Kitabı oku: «Bare Essentials: Naughty, But Nice», sayfa 2
No, Richard Taggart would be in his late fifties by now. Probably gray with a paunch and a mean-looking mouth from all the glowering he’d done.
The man standing in front of her wearing mirrored sunglasses and a uniform wasn’t old, wasn’t gray and certainly didn’t have a paunch. In fact, as her eyes traveled up, up, up his very long, very mouthwatering body, she doubted he had a single ounce of fat on his tall, lean, superbly conditioned form.
Not that she was noticing. She worked with men all the time. Fellow models, photographers, directors…and while she definitely liked to look, and sometimes even liked to touch—on her terms thank you very much—this man would never interest her.
He wore a cop’s uniform and a sheriff’s badge, and ever since prom night she had a serious aversion to both.
Not to mention her aversion to authority period. “I don’t have my license,” she said, dismissing him by not looking into his face. Rude, yes, but it was nothing personal. She might have even told him so, if she cared what he thought, which she didn’t.
“No license,” he repeated.
What a voice. Each word sent a zing of awareness tingling through her every nerve ending. He could have made a fortune as a voice talent. His low, slightly rough tone easily conjured up erotic fantasies out of thin air.
“That’s a problem, the no-license thing,” he said. Having clearly decided she was no threat, he removed his sunglasses, stuck them in his shirt pocket and leaned on her car with casual ease, his big body far too close and…male.
She took back the whole voice-talent thing; he should go bigger and hit the big screen. She didn’t need her vivid imagination to picture him up there as a romantic action-adventure hero.
Without the uniform, of course.
Obviously unaware of the direction her thoughts had taken, he nodded agreeably at her lack of inclination to apologize over not having a license. But one look at that firm mouth, hard jaw and unforgiving gaze, and Cassie knew this man was agreeable only when it suited him.
A car raced past them, a blue sedan with a little old lady behind the wheel. “Hey,” Cassie said, straightening and craning her neck to catch the car vanish around the corner. “That lady was going way faster than me!”
“Mrs. Spelling?” He shrugged and tapped his pen on his ticket book. “She’s late picking up her grandkids.”
“She’s speeding,” Cassie said through clenched teeth.
“Well, you were speeding first.” He cocked his head all friendly-like. “And you’re not carrying your ID because…?”
Because she’d left New York in a hurry. That was what happened when three incredibly shocking things occurred all at the same time.
One, she was being stalked. The man doing so had been a friend. That is, until she’d declined to sleep with him—which is when it’d turned ugly. Seems that if he couldn’t have her, he wanted her dead.
Her agent, her friends and her fiercely worried cousin had all insisted she get the hell out of Dodge—and since Cassie was rather fond of living, she had agreed. What better place to disappear than in a town that had never seen her in the first place?
Two, her mother had decided to sail around the world with her latest boyfriend. She would be away indefinitely, which meant she’d left Cassie a surprising and early inheritance. That Cassie had been forced to come back to Pleasantville to take care of that inheritance coincided with her need to vacate New York for a while.
The third shocking thing wasn’t life-altering, but had bothered her enough that she’d dreamed of it for the past several days. Kate had found their high school diaries and the ridiculous lists they’d each made that fateful night in the tree house after their disastrous prom. Lists that included their childish wish for revenge on a town that had always spurned them. Cassie’s was inspired, if a bit immature, and she eyed the sheriff again, remembering what she’d written.
1. Drive a fancy car, preferably sunshine-yellow because that’s a good color for me.
2. Get the sheriff—somehow, some way, but make it good.
3. Live in the biggest house on Lilac Hill.
4. Open a porn shop—Kate’s idea, but it’s a good one.
5. Become someone. Note: this should have been number one.
Amusing. Childish. And damn tempting, given that she had already nailed number one. Maybe that’s all she’d ever accomplish, driving a fancy yellow car, but one thing she’d come to realize in her most interesting career, she had a zest for life.
She wanted to live.
But if anyone thought she wanted to live here, they needed to think again. She’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth removed. Without drugs.
She took off her sunglasses and immediately wished she hadn’t. The glare of the sun made her squint, and she hated to squint. She also felt…exposed. The way she hadn’t felt since her very first day of kindergarten, walking in with a big smile that slowly faded when all the other kids and their mean moms had stopped to whisper.
Tremaine.
White trash.
Daughter of a tramp.
Wild child.
At age five, she’d had no idea what those whispered words meant. But even then she’d recognized the judgment, so she’d simply lifted her chin to take the verbal knocks. She did the same now. “I don’t have my license because it’s not in my purse,” she said, refusing to explain herself to anyone in this town. Including a cop. Especially a cop.
“Hmm. I hadn’t realized Cassie Tremaine Montgomery was famous enough to not need ID.”
“You know who I am.”
His lips curved. “I’ve seen the catalogs. Interesting work you’ve gotten for yourself.”
“Those catalogs are for women.”
“With you in silk and lace on page after page?” He shook his head, that small smile looking quite at home on his very generous mouth. “Don’t fool yourself. Those catalogs are scoured from front to back by men all across the country.”
“Is that why you pulled me over? You wanted to meet me in person?” Disdain came easily for any man with authority, especially this one. “Or is it because I’m driving an expensive and brightly colored sports car?”
“Contrary to popular belief,” he said conversationally, “cops don’t necessarily have an attraction to all cars painted red or yellow. What we do have, however, is an attraction to speeding vehicles.”
“And this has to do with me because…?”
“Because you were speeding,” he said in that patient—and incredible—voice that told her he thought she was the village idiot, not the other way around. Then he straightened and waved his ticket book. “The question now is, were you going fast enough to warrant reckless driving.”
Cassie never gaped, it went against the grain, but she did so now. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
As he had before, he leaned in, resting his weight on his arm, which lay across her open window. It wasn’t a beefy arm, or a scrawny one, but somewhere in between, more on the side of tough and sinewy.
Again, not that she was noticing. He was probably a jackass, as Richard Taggart had been. He was probably prejudiced against anything different from his small-town norm. He was probably mean-spirited and stupid, as well—most men that good-looking were. For the second time she considered going the batting-the-eyelashes route. It would work. She’d been rendering men stupid with her looks for a very long time now.
In that spirit, she put her saucy smile in place to butter him up. His slate-blue eyes went as sharp as stone. He wasn’t going to fall for the saucy smile, damn it, so she let it fade. “Look, I wasn’t reckless driving. And you already know who I am so the license isn’t really necessary.”
In front of them, an older couple started to cross the street. Cassie ignored them until they stopped and stared at her, then started whispering furiously to themselves. Recognition came sharply to Cassie—they’d run the drugstore years ago, where she’d done her best to prove to the town she was just as wild as they thought by purchasing condoms regularly. “Oh, forget it,” she said on a sigh. “Just do what you have to do.”
“Which would be what, do you think?”
Well, hopefully it wouldn’t be to make her get out of the car so he could try to feel her up. “You could let me go.”
He smiled at that. A slow, wide smile that had her heart skipping a beat. “But you were speeding.”
“Maybe I’m in a hurry to get out of here.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, so I hear.”
Now what would he know about her fast exit after graduation? She took another long look at him, squinting through the bright sun to see his name. Taggart. Oh, my God. “You’re…”
“Sheriff Sean Taggart. You can call me Tag, most do.”
Suddenly she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t have managed a smile to save her life. Pulling back, she stared straight ahead out her windshield. “You’re Richard’s son.”
“That would be correct.”
It wasn’t bad enough she’d had to put her entire life on hold because some jerk had decided if he couldn’t have her, he’d terrorize her. Or that she had to be here while her life was on hold. No, she had to run into her old nightmares to boot. That, added to her current nightmares…God, she needed a cigarette.
Too bad she’d quit smoking five years ago. “Just give me my ticket then.”
He was silent for so long she broke her own code and turned to look at him. Silent—still, even—but not idle. His eyes reflected all sorts of interesting things, mostly curiosity. “You know my father.”
No. Her mother had known him. Cassie had just hated and feared him. “The ticket?”
“Now you’re in a hurry to get your ticket? What’s up, Cassie?”
The sound of her first name in his incredibly sensuous voice seemed so…intimate. “Like I said, I’m in a hurry to get out of here.”
“Are you on your way out then? Already?”
She opened her mouth to remind him that was none of his business but her cell phone rang. It was Kate.
“Did you get there yet?” came her worried voice across the line. “Are you okay? How is it? You run into anyone we know? Talk to me.”
Cassie stared up at the tall, dark and intensely handsome sheriff. “Kate, your timing is something.”
“Oh, honey. Who is it? That mean old Mrs. McIntyre? Mrs. Wilkens? Because if it is—”
“As a matter of fact,” Cassie said, slowly smiling as her and Tag’s gazes locked. “It’s Sheriff Taggart.”
“Is that old fart still sheriff?”
“No, Tag here is Richard’s son.” When her gaze ran down the front of him, slowly, across his broad shoulders and what looked like a very promising chest and flat belly, over his trousers, which lovingly cupped powerful thighs and everything in between, then back up again, he lifted a daring brow, then gave her the same slow perusal.
Good, she thought in triumph. He was just a man after all, a man run by the equipment between his legs. A man who’d possibly forget to write that ticket due to the fact her little yellow sundress not only matched the car she’d bought herself last year but also accented the body she’d been well paid for over the years.
“Cassie,” Kate said into her ear. “I worry about you there, all alone.”
“I’m used to being alone.” Funny how that worked. She was surrounded by people all day long and yet it was true. She was utterly alone.
“I mean because of your stalker.”
Cassie’s stomach tightened with the fear she pretended not to feel and glanced at Tag, who was unabashedly eavesdropping. “I’m safe enough here.” She hoped.
“The guy slashed all your tires in the hopes of leaving you stranded, remember?”
“I do.”
“And then he ruined two photo shoots—”
“I remember all of it, Kate.”
“I’m sorry, of course you do. Okay, subject change. You going to be okay facing what Flo left you?”
That had been a shocker. That her mother had actually come out on the winning side after all, after always being considered the town joke. Seems the men in her life had come through, over the years gifting her a prime piece of real estate downtown, an amazing turn-of-the-century house on Lilac Hill overlooking town, and supposedly some other equally valuable things she needed Cassie to take care of. Cassie still couldn’t believe it.
“Cassie?”
“I’m okay, Mom,” she said, and accomplished what she’d wanted. Kate laughed.
“Call me back.”
“Oh, I will.” She clicked off and tossed the phone into the back seat. Then looked at Tag. “So…”
Tag looked right back. “What do you mean, you’re safe enough here?”
“It’s considered rude to eavesdrop.”
“Talk to me, Cassie.”
Oh, right. Terrified as she might be in the deep dark of night, she’d rather face the boogeyman bare-ass naked before asking this man for help. “If I do, can we skip the ticket?”
Now he laughed and, good Lord, she hoped that wasn’t a weapon he used often because just the sound could make a grown woman quiver with delight. She was fighting doing just that—uniform or not—when he flipped open the ticket book and started writing.
2
TAG ACTUALLY MANAGED a night of uninterrupted sleep, mostly due to the fact that he’d turned off the ringer on his phone and had shoved his pager beneath the couch pillows.
Not being on call did wonders for his mental health. What hadn’t done wonders for that same mental health had been his dreams.
X-rated dreams about Pleasantville’s latest visitor. He doubted they’d sprung from the photographs in the lingerie catalog he’d received in the mail and had perused over dinner. Photographs that showed every perfect inch of the body that belonged to one Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.
Lord, she was stacked. All long, tanned…lush. With the wild mane of sun-kissed blond hair and come-hither mouth…man, she was sure built like a goddess.
A tempting goddess, for certain. But luckily, not his type. A woman like Cassie was trouble, and on top of that trouble, he imagined she’d be high maintenance.
Tag was done with high maintenance, done with people needing him to take care of every little thing. The next time he let a woman into his life—and there would be a next time—it was going to be for keeps. She was going to be a sweet, quiet little thing who lived for him.
Yeah. He was going to be the high maintenance one for a change.
But as he showered, it wasn’t the quiet little woman that came into his mind. It was Cassie. As in his dream, her cynically lit eyes were hot with passion, her mouth wet from kissing him, and her amazing body wrapped around his. Not only wrapped, but soft and pliant and so ready for him she would explode when he plunged into her.
Now there was an image to make a shower nice and steamy and his body hard and achy. Nothing he couldn’t take care of by himself. But that wasn’t what he was looking for.
Once the hot water turned cold, Tag got out, slipped on his uniform pants, and reluctantly put Cassie out of his mind. Even more reluctantly, he pulled his pager from beneath the couch cushions.
His father had called—again. He’d probably heard about the tri-county arrest, the one in which it had taken the authorities—including Tag—three days to apprehend the suspect. Yeah, ex-sheriff Richard Taggart probably wanted to make sure Tag knew he would have done it in one day.
Well, hell. So he wasn’t like his father. So he didn’t believe he had to bully the town into obeying the law. Hallelujah. But it’d be nice if just once, just one damn time, his father could acknowledge Tag’s success.
Tag ran a hand through his wet hair and bit back a sigh as he strode through his very quiet house to the kitchen, where he poured himself a bowl of cereal.
“Note to self,” he said to no one in particular. “The little wife will make me a hot breakfast every morning.”
Soon as he found her.
The phone rang. Not surprisingly, it was Annie.
“Hey, boss, get your sweet ass up. We’re short-staffed. Turns out Tim didn’t have food poisoning, it was the flu, and half the staff is out.”
“Any bright yellow Porsches out there speeding this morning?” he asked.
“Just one.”
And he was just in the mood for it, too. He slipped into his uniform shirt, grabbed his badge and hit the road.
He found her immediately, cruising downtown, rolling through a four-way stop where he’d cleaned up more accidents than he liked to remember. Pulling her over, he strode up to the driver’s side of her car and had to laugh at the look of fury on her beautiful face.
“Let me guess,” Cassie said through her teeth. “You haven’t met your ticket quota yet for the week.”
“Careful, or I’ll think you like me.” He grinned when she snarled. “Did I mention yesterday that the speed limit is enforced here? As well as the full stop sign, which by the way, means you’re supposed to come to a full stop. It’s a ticket if you don’t.”
She rolled her eyes and tapped her red-lacquered-tipped fingers on the wheel, the picture of impatience. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“You know, you’d get farther with honey than vinegar,” he said, pulling out his ticket book.
“I save the honey for someone who’ll appreciate it.”
Well, she had him there. She could bat her pretty lashes and flirt all she wanted, he was pretty much fed up with the tactic. No way could she bowl him over with those sexy green eyes and walk away. Nope, he was far tougher than that.
Maybe he wasn’t big city. Maybe he had only the badge and his training behind him, but he was his own man and he knew what he wanted.
And okay, he wanted her. He was red-blooded, after all. But a quick affair to let off some steam wasn’t enough for him, not these days. Slumming around no longer appealed. He wanted for keeps. The real deal.
Nothing about Cassie was the real deal.
“Meow.”
This came from the passenger seat, on which sat the biggest, fattest tabby he’d ever seen. “Well, hello,” he said, and when the cat climbed all over Cassie to get to him, obviously using nails for leverage if Cassie’s hiss was any indication, he obliged it by reaching in and scratching beneath the chin.
A loud rumble filled the car.
Cassie narrowed her eyes at the purring cat. “Look at that, the Daughter of Satan likes men. What a surprise.”
“Daughter of Satan?”
She sighed. “Sheriff, meet Miss Priss. Miss Priss meet—” She glared at the cat when it growled at her. “Oh, never mind, you’re so huffy and snooty and rude you don’t deserve an introduction.”
“Funny,” Tag said. “I would have said the same thing about her owner.”
“I don’t own this cat, and I’m never huffy. Snooty and rude, most definitely. But not huffy.”
Despite the fact he didn’t want to acknowledge his dreams hadn’t been as good as seeing her in the flesh, his gaze gobbled her up. She was wearing white today. White tank top, white mini skirt, white leather boots. It seemed almost sacrilegious, all that virginal color on that mouthwatering body. Down, boy. “Why doesn’t your cat like you?”
“It’s not my cat, it’s my mother’s. Apparently they frown on felines on cruise ships, so she left the thing for me to take care of, along with—” She sent him a look designed to wither. “Why am I telling you all this?”
“Because I’m irresistible?”
For one moment she let her guard down and laughed. Her entire face softened, and he stared at her in shock. My God, she was beautiful like that, he thought, and wondered what it would be like to see her happy, really happy.
But then he took back the thought. He didn’t care what she looked like happy; he’d prefer to see what she looked like from the back, heading right out of town. “Let me guess…you’re on your way out of here.”
Now her frown was back, on those perfectly glossed lips. “I wish.” She flipped her hair out of her eyes and lifted a shoulder. “I think you might be stuck with me a little bit longer. Hope you can handle it.”
“The question is, can your car insurance handle it.” He opened his ticket book and she sputtered, making him laugh again. “Why do I get the feeling that not many have crossed you?”
“Why do I get the feeling you don’t care?” she muttered.
When he’d handed her the second ticket in as many days, she grabbed it, tossed it over her shoulder into the back of her car and took off, her hair flying in the wind, her cat back in the passenger seat. The two of them were frowning, two obnoxious females thrusting their chins out against the world.
* * *
HONEY, do what you got to do. The blazes with anyone else. Cassie heard Flo’s voice in her head clear as day. More rarely she heard Edie’s voice, Kate’s mother, and for all intents and purposes Cassie’s Mom No. 2. It seemed Cassie’s bold-as-brass lifestyle leaned more toward Flo’s advice than Edie’s.
She wondered if hearing voices meant she was going crazy, or just that Pleasantville was getting to her. Both, she decided, and stripped out of her clothes, fingering through the things she’d brought, looking for some comfy pajamas.
She was a clothes hound and, thanks to her job, had collected many beautiful things. They were a comfort to her, the silk and lace, and proved, if only to herself, she was no longer poor.
Poor had meant longing, yearning, helplessness, and she hated all three. She would never long, yearn or be helpless again.
She thought of her little stalking problem—the slashed tires, her ransacked apartment, the threatening letters—and shivered.
Well, hopefully, she’d never feel helpless again.
In her suitcase she came across a tin of cookies her agent had given her. Cookies were a rare treat for a lingerie model, but since she’d canceled work for the entire summer, she tore into them and grabbed her book.
The Savage Groom. Maybe some good old-fashioned French Revolution period lust would clear her head. At least she could afford her books now instead of sneaking into the library and past the haughty Mrs. Wilkens for them.
“Chocolate,” she moaned out loud and stuffed another in her mouth. Happy and cozy in imported silk, a fattening cookie in one hand and a book in the other, she flopped back on the bed and let herself relax for the first time in too long. “Two days, two tickets and a pounding headache. That’s got to be some kind of record, even for me.”
Another weight hit the bed and Cassie lifted her head. Her gaze collided with the slanted yellow one of Miss Priss. “You.”
“Meow.”
Cassie tried to shoo her off, but the cat wasn’t only annoying, she refused to budge, letting out that terrible wail she had.
“Meow.”
“Hey, I just fed you…” When had that been? “Yesterday.” Oh, man, good thing she wasn’t a mother. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, the cat turned in a circle, presented her behind and sat within an inch of Cassie’s nose.
“Eww, move.”
Miss Priss did. She moved closer and, claiming half the pillow with her big, fat, furry body, she began to clean herself. Her private self.
“I am not sharing a pillow with someone who licks her own genitalia.”
Miss Priss didn’t seem to agree, and with a bolt of ingenuity, Cassie grabbed the spare pillow and threw it at the cat, who landed with a hiss on the floor. Leaning over the edge, she smiled smugly. “Stay.”
“Mew.”
That was an “I’m sorry” mew if she ever heard one. Damn it. What was she doing, snapping at a cat? Wasn’t that like kicking a puppy? With a regretful sigh, she reached out a peace offering in the form of a cookie, and—
“Ouch!” Yanking back her scratched palm, Cassie sat up. “That’s it. Go play on the freeway.”
“Mew.”
“Oh, fine.” She got up and fed the ingrate. Then, using both pillows now, she settled back on the bed against the headboard.
The sound of a roaring truck ruined her peace, and she went to the window. The trash truck. Now there was a job. The guy on the back of the truck hopped off at her neighbor’s house and hoisted the cans. He had a slouch and a gut and…and it was Biff. In an instinctive gesture she backed from the window. Assessed how she felt.
And grinned. There had to be some justice in the world if she—a Tremaine—was living on Lilac Hill and Biff—former star football player—was collecting her trash.
She called Kate, who’d appreciate the irony.
“Kate, Biff is the trash guy,” she said when her cousin picked up the phone. “And he’s not even the driver. He picks up the trash.”
“Perfect job for him, I’d say.”
Oh, yeah, she could count on Kate. “I’m sprawled on the most luxuriously silk-covered bed in a luxurious bedroom surrounded by the most amazing, luxurious house. Can you believe it? My mother lived like a queen after I was gone.” And because it felt good, so good to relax, she arched her neck.
“My God,” Cassie murmured.
“What? A spider?”
She stared at herself in the mirror framed above the bed. She’d seen the mirrors before now, of course, but they were still a shock. She studied herself dispassionately. Her body was barely covered in azure-blue imported silk, showing off her full breasts and the belly that didn’t look quite as flat as it should for a lingerie model. With a grimace, she tossed the cookies aside. “No, it’s just this place. The garage is full of furniture from the duplex and my mother has mirrored ceilings.”
Kate let out a startled laugh. “Well, we always knew Flo wasn’t a prude.”
Funny how even though Cassie knew exactly who and what Flo was—a woman unable to resist a man, any man at all—when it came right down to it, it was hard to picture her own mother having sex on this bed and enjoying the view from above. “You realize I’m on Lilac Hill, right? Lilac Hill. My fancy neighbors would have a coronary at the secrets this bedroom holds.”
“I imagine that was part of the fun for her.”
Ever the voice of reason, her Kate. Despite Kate’s own demons, she’d always helped Cassie see things differently. And more importantly, she made Cassie smile. “Flo did enjoy a good scandal. But Lilac Hill, for God’s sake.” The place that as children they’d stared at enviously, fantasized over. “I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole.”
“You deserve it,” Kate said with a sudden fierceness in her voice. “Both of you. You’ve worked so hard all your lives, and now Flo is sailing the Greek Islands and you’re a world-famous lingerie model. You both paid your dues for so many years. You’re supposed to enjoy this.”
“But I miss work.” Cassie sighed. “The photo shoot I bailed on this week was in the Bahamas.”
“Which is where your stalker was going to meet you. Isn’t that what the last threat said?”
Yes, but she didn’t want to go there. She so didn’t want to go there. “So I’m here. In a house my mother never paid for.”
“Of course she did. She loved…who was it—Mr. Miller the banker, right?—and he cared enough about her to give it to her. Just like Mr. McIntyre, who left her that building downtown.” She laughed. “I bet Mrs. McIntyre is spitting nails over that.”
“Oh, yeah. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. Which reminds me.” Cassie took a deep breath. “I have some ideas.” She sat up because she had to be careful how she phrased this. After all, Kate was a Tremaine, which meant that like Cassie, she had more pride than sense when it came to accepting help. “You said you were ready to open another shop.”
“I said I wanted to open another shop, I never said I would open another shop. Successful as I’ve been in Chicago, I don’t have the money for that yet.”
“I know. But I do.”
“I’m not taking any more of your money. I just paid back the start-up loan you gave me for the first Bare Essentials.”
“I’m not talking money, per se. I want you to take the building, the old men’s store that Flo inherited from horny old McIntyre.”
“No.”
“Kate.”
“Cassie.”
Cassie had to laugh at Kate’s calm annoyance. “Stop it. I have an ulterior motive.”
“If you want a new toy, all you have to do is ask. We just stocked up.”
“Hey, I still have Mr. Pink that you bought me for Christmas and I just loaded up on batteries, thank you very much.”
Miss Priss leapt back onto the bed, and with one long daring glare, she settled at Cassie’s head.
“If I wake up with a fur ball lodged in my throat, you’re dead meat,” Cassie told the snooty cat. “And you,” she said to her cousin, “will you listen to me for a moment?”
“You got one minute. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…you’d better hurry.”
“Should have been a comic, Kate. Listen, I want you to have the building because it feels right. I don’t know what to do with it, and it’s just sitting there going to waste. Besides, it’s right downtown. Right smack in the middle of downtown…are you following me here?”
“Let me see if I am…you see Bare Essentials, basically a very naughty ladies’ store—”
“One which sells a most excellent dildo, I might add.”
“Thank you. You see Bare Essentials fitting right in with the Rose Café and the five-and-dime.”
“Why not? This town could use some spice.”
“More than having their wild child come home?”
“Hey, they made me this way. Come on, say yes. It’s on our lists of things to do…”
“Cassie.” Kate laughed. “Those lists were written by bitter teenagers.”
“So?”
“So…it’s not that easy. I was just there, I don’t want to move back to that place any more than you want to be there.”
Cassie flopped back on the bed and stared at herself in the ceiling mirror. Her agent had cleared her schedule for the entire summer and it was only early June. The police and her friends had convinced her that a low profile would be best.
She knew that to be true. No matter her outwardly brave facade and joking, cynical manner, she hated the fear, the terror. Because of it, she sat in Pleasantville with no one but a mean old cat for company and nothing to do but pay her moving violations.
Oh, and stare at the sheriff’s ass. It was a mighty fine ass, but that simply wasn’t enough. Especially since he wasn’t so much as slightly interested in her.
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