about the dress, only to stop when Juliet patted his hand. The innocent touch shot straight to his groin, and he snapped his jaw shut to keep from groaning.

She smiled. “Oh, Amy, you’re so sweet. I bought this at Barneys in New York last season. They have the nicest personal shoppers in the designer section. You really must give them a try—they’re masters at helping women choose the, well, the right size for their figures.” She turned toward Sophie. “How is the design for the golf course in North Carolina coming?”

Delight flashed across Sophie’s pretty face. Quinn had a feeling the delight was due to the smack-on insult Juliet had delivered so classily and not from the question about design, but who the hell knew. Women had a language he’d never fully understood, although Juliet had a couple of levels to her he hadn’t anticipated. Classy, elegant, and tough. She handled the political situation like she’d done so her whole life. But she came from a small town in Idaho, right?

“I’m almost finished with the practice greens,” Sophie said with a grin. Multitalented, Sophie designed golf courses when she wasn’t painting. Her first art show would be in a month at Juliet’s gallery, and both women seemed to be working hard.

Amy interrupted Sophie, her blue eyes flashing sparks. “When where you in New York, Juliet?”

Juliet took a sip of her wine. “Last year. Every once in a while, I like to visit the galleries in the city to see what’s new, just so our Western art is up to speed at the gallery.”

Her hand shook slightly as she set her glass down. Most people wouldn’t have noticed.

Quinn Lodge wasn’t most people. The woman lied. Why?

He glanced at his brother to see if Jake had noticed, but Jack was busy tracing Sophie’s knuckles with his fingers. Damn newlywed. “Jake, how did your hearing go today?”

Jake lifted his gaze, his expression knowing. Oh yeah, he’d noticed Juliet’s discomfort. “Fine. The hearing was a status one regarding an upcoming trial. Not nearly as interesting as a good election fight.”

“Speaking of campaigning”—Miles looked down his patrician nose—“I find it odd Bennington isn’t here tonight.”

The governor shrugged. “Perhaps he’s not as serious about running for sheriff as the two of you.” Faded eyes appraising, the governor surveyed the room.

“He’s probably busy running his ranch,” Quinn said smoothly. He liked Bennington, but the guy had a fierce temper and shouldn’t carry a gun or badge. He should stick to his ranch.

“Bennington doesn’t have much backing.” Miles leaned forward. “I’ve heard the Kooskia Tribe doesn’t support him. Frankly, the tribe only supports its own.”

Quinn smiled. “The tribe supports the best person for the job, regardless of tribal affiliations. Always has, always will.” Right now, the Kooskia Tribe backed him, and he liked to think it was because he did a damn fine job. Though he was self-aware enough to know it probably didn’t hurt that he was a tribal member and his grandfather the chief.

Miles rubbed his Rolex. “I’m sure you could always get a job with the tribal police force.”

“I’m sure I could.” Quinn met the man’s gaze evenly. “But I like collaborating with them and still policing the entire county.”

Mile’s quick smile promised fierce competition. “Interesting.”

Juliet smoothed out her napkin. “Miles, what experience do you have in law enforcement?”

Warmth flooded through Quinn. The little redhead had just defended him.

Miles cleared his throat. “I’m more of a financial leader, which we need in the county. Not every sheriff needs to swagger around and shoot people.”

Jake snorted. “You been swaggering and shooting again, Quinn?”

“I guess so. Don’t tell Mom.” Quinn slid his arm around Juliet’s chair, careful not to touch. Something in him wanted to tuck her close and hold tight.

Dinner passed quickly and included veiled insults from Amy, classy counters by Juliet, and threats from Lansing about how new blood was needed in the sheriff’s office. By the time the waiter removed their dessert plates, Quinn’s temples pounded.