Hotter than Texas (Pecan Creek) (37 page)

“Now, now,” he chided, wagging his finger. God, she was easy to rile up. “We’ll get to that question when we come to it. What I was really asking was if you’ll do me the honor of coming to my house next week.”

“No.” She stalked halfway across the backstage area before stopping. “Why? Do you have some secret underground lair or something? Is that your new plan?”

He raised a brow. “You mean a sex room? As in, nipple clamps and ball gags and thirty-one flavors of lube?”

The vein near her temple throbbed a warning, so he put a hand over his heart and winked. “Not yet, Red. But you say the word, and I promise to dig you one with my own two hands.”

“You’re disgusting,” she said, though Michael noted she didn’t actually move away. He launched right ahead.

“See, what I figure is you owe me. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I decided how I want you to make it up to me. And you’ll be happy to know it doesn’t involve honey or the pot it comes in. Or nipple clamps. Yet.”

She pokered up even more, so much that a light wind would have caused her to go crashing to the ground. Michael was man enough to admit that it turned him on. Big-time. A magnificent redhead, magnificently angry. If he could wind her up with a few breezy words, just imagine what some intense, one-on-one face time would lead to. Rolling. Pinching. Slapping.
Teeth.

His cock stirred, and his balls shifted. God bless those boys of his.

“I’m aware of…of a debt of gratitude,” she’d said stiffly. “But if you think I’m going to—”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ll have you know that director in there offered me the male lead for this naughty little play of yours.”

“You’re lying. He wouldn’t dare.”

Michael went smoothly on. “Oh, he did dare. And for your sake, I turned him down. I know how much it would kill you to stand opposite me up there every day—there are sex scenes in this story of William’s, right? Or is it just kissing? Maybe some heavy petting?”

Her eyes grew wide, the color in her cheeks mounting. He knew it must be costing her to remain silent and still.

“Well, the point is, I thought about how you might react to such news and said no. I hate to cause a lady’s head to explode. It’s one of my Ten Rules to Live By. Do you want to hear the other nine?”

“No. I don’t want to hear another word out of your stupid, oversized mouth.”

He held up one finger. “Rule Number One. A gentleman always sleeps on the wet spot. Rule Number Two. A really good gentleman does his best to ensure that there are, in fact, nothing but wet spots. If you know what I mean.”

She was unmoved. “Can you be a little bit less revolting for one second? Are you or are you not telling me you turned the role down?”

“Of course I turned it down. I’m now officially the Antony Understudy, unlikely to ever see the lights of the stage. And you are so overcome with joy that you will, obviously, say yes to coming to my party. I could probably even make some good headway on our underground love nest by then.”

“Wait a minute—you’re using my career to blackmail me for a date?”

“Well, shit. I guess I am. A fancy date too—meat and beer at my house, three o’clock. My cousin Jennings will be there, though, and he’s slightly off. I’d wear pants if I were you.”

Her brow wrinkled. “And then we’re even?”

“As even as my sword of truth.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she muttered. “Fine. Just text me the address later. And for the record—I’m not promising to have fun.”

“With Michael O’Leary, baby, the fun is guaranteed,” he said solemnly, the twitching of his lips ruining an otherwise stone-faced remark. “You can always count on that.”

“I have never met anyone so unjustifiably enamored of himself than you.” Her words were biting, but there wasn’t a whole lot of energy behind them.

“I do my best,” he said, shrugging. “Oh, and Rachel?”

“What now?”

“My dad was the same way. For years, all while I was a kid, I was up there, walking the tightrope with him. It sucks, you know?”

She stared at him for a full minute. “Yeah. I know.”

“What’s the Welcome Home banner for?” Rachel looked up at the decorations—correction, decoration—and did her best to swallow her smile. She was not here to have a good time, and she certainly wasn’t going to admit how welcome an afternoon away from her mother’s house, where the whole happy family lived together, actually was.

But that didn’t mean she was above taking delight in the fact that Michael O’Leary was hosting an outdoor barbecue in the melting spring of the first weeks of April. Or that he lived on a working lentil farm, in one of a pair of twin Airstreams parked at random angles at the top of a hill.

Not that she’d had expectations, of course, but this—this went beyond ridiculous. The Mule couldn’t even be bothered to live in a
house
. She would have bet her life savings that the family toilet lay somewhere off in the distance, between a patch of trees in a hole dug just for the purpose.

“Maybe he just got back from a long trip,” Molly suggested. “I think it looks nice and festive. You’re going to be nice and festive too, right? You promised.”

Molly was like a giddy child, and Rachel didn’t have the heart to back down now. She could have, though—promise or not. Contrary to what the Mule might believe, Rachel didn’t technically owe him anything related to the theater, as he’d suggested. Dominic said there had never been a man more aghast than Michael at being invited to star in one of his productions.

“His exact words were, and I quote, ‘Awww hell no’,” Dominic had said with a shake of his head. “I think I may need to retire.”

No. It was the knowledge that she owed Michael O’Leary for the unspoken favor that was the real driving force behind her actions. Attending a thousand parties of his would be easier than talking to him about her mother, thanking him face-to-face for being a better friend than even her sister was.

She’d come. She’d see. Maybe she wouldn’t conquer anything, but she could at least determine if there were any chinks in the Molly-Eric armor she could exploit. Starting with the fact he hadn’t bothered to offer them a ride.

Already, the gallantry was wearing off. That was the first step. Next, he’d be texting Molly at all hours of the night and growing possessive whenever she looked at another man.

Love turns up in all the wrong places…at just the right time.

Ten Reasons Not To Date A Cop

© 2012 Amie Louellen

Growing up a police chief’s daughter, Kaylee Stephens saw firsthand how arrogant cop attitudes affect a marriage. Not for her, no sir. But when a priceless, pre-Columbian statue comes up missing, the day-school teacher finds herself in the middle of a police investigation. And face-to-face with sexy Detective Lucas Blackfox, her brothers’ old high school chum.

She had nothing to do with the crime, despite the fact that she—up until very recently—was engaged to the number one suspect. Once that’s cleared up, she plans to return to her peaceful, cop-less life.

Luc can’t seem to keep Kaylee out of his thoughts, and it’s not just because every time he and his partner turn over a new stone in the case, Kaylee shows up. She’s grown from the pig-tailed tagalong he once knew to a woman he’d like to know better.

His quest to convince her he’s not just a typical cop is right on track toward making her a permanent fixture in his arms…until the missing statue’s legendary curse drops an emotional bomb that could destroy everything.

Warning: This book contains steamy love scenes between a cop and a woman who refuses to date men in uniform. Clear your schedule, readers, you’re gonna want to get out the cuffs after this one.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Ten Reasons Not To Date A Cop:

Luc sat for a moment in the cool interior of the Beemer and watched the woman shift from one pretty leg to the other. He made no move to get out of his car. He wanted her to wait. Or try to run. She shifted again.

His informant had been quite specific in his description. Their target was a female, very short with arrow-straight, platinum blond hair. She wasn’t reported to be armed, nor was she considered to be particularly dangerous. She drove a beat-up blue Nissan and wasn’t above using her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. But Matthias hadn’t told Luc she was a memory, all grown up and prettier than ever.

Little Kaylee Stephens. My, my, my. She was the last person he had expected the K. Stephens to be. When he’d heard the name, she hadn’t even crossed his mind. It had been what…? Ten…fifteen years? He mentally did the math. Sixteen. It had been sixteen years since he had seen her. And she’d looked a sight different now. Back then she had been the awkward, tag-a-long sister of his two best friends. All pigtails and braces and now…well, now she wasn’t.

She checked her watch, then cast a frustrated glance in his direction. She had to be smothering in that raincoat. The temperature was at least a hundred and three. She looked as if she had something to hide, bundled up the way she was. The statue? A weapon?

Luc had glanced into her car while he wrote her citations, but the interior of the Nissan looked like a twister had recently blown through. He would have to search it if he was going to find what he was after. Damn what a day this was turning out to be.

She whirled around as he opened his car door. Her silvery hair contrasted starkly with the black of her raincoat, and he wondered how it would look splayed against his chest. How it would feel.

Luc quickly steered his thoughts from that direction. He needed to keep his mind on the business at hand, a priceless, pre-Columbian statue. Terribly ugly, reportedly cursed, definitely stolen.

“Amarillo PD has reason to believe you have stolen property in your possession. Would you mind if I take a look inside your car?”

“Stolen? I—is this some kind of joke?”

“Not at all.”

She shifted in place and eyed him suspiciously. She opened her mouth, then obviously thought better of it and closed it again. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to let me search your vehicle?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the coat even tighter around her. “Not without a warrant. Do you have one?”

He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. “No.”

She nodded her head as if to say,
So there you go
.

“But I can get one.”

Her satisfied smile faded. “But it’s Sunday, and that might take—”

“All day,” he finished. “I thought you were late.”

“I am, but—”

“I’ll go make the call.” He had only taken three steps toward his car when her musical—but clearly annoyed—voice stopped him.

“Fine. Search the car. But hurry.”

Luc opened the passenger side door and resisted the urge to close it again on the chaos that ruled inside. No matter how messy she kept her car, he still had a statue to find.

A bright yellow envelope lay on the passenger seat next to a headband with a pair of furry white rabbit ears attached. He picked up the headband and almost tossed it aside.

Rabbit ears?

He cast a glance back at Kaylee.

Her nervous fingers played with the lapels of her coat, keeping it closed almost to her throat. A trickle of perspiration ran down the side of her face.

Luc looked back to the ears, then tossed the headband to the driver’s side seat.

The floorboard of the passenger side revealed nothing out of the ordinary, except for a set of pom-poms and a lasso.

“Yee-haw,” he muttered under his breath and redirected his attention—and fantasies—back to the search at hand.

Full-blown helium balloons secured to a small gift box filled the back seat. Luc opened the box. Inside was a crystal paperweight of a large mouth bass. Expensive, but a far cry from pre-Columbian.

“Hey,” Kaylee protested. “That’s for—Oh, never mind.”

Aside from a paper sack containing finger paints, an unopened package of Oreos and a large cardboard box piled high with someone’s casts offs, the back seat of the Nissan held nothing suspicious.

“Will you open the trunk, please?”

She rolled her pretty blue eyes heavenward, perhaps praying for the rain she obviously expected, but did as he asked.

“What are you looking for?”

“A statue.”

“Statue?”

“A very valuable statue,” he said as he ducked under the trunk lid. “Cursed pre-Colombian. Want to tell me about it?”

“Seems like you know all there is to know.”

Luc grunted and turned his attention back to the search.

Surprisingly, the trunk had been spared from the catastrophe that reigned inside the car. He made quick work of his search, but the statue wasn’t under the spare tire or in any of the nooks and crannies the space harbored.

There was only one place left it could be.

“Kay—Ms. Stephens, I have reason to believe you may be hiding the statue on your person. We’ll need to go down to the station and request a female officer conduct a search.”