Everyone has a Weak spot (2 page)

As it happened, he was in no way influenced by her lack of a criminal past.

“Step out of the car, please, miss!” the Sheriff ordered in a growl.

“Oh sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking. He leaned in closer. “I can't get out. I just can't!"

His eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself, Mademoiselle!” His sharp command brooked no argument.

Miserably, she told him, “I'm not dressed."

His brows met sharply in the center of his forehead. “Mademoiselle, I am
not
amused!” he gritted. “Your body appears covered, at least mostly, anyway. I don't have the day to play with you. I don't know about where you're from, but here in Louisiana, arguing with the law is considered impeding an investigation and non-cooperation. If you were covered enough to flaunt yourself in the neighborhood saloon, you are covered enough for an arrest!” His voice sounded very growly now.

“Oh no. No arrest,” she protested, opening the car door. “Sir, I assure you, I...” She was taking deep breaths now to avoid panic.

Nothing like this had
ever
happened to her before.

“I don't even know where a bar
is
around here.” She was scared and upset and trying mightily to keep control.

“Face the vehicle and assume the position,” he barked.

When she did, he leaned against her and used a leg to spread hers wide apart.

She was afraid she'd fall.

He took both her hands and raised them above her head, placing them on the roof of her car. Her cropped tee barely covered her breasts in that position. She felt very bare, indeed.

The car she was leaning on was scorching. The man pressed behind her was equally scorching. She was frightened, sure, but she found his nearness and his husky male scent a little arousing. Both the situation and the arousal were new to her.

She was shaking like a wet kitten. She had to try to calm down. Near her ear, his sandpaper and maple syrup voice spoke just above a whisper.

“I'm gonna have ta pat you for drugs or weapons,
chéri
. It's the rules in these situations, hmmm?"

“Okay,” she responded breathlessly. Then she felt his big hands moving down her arms, across her shoulders, and down her back.

Why hadn't she worn a bra? Why?!

When she felt his large hands on her abdomen, Lorelei began to tremble. When his hands moved up and slowly covered her naked breasts, she was sure she would fall. Her nipples hardened against his palms instantly, and her knees turned to jelly.

It took far too long for him to move his hands away. When his fingers brushed her taut nipples, she was humiliated to feel hot cream gush between her legs. Her body jerked and he pressed his thigh against her rear end. She made a little strangled noise.
This just
can't
be happening!

“Shhh, s'okay,
petit chéri
. It's almost over.” This, he growled hoarsely into her ear.

“Why won't the earth open up and just swallow me?” she whispered. She hated being such a big baby, but she couldn't help it. She
was
a big baby.

“Just wait—it will in a second,” he chuckled.

She gasped in helpless outrage.

With that, his callused hands moved up her legs. Those legs began to shake. One hand cupped the mound of her sex and the other skimmed her bottom.

His fingertips lightly probed the elastic at her inner thighs. She jerked in surprise and his fingers slipped under the elastic, sliding over the moist lips of her sex. Those fingers tugged at her dewy labia as he removed his hand from her panties. She felt a flood of gathering moisture as his callused skin caressed her there.

“Oh nooo, please stop,” she begged. “Oh please...” Lorelei was overwhelmed. No man had
ever
touched her there. This man was a complete stranger.

How could she be so aroused by a stranger? How? Was something wrong with her?

“S'all right,
ma petit,"
he cooed. “It's all over.” He eased her away from the hot car and let her stand against him for a minute.

He turned her and put both arms around her. “Don't be embarrassed,
chéri,
” he soothed. “Lot of folks don't wear much this time of year. It's hot,
hot
this summer."

She leaned on him for a minute. She was still trembling. He rubbed her back. One tear trickled down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb.
She was
so
humiliated.

“In a minute,
chéri
, I'm gonna lean down and I want you to breathe in my face. You can do that, no?” his rumbling voice vibrated through his chest. She straightened up.

“Yes, sir, I'll do that,” she whispered. After everything else, she'd have spit-shined his shoes with her hair if that would make this episode of hell end.

He leaned down near her face. He was at least a foot taller than her five-one. She exhaled, and he breathed in deeply. He straightened, turned his head and closed his eyes. She hoped the milkshake hadn't soured on her breath.

“Seems like you passed your breathalyzer,
chéri.
” He winked at her, teasing her about her milkshake obsession, “Perhaps you should be more careful with that little passion of yours, no?"

“Oh sir, I'll never have another one, I promise!” she was nearly giddy.

“
Mais non,
don't go givin’ up your pleasure. Just wait till you get home,
s'il vous plaît
,” he advised.

“
Chéri
, it seems we've crossed enough grass together to call one another by name, no? I'm Warrick Martine. Most folks call me Sheriff War or just War."

Her face went scarlet. “Oh, no! I couldn't!” She had just run into his car, been felt up by him in the name of the law, and nearly come all over him while he was trying to do his job. There was no way she'd to be able to chat with him in the grocery store.

Please, God, just kill me now!

“I'm Lorelei Allemande. Rory for short.” She had to force herself to speak. She knew her voice was a little squeaky.
Was he trying not to laugh at her?
His inky blue eyes were sparkling.

“I believe I'll call you Lorelei when I don't call you
ma petit,
or
ma chéri,"
he gave her a sinful wink.

She guessed he could call her his little darlin’ if he wanted. In her short twenty-one years of life, he was the only man to have put his hands on her breasts or between her legs. And little was a good description of her breasts as far as that went. Right now, she'd go along with nearly anything he said he was going to do. She just needed one tiny favor.

“Sir? Um, Sheriff War? Can you please, would you ... oh shoot.” She stumbled through asking him.

“What's wrong
, chéri
?” She knew he thought she had a bee in her bonnet about something. He leaned against his SUV, watching her intently.

“Does anyone have to know that you had to frisk me?"

Storm clouds gathered on his face. “For why you ask?” he rumbled. There was a hard edge to his voice now.

Uh oh. What had she said?
She just didn't know how to interact with men.
Had she bruised his ego?
Men were said to have terribly sensitive egos. That wouldn't be so bad if they weren't big and scary like this one.

She hung her head and mumbled, “My students will tease me unmercifully anyway for hitting your car. Everybody'll know somehow.” She took a deep breath and plunged on.

“I just didn't want them to tease me about you being—about a man,” she took another deep breath and turned her bowed head away from him, “Ididn'twanttheguystoteasemeaboutyoutouchingme,” she said in a rush.

She expelled her breath and kept her head down. She was sure she was permanently scarlet. She'd have to wear pink leotards from now on. She peeked up quickly. At first his brow furrowed, then real anger dawned on his face.

“You don't care if ‘the guys’ know you wrecked my truck by driving recklessly, but you don't want them to hear I touched you?” War growled. An angry eyebrow arched, but she didn't see it. Lorelei kept her head down. She didn't want to see that angry look again.

He placed a finger under her chin and raised her still-scarlet face. She saw his arched eyebrow and closed her eyes. “I don't want to encourage any of them,” she got out.

* * * *

One side of his mouth kicked up in a half smile. He didn't want to encourage any of ‘em either. He made a mental note to find out who “the guys” were. He slid an arm around her back and pulled her into him. Her flaming face was hidden against his chest.

“Okay, I promise,
chéri.
Our secret."

He hoped she wouldn't mind that he was touching her again. She might as well get used to it. He decided he'd do it any chance he got.

He inhaled deeply, enjoying her light, intriguing scent. It was no longer laced with fear and, though she wasn't as aroused as before, she still smelled slightly aroused. Good.

Reluctantly, War released her and stepped back. He walked over to her car and inspected the dent in the front left fender.

After a few minutes of feeling under the bumper and checking the left front tire, War was satisfied with its safety. He opened the little Escort's door for her.

“Seems like it be just fine,
chéri,
” he judged. She settled herself in the driver's seat. In an oddly intimate gesture, he closed the car door and leaned into the window.

“I'll have to come over and drop off the accident report in a day or so. This the correct address?"

“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered.

“Don't make me arrest you for failure to comply,
chéri,
” he gave her another wicked wink, and tapped the roof of the car.

“Sheriff War, sir.” She wrinkled her nose at him and started to drive away. He chuckled and got into his own damaged vehicle.

War was surprised to see his nephew, Renaud, edge his little truck in behind the battle-weary Escort. It looked very much as if the boy was following Lorelei Allemande. He trailed the small convoy back to Main Street and noticed that Renaud and Mlle. Allemande both parked behind a building there.

War sat in his SUV a minute mulling over the last hour.

Lorelei Allemande, what a surprise. A beautiful, welcome surprise.

He wouldn't lie to himself. Her scent had been driving him insane; he just wanted to inhale her into his lungs. He found her delicate features beautiful to look at and her innocence was even more of a turn-on for him.

She was as delicate as a porcelain doll. Her eyes were an intriguing green. She had a cap of short, dark gold hair. As fragile as she looked, he wondered how she didn't break just going from one place to the next.

So fine.

War had had to steel himself to keep from giving in. This little Yankee needed to take driving—and paying attention—and dealing with the police—much more seriously. She had plowed into him, not even watching where she was going. She could have hurt someone. He'd believed it was his duty to put a scare into her.

He
had
tried to go by the book, but patting her down had been incredibly erotic. He hadn't meant to touch her so intimately. If she hadn't jumped in surprise, it wouldn't have happened. Her cotton panties had been damp and her inner lips had moistened his fingers with her juices.

He had been quite aroused. Hell, he was in pain, he was so hard. He knew
he
was suffering. But the torture was exquisite. When he'd held her against him, he hadn't been able to resist sucking her cream from his fingers.

He definitely wanted another taste of that. And no bra, mon Dieu!

Chapter 2

Lorelei sprinted up the stairs and into her studio. She was so happy to be back in her little home. She rushed to the bathroom of her personal quarters and jerked off the embarrassing outfit she'd worn to get that ill-fated milkshake. Her breasts were still tingling from the Sheriff's hands. She dashed to the shower.

“What happened, Rory?” Renaud shouted, running up the stairs after her.

She didn't want to be aroused by the Sheriff's touch. It was a shame she had to crash her car into someone to have a sexual experience with a hot guy. She was disgusted with herself. What would her brother think if he knew?

“Wait!” she called to him, stepping under the hot spray.

Renaud opened the door of the bathroom a crack and shouted into it, “You okay, Boo?"

“It was just a traffic thing, Reni. I'm okay,” she called back to him.

“You sure?” he demanded.

When she made an affirmative noise, Renaud shouted, “Be back in a while, okay? I gotta go talk to Oncle Law!"

At her reassurance, he left.

* * * *

Sheriff Warrick Martine raised his hand to knock at his cousin's door. As is usual in Louisiana, he'd come around to the side door like family instead of to the front like company.

The door was open to the screen and he could hear raised voices inside. This surprised him because the raised voice he heard was that of his nephew, Renaud. Renaud had lived with War's cousin and her husband since the boy's mother died nine years prior.

Renaud was twenty-one and had recently finished college. Like his uncle, Dekon Warrick Martine he was tall, well muscled, black-haired, and drop-dead sexy—according to the women of their Parish. War had darker, inky blue eyes while Renaud had eyes that were a lighter, royal blue. War's face was more angular than Renaud's, who had a much more square jaw.

Renaud was also very—War couldn't think of the word. Not reserved, not even quiet, really, maybe aloof or detached were better ways to describe him.

Renaud was always respectful and never raised his voice. There wasn't much that stirred his passion. Really only one thing got young Renaud excited—dance. Specifically, War's young, virile nephew enjoyed ballet.

War reserved judgment but had seldom heard of men doing ballet. He wasn't worried either way about Renaud's sexuality.

For starters, what a man did with his “family jewels” was his business as long as he didn't hurt anyone with it.

Second, War had learned, after years in the army and in police work, there are many things a young man could do worse than choose to partner with men instead of women.