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“Tawny Weber is known for her hot, sassy romances and this one is no exception. With attitude, passion, suspense and romance, this story is brought to life right before your eyes. Wild Thing is a delightfully sensual romance that will turn first-time readers of Ms Weber’s work into fans.”

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About the Author

TAWNY WEBER has been writing sassy, sexy romances for Mills & Boon^® Blaze^® since her first book hit the shelves. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordinating, Tawny spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook. Come by and visit her on the web at www.tawnyweber.com.

Nice & Naughty
Tawny Weber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my very own Persephone, who really does climb Christmas trees, but never tears the heads off teddy bears.

1

“DUDE, I CAN’T BELIEVE your luck with women.”

“That’s not luck, my friend. That’s an abundance of charm,” Detective Diego Sandoval offered with a wicked grin. “And the simple fact that I love women.”

And with a few painful exceptions, women loved him right back.

Something that came in handy when he was charming information, and a cast-iron frying pan, out of a three-hundred-pound mass of quivering fury.

“I’ve never seen anyone so pissed, though. When you arrested her old man, I thought she was gonna knock you on your butt. By the time you left, you had her ready to testify against the dirtbag, handing over evidence and offering to make you a bologna sandwich.”

Diego shrugged. He was a cop. That was his job, his focus, his entire life. He did whatever it took to break a case. “Try chilling a woman down while she’s aiming a sawed-off shotgun at your goods.”

“Suspect?”

“Date.”

Following Diego up the steps of the large brick building that housed the Central California Sheriff’s Field Operations Bureau, Chris Carson shook his head. In admiration or in disdain, it didn’t matter to Diego. He was all about the job and he devoted 100 percent to it. He didn’t have time to worry about other people’s opinions or doing the buddy thing. That’s what made him one of the best.

“Someday, Sandoval, you’re gonna meet a challenge you can’t charm your way through,” Chris said as they strode down the hall toward the patrol and investigation offices.

Diego’s grin slipped a notch.

“Someday” had happened at birth. Diego had heard tell over the years about such a thing as motherly love, but he’d never experienced it himself. Hell, his mother had barely tolerated him. His learning to talk had been her breaking point. At three, he’d begun the loser shuffle between the rigid disapproval of his uncle Leon’s house and the dismissive foster home’s revolving door. Every couple of years, his mom would feel the guilt and haul him back. But those dance breaks never lasted.

No matter. That was then. Diego only cared about now.

“Most women don’t need weapons,” he told the younger man, leading the way through the bullpen. “Mother Nature made sure they were born armed and dangerous.”

Before they reached Diego’s desk, one of the other cops shouted his name.

“Captain called down a half hour ago, Sandoval. He wants to see you.”

“Yeah?” Diego tossed his leather jacket over the back of his chair, then lifted the stack of file folders off the corner of his desk to find one that Chris had been looking for before they left earlier.

“Immediately.”

The room chilled. Chris grimaced, glancing around for an escape route.

Diego flipped through folders anyway. He wasn’t oblivious to the potential drama. He just didn’t give a damn. The case was what mattered and he was sure he had one that tied in with the bust they’d just made. If Chris moved on it, they could nail this drug dealer for twice as long.

“I can get the file later,” Chris muttered. “Kinnison hates waiting.”

“He’s waited a half hour. Two more minutes isn’t going to matter.”

The chill in the room turned antsy, nervous.

Diego kept right on flipping files. For a bunch of seasoned cops, these guys were way too intimidated by the new brass. Captain Kinnison had been on the job for three months, but it’d taken him only two weeks to institute a new order in the station house. An order heavy on rules, regulations and protocol. And politics. All things Diego didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

Something that hadn’t earned him any points with his new boss. Despite that, though, word had come down two days before that he was up for a coveted transfer to the San Francisco Sheriff Department, complete with a promotion to Homicide.

For the most part, Diego was the cocky, lone wolf his uncle claimed him to be. One who didn’t look for back pats, didn’t see the promotion as a big deal. But a little, rarely acknowledged part of him was like a kid on Christmas who’d just found his secretly dreamed-of present under the tree—proof that while he might not be the favorite, Santa still thought he was on the right list.

The move to San Francisco was ideal. Fresno was getting claustrophobic, like the small towns Diego had hated when he was growing up. The promotion to Homicide validated everything he’d done, everything he was. And he was up for it because he was a damn good detective with the highest close rate in Fresno County. Not because of ass kissing and cronyism. Ironic that by insisting on doing things his way, he’d garnered a file full of commendations and a fast-track to big-deal promotion. He’d finally done something that disproved his uncle’s and uptight cousins’ assertion that he’d never amount to jack.

“Sandoval, in my office. Now.”

The command was quiet. Intense. And seriously pissed.

“Good luck,” Chris muttered, knocking a chair into Diego’s desk in his rush to get away.

“Hey,” Diego called before he could get too far. The deputy grimaced, shooting a quick glance over Diego’s shoulder before taking the file folder he held out.

Diego tossed the rest of the stack on his desk, ignoring its precarious slide toward the edge. Then he turned to face the captain’s stony stare.

“On my way, sir.”

Diego had a brief vision of walking the plank toward a very large, very hungry shark. Then he shrugged it off. What was the worst the guy could do? Take a bite out of his ass? Diego stepped into the office. The captain, already seated behind his large desk, inclined his head toward the door. Shutting it behind him, Diego took a seat. Good. Ass bitings were always better done in private.

His face as hard as the oak of his desk, Kinnison didn’t waste time with games.

“The D.A. has some issues with yet another of your cases, Detective Sandoval. Since we’ve had similar chats so often over the past few months, I’m sure you’re aware of how much I dislike hearing that you didn’t follow procedure. Again. By not playing by the rules, you’ve compromised the prosecutor’s chances of getting a conviction. Again.”

A dozen arguments ran through Diego’s mind, but he clenched his jaw shut and waited.

“You threatened Geoffrey Leeds with—” the captain made a show of looking at the paper in front of him, even though they both knew he didn’t need to “—an offer to wrap his large intestine around his throat and choke him with it.”

“Offer being the operative word, sir,” Diego pointed out. “I didn’t threaten. I offered.”

“And the difference is?”

“He could have said no. He didn’t have to tell me the details of the porn ring he and his buddies were running in the high school gymnasium.”

Captain Kinnison’s stare could have made a polar bear shiver. Before the older man hauled out his lecture on semantics—again—Diego inclined his head toward the file.

“Didn’t the D.A. read the letter Leeds signed, stating that he was volunteering the information of his own free will?”

“He read it. But he feels, as do I, that the defendant might have signed under duress,” Kinnison said, a small, tight smile puckering his thin lips. “Which puts yet another open-and-shut case in question, thanks to your methods, Detective.”

Kinnison had no interest in hearing a defense, so Diego kept his mouth closed and waited.

The captain didn’t make him wait long. He set the file down, then held up a letter. With the morning sun shining through the window behind Kinnison, the logo of the San Francisco Sheriff’s Department was visible through the thin paper.

Diego tensed.

He’d seen enough of them to recognize a job assessment form.

“Detective Sandoval, you’re up for a promotion and transfer.”

Damn. Diego tried to tell himself that not getting the promotion wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t looking for a ladder to climb. His ego didn’t ride on outside kudos.

But, he acknowledged with an inner grimace, he wanted that job. Wanted the challenge of working Homicide. Wanted, intensely, to get the hell out from under Kinnison’s watch. Wanted it all so bad he could taste the bitter disappointment as he watched it slide out of his grasp.

“You have a strong record with the department,” Kinnison mused, running the letter through his manicured fingers in contemplation. “Your peers respect you. The commissioner feels that your close rate is high enough to offset the cases lost by your roughshod style and disregard for regulations. Captain Ferris in SF Homicide is willing to consider your promotion based on my recommendation.”

“But?” There was always a but.

“But there are some issues. The first being that you’re not a team player. Add to that your lack of respect for protocol, your inability to follow orders and the way you blithely dance all over procedure. I can’t, in good conscience, give you a positive evaluation.”

Fury and frustration churned in Diego’s gut. It was one thing to lose a promotion because he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t smart enough or just didn’t have what it took. But to lose out because he didn’t dot his freaking i’s and put tidy crosses on his t’s? Screw that.

“So you’re going to, what? Withhold recommendation?” The mental image of Diego’s uncle, wearing the same smug, arrogant expression as the captain, flashed through his head. The old man had always said that Diego’s rebellious attitude would be his downfall. Maybe he should drop him a note, let him know he was still right.

“No. Denying you recommendation might be appropriate in this situation, but it wouldn’t serve me in the long term.”

In other words, while Kinnison would love to screw him out of the promotion as a punishment, he’d given up on making Diego toe the line. So he’d rather get him out from under his command. He just wanted to mess with him before he did.

“Then what’s the deal?” Diego asked, wondering how the guy was going to reconcile the two.

“You’re going on special assignment.”

And there it was. His punishment. And his last chance. That promotion was close enough to taste. And it tasted mighty sweet. But even more appealing was the chance to work under a different captain.

“What assignment, sir?”

“You’ll be reporting to the mayor of Diablo Glen in the morning to investigate their little crime wave.”

Diablo Glen. Tiny town, nestled in the foothills of Sequoia National Park. Too small to have its own police force, towns like that usually rented out a deputy now and then or had a low enough crime rate that they could rely on the occasional sheriff patrol.

“I don’t do small towns,” Diego stated, his throat tight. The truth was, he hated small towns. Close-knit, judgmental and unyielding. “My skills are better suited to cities. There isn’t a whole lot of vice in the boonies.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” His smile about as friendly as a shark’s, the Captain leaned forward to hand a file across the desk. Smelling a trap, Diego hesitated for a second before taking it.

“Diablo Glen has need of your services, Detective. This crime is right up your alley. It seems they have a series of rather odd burglaries.”

“My specialty is vice, not burglary.”

“The line is blurry in this case.” The captain inclined his head again, this time toward the file.

Trapped, Diego opened it. Thirty seconds later, he shook his head. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“You’re refusing a direct order from a commanding officer, Detective?”

The older man didn’t have to voice the threat. It hung there over their heads like a swinging blade, glinting right over Diego’s neck. As much as he wanted Diego out from under his command, the guy would veto the promotion if he didn’t get his way. Fury and frustration battled for supremacy in Diego’s belly as he glared.

“I have no choice at all?”

“None,” the captain verified with a smile as wide and satisfied as a cat in a fully stocked mouse house. “You are now assigned to the tiny little town of Diablo Glen until their mayor is satisfied that you’ve solved this case. And you will solve it by the book. No hotdogging, no skirting the system. To do so, you’ll have to play nice with the locals. And you’ll have to show the utmost respect for the department’s rules and procedure.”

Diego’s jaw ached from the effort to hold back the furious rant. Finally, when he was sure he wouldn’t spew swearwords and abuse, he inclined his head. “I’m going out on a limb here and guessing that my closing this case, your way, is mandatory if you’re going to sign off on my promotion.”

“Exactly, Detective. You want your promotion, you need to catch a panty thief.”

2

“WHAT DO YOU THINK of a sheer peekaboo red nightie with white fur trim paired with over-the-knee patent boots?”

Cringing, Jade Carson shook her head so hard she almost dumped a whole spoonful of red sugar on cookie Santa’s jolly face.

“I think those are three things that should never go together, Beryl,” Jade told her younger sister decisively. “It’s like mixing beer, chocolate truffles and mashed potatoes. They’re all fine on their own, but together they’re every kind of wrong.”

“Ew,” her eldest sister, Ruby, said in agreement.

“What’s wrong with beer and mashed potatoes?” Beryl asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t have the truffle at the same time, but maybe afterward for dessert?”

“Are you sure we’re related?” Jade asked Beryl, shifting her focus from lining the chocolate jimmies around Santa’s boots to peer at her sister.

A silly question.

Nobody peeking through the greenery-festooned garden window could take them as anything but siblings. Any of the Carson sisters could have graced the top of the Christmas tree, with their flaxen hair, wide green eyes and dimples. But when it came to personalities, they were as different as their hairstyles.

A CPA, Ruby was labeled the smart sister. Her hair was as practical as she was. She wore a sleek pageboy long enough to be pulled back for exercise or tax season, both of which she claimed kept her in prime shape. Beryl was deemed the sweet sister by the good people of Diablo Glen. Her blond curls waved to her shoulder blades. The romantic look, combined with her soft heart and slightly ditzy personality, gave her a fragile air.

The creative sister, Jade was neither practical nor fragile. Her hair was long, edgy and razor straight with low-swept bangs sassy enough to counteract her dimples. Her style was more rock-star than small-town, and she often said that her attitude was her best accessory.

“You are the one with the degree in fashion,” Ruby pointed out, just this side of snickering. “Why don’t you explain to her why the style doesn’t work.”

That was the thing about fashion, though. It was all subjective. What made one person feel fabulous would make another cringe, and yet another feel as if they were dressed in an alien costume. And though most people would cry foul over tennis shoes, a tank top and a tuxedo together, she’d seen it pulled off with panache. Fashion always depended on the person, and whether they had the attitude to pull the look off or not.

“Maybe I’m just a prude when it comes to my sisters,” Jade muttered, shrugging away her odd discomfort. She, herself, didn’t know why the idea of Beryl dressing as a slutty Santa for her fiancé was so cringeworthy. So there was no way she could explain it to her sisters.

“Right,” Ruby agreed as she slid the spatula under a chocolate reindeer to transfer it from the baking sheet to the cooling rack. “Except you were the one who threw my lingerie-themed bridal shower four years ago. And you helped me get ready for my wedding night, remember?”

“Didn’t Jade buy you that black satin merry widow with red lace trim?” Beryl asked.

“She did. She also showed me how to adjust it so my boobs looked their perky best,” Ruby acknowledged. She wiggled her brows at Jade and tossed a melting chocolate chip into her mouth before adding, “Ross appreciated your artistry, by the way. Anytime you want to work your magic again, feel free.”

Jade grinned.

“That is just so sweet,” Beryl said with a happy sigh, licking peppermint frosting off her knuckle before rinsing the bowl in the wide country sink. “Four years married, and you and Ross are still all googly over each other.”

“Googly and giddy,” Jade agreed, just as thrilled as Beryl over that fact. She loved seeing that happy-ever-after was actually possible.

The sisters had lost their dad five years ago. Their mother, who was diagnosed soon afterward with multiple sclerosis, had taken his death really hard. As they did with everything, the girls had found a way to share the care of their mother while keeping her life as normal as possible. As Opal’s MS progressed, Ruby had taken on her mother’s finances and responsibility for the general upkeep of everything. Beryl chose a local college so she could live at home, always there to help with her mom’s needs. And Jade, after her dreams of turning her fashion degree into an awesome, exciting career in a big city went kaput, had returned to Diablo Glen, moved into a cottage near the family home and taken a job at the library where Opal was head librarian.

“That’s what I’ll have with Neal,” Beryl predicted. “Years and years of googliness.”

Jade’s smile dimmed. She didn’t know why. Instead of commenting, she dropped her gaze to the tray of sugar cookies, as if messing up the decorations meant the end of Christmas as they knew it. There was nothing wrong with Neal. Maybe he was a little boring, and not quite the type Jade would have picked for her flighty sister. But he was a nice enough guy who earned a decent living and most of all, he treated Beryl like a princess.

A princess he planned to make his queen in the new year, and haul off to a castle of her own.

Beryl, like Ruby, would be married. Off living her own life. And like Ruby, who’d moved to Santa Clara for better job opportunities, Beryl would likely be fleeing the Diablo Glen nest, too. Neal was already talking about where he wanted to go. Leaving Jade trapped in this small town, with the full responsibility for their mother’s care falling on her shoulders.

And on top of it all, Beryl would be getting regular sex.

Which was probably the part Jade was most jealous of.

And didn’t that make her quite the ultra bitch. Horny ultra bitch, she corrected. A sad, sad combination.

“You need googliness too, Jade. But you’re so picky,” Beryl decided, her voice muffled because she had her head inside the refrigerator.

Jade frowned. Was that any better than horny ultra bitch? Instead of denying it, she made a humming sound that could be agreement. Or “Jingle Bells.”

“Oh, I know,” Beryl exclaimed excitedly. The younger woman bumped the fridge door shut with her hip, then set the batch of cream-cheese cookie dough on the counter for the next round of treats and gave an excited clap of her hands. “I’ll have Neal set you up with someone. He’s got a huge family, with people always in and out of their house. He has a whole slew of cousins visiting for the holidays, even. I’m sure he can find a great date for you. What do you think? Maybe we can double this weekend?”

“God, no!” Shock and horror sped through Jade’s blood at equal speed. A blind date, set up by her little sister’s boyfriend? Why not just force her to parade through town naked, wearing ugly discount-store shoes? That sounded a little more fun and much less humiliating.

“Why not? It’d be fun.”

“I’m not interested in dating. And if I were, I definitely wouldn’t need my little sister’s boyfriend finding me a pity date.”

“Fiancé, not boyfriend,” Beryl corrected, smiling softly as she tilted her hand from side to side so the diamond glinted. “And you should be interested in dating. It’s been four years since that jerk, Eric, ran off to join the circus. You’ve hardly dated, and when you did, nobody lasted more than a month. C’mon, Jade. Give it a chance.”

Join the circus was her sisters’ disdainful dismissal of Jade’s fiancé ditching her at the altar to follow his dream of being a big-city attorney. She knew he figured he’d done her a favor by not making her choose between him and her responsibility to her family. So she tried not to be bitter.

But being a good sister—and hey, a girl’s got the right to be a little bitter about losing her wedding night—she never bothered to correct their nasty comments about Eric. Why ruin the fun?

“Don’t nag, Berry,” Ruby chided as she arranged the last of three dozen chocolate-peppermint sandwiches in a decorated tin for the bake sale. “If Jade wanted to date, she would.”

“Well, she’s got to want sex,” Beryl argued, giving Jade an arch look of inquiry. Unable to deny that she hated this long dry spell, Jade just shrugged. “Aha. See! So unless you’re planning to call Horny-for-Hire, you have to do some dating to get to the sex.”

“Horny-for-Hire?” Jade asked, laughing too hard to be offended. Besides, Beryl was right. She was a big fan of sex and seriously missed the opportunity to enjoy it on a regular basis. It just wasn’t worth going through the dating drama to get it, though.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know that you’re a sweetie who wants everyone to have what you do,” Jade said, truly appreciating that her sisters cared enough to want her as happy as they were. “But it’s not that simple. Nor is it something I have the time—or the inclination—to deal with right now.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always saying that it’s the everyday choices that count most? Or that there’s no time like the present to get off your ass and fix your life? Or, you know whatever those other feel-good sayings are that you’re always quoting from those empowerment classes you teach?”

“You’re paraphrasing the message just a little, there.” Jade grimaced. Still, Beryl was right. That was pretty much the message Jade included in all her presentations.

The classes had started out as a simple Dress for Career Success talk for teenagers that she’d offered at the library. Somehow midtalk, she’d sort of drifted from making an impression through clothes to why every woman deserved to pursue her dream career. Since Jade was currently working in a library—where, let’s face it, fashion was closer to a word in the dictionary than an actual trend—she’d felt a bit like a fraud. But the kids—and many of the parents—had loved the presentation. So much so that the following month, she’d been asked to tweak the presentation for the ladies’ club.

A year and a half later, Jade still felt like a fraud, but her workshop repertoire had expanded from Fashion and Career Empowerment to Embracing Sexuality, The Art Of Saying No, and Lingerie for All Ages. Not too bad for a woman who wasn’t living her dream career or getting any regular nookie.

Still, it was enough to make her want to dig into the bowl of chocolate chips for a little comfort.

“Isn’t being empowered about creating a life that makes you happy?” Beryl prompted. “And for that, you need a man, of course.”

Shocked, Jade dropped the chocolate morsels back in the bowl and stared. She couldn’t have heard that right.

“Of course?” Ruby repeated, so offended her voice hit five different decibels. “Nobody needs a man to make them happy.”

“They do if they want sex,” Beryl countered with a gloating smile only a sheltered and slightly spoiled twenty-two-year-old could pull off.

Ruby and Jade exchanged eye rolls, but neither was willing to delve into the ins and outs of self-pleasuring during their baking marathon. But Jade made a mental note to add a Sexing Solo workshop to her spring-workshop offerings.

“Part of being empowered is being able to say no,” she pointed out gently instead. “It’s also empowering to accept someone else’s decision with grace.”

Beryl’s lower lip poked out for a second as visions of fun double dates burst in her head. Then, in her usual cheerful fashion, she shrugged it off. “Fine. If you don’t want to date, that’s your call. So, where’s the cookie press?”

Used to Beryl’s verbal one-eighties and non sequiturs, they all scanned the kitchen. The three large green-and-red bins they’d hauled in that morning to start preparing for the Carson Holiday Open House were stacked against one wall. Held every year on the twenty-third, it was a little over two weeks away. Just enough time to make and bake every delicious holiday treat in Mom’s cookbook. Jade sighed.

“We’re missing one bin,” Ruby realized. “It’s probably still in the garage.”

“I’ll get it.”

Jade waited until the kitchen door shut behind Beryl before shaking her head.

“A blind date,” she breathed in dismay. “Seriously?”

“The mind boggles at the horror,” Ruby agreed. Then she gave Jade a long, considering look. “She’s right, though. You do need a date. Just not a blind one.”

“I don’t think so. In the first place, I have no interest in dating. In the second, even if I did have an interest, one of the joys of small towns is that there is nobody here to date. The men are all too young, too old, too married or just too icky.”

“Not all of them,” Ruby objected. “There are one or two nice single guys within your optimal age-dating range.”

“Optimal age-dating range?” Jade repeated with a laugh.

“You know what I mean.”

Sliding the tray of decorated cookies toward her sister and accepting a new one of raw shapes, Jade sighed. “Sure. Charlie Lake is home for the holidays and asked me out last week. Mark Dinson is managing the bank now and he’s invited me to dinner a few times.”

“But …?”

“But while they might be within the optimal dating-age range, and non-icky, they just don’t do it for me.” Jade gave a discontented shrug.

“You’re not still holding on to—”

“No!” Jade interrupted, knowing exactly where her sister was going. “I’m not hung up on Eric. I’m not letting his leaving me at the altar affect my trust in the opposite sex. And believe me, the sex with him wasn’t so great that it ruined me against orgasms for life.”

“How long’s it been since you got lucky?” Ruby asked, not looking convinced, but obviously not wanting to argue.

Her last block of resistance crumbling, Jade scooped up a handful of mini milk chocolate chips and tossed a few in her mouth.

“It’s been a while,” she acknowledged, figuring that sounded better than admitting it’d been eighteen months, long enough to make her feel almost virginal. “But what are the options in Diablo Glen? I mean, it’s not like I can just go up to one of these guys who live here and say, ‘Hey, I’m not really attracted to you, you don’t melt my panties and I don’t want a future together. But d’you suppose you could scratch an itch for me?’, now, can I?”

Coming over to sit at the table with Jade, Ruby pushed the sleeves of her red sweater up before carefully counting out twelve chocolate chips for herself.

“You know, most of the guys around here would probably go for that just fine.”

“Which brings us back to icky,” Jade pointed out.

Yet another reason to wish she lived in a big city. The anonymity offered so many sexual possibilities. Not that she was looking to turn her life into a series of one-night stands. But a chance to scratch an itch, a few delicious orgasms here and there, and the freedom of not having to see the guy again unless she actually wanted to?

That dream appealed to her almost as much as the dream of a career as a fashion stylist. Ever since she’d been old enough to dress her Barbies, she’d loved creating looks, putting together outfits and developing signature styles. By eight, she’d even taken her Ann doll from raggedy to bohemian with just a little tie-dye and tiny pair of faux-leather boots.

“Speaking of icky,” Ruby said, finishing off her measly dozen morsels and getting to her feet as the timer dinged. “Did you hear the latest in the Panty Thief Caper?”

Jade wrinkled her nose. “There’s nothing caperish about a creep who sneaks into women’s bedrooms and steals their undies.”

“Men’s, too,” Ruby said, setting a tray of cookies on the cooling rack and putting another in the oven. “I heard old Ben Zimmerman was having a fit. He won’t say what was stolen, but he’s still screaming up a storm.”

“He’s going to scream louder when his unmentionables end up paraded through town. This creep left the latest pair of panties hanging from the top of the cart corral at the grocery store this morning, along with a note that said ‘No Peeking.’”