The Runaway Daughter

But tonight, her let’s be reasonable voice wasn’t having its say.

Her hand slid higher, on a mission she couldn’t stop. Up miles of strong muscles and across the soft, warm cotton that covered the chest leaning into hers. His arms pulled her more solidly against him. Her fingers tangled in his dark brown hair.

I shouldn’t be doing this….

Oh yes, you should.

“Mmm.” His warm lips nibbled from her ear down her neck. “So this is what a lady sheriff tastes like.”

“Not…” She gasped as his hands skimmed the undersides of her breasts. “Not the new sheriff yet. But still—”

His mouth settled over hers, swallowing the second thoughts he wouldn’t let her finish. At thirty-five she was ten years his senior, more experienced both in the department and in life. With more at stake. And he…he was too young, and too handsome, and far too good at kissing to heed warnings she’d stopped listening to hours ago.

I’m not going to do this….

“N…No.” She pushed away from the wall of muscle pressed against her, the craving to lose herself in its heat nearly her undoing.

Hell yeah, she wanted this. She’d wanted it for months. But what she wanted and the crumbs life actually threw her way were two different things. A gem of reality she’d learned three years ago, when the life she’d had by the tail had crashed and burned around her.

She pulled away. A traitorous sigh escaped when his lips grazed her cheek. “No more. We shouldn’t… We can’t—”

“Feels a lot like we can to me.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, but he loosened his hold and let her slide to the far corner of the booth.

She glanced around the shadowy bar, relieved that the Eight Ball was deserted. It was late at night in the middle of a work week, and every other sane person in town was home in bed.

“No one’s here to see your fall from grace, darlin’.” He followed her gaze. His deep chuckle made her ache to pull him closer again. He looked too amazing in his Wranglers and vintage Harley-Davidson T-shirt. Too much like something she could get used to wanting.

Why did he have to find fun in everything he did? Why did she have to envy him the talent?

The lightness he brought to every situation—even the tough ones they often faced on the job, or as they did volunteer work with some of the more mixed-up kids at Oakwood’s youth center—was a constant temptation. Terrifying was a better word for the way his laughter drew her in.

Why hadn’t they left well enough alone? People didn’t stumble over friendships like theirs every day. He was easy to like, easy to hang out with, this man who’d cornered the market on forgetting the past— the very thing she longed to be a pro at herself.

Then she’d gone and let herself want more.

“Tonight was a mistake,” she sputtered.

A real stupid move, and she wasn’t stupid.

Not anymore.

“Mistakes aren’t always bad, Carter.” He used her last name, the way officers addressed each other. Like a peer on the force. A good buddy.

Only this was the buddy she’d just been crawling all over. And he never called her Carter in that lazy, sinful way when they were on duty.

She applied the back of her hand to her lips and wiped. Sipped her now-warm beer. If she couldn’t taste him anymore, she’d have a shot at damage control.

“I’m ten years older than you are.”

“Damn straight! I like my women more experienced and ready to teach me somethin’.”

“Don’t be an ass.” If whatever this was between them was about sexual experience, he was a dirty old man, and she was the jailbait.

He tipped back his own longneck bottle and raised an eyebrow at her get-real glare.

“Okay,” he conceded. “Maybe I like a challenge. Pushing limits can be a whole lot of fun.”

“If getting fired is the kind of limit you’re looking to blow, then I’m your girl.”

“No one’s getting fired.” His settled his shoulders against the cushioned seat with a thump. “Lighten up, will ya?” There wasn’t much punch behind his complaint. Without looking her in the eye, he toyed with the label he’d shredded off his beer. “Why is everything so damn serious with you? You’ve got so much moody bottled up inside, you feel enough for ten people. Probably why we’re such a good fit.” He chuckled. “Lord knows, there’s no other woman in town who’d get me within ten feet of talking about feelings.”

And there it was.

That hint of something beneath the good ol’ boy facade.

Tony Rivers played Mr. Good Times like a Hollywood star. But turbulent currents ran beneath all that practiced nonchalance. There were glimpses of passion and determination, always at the most unexpected times. A sense of responsibility and duty to others that contradicted both his party lifestyle and his youth. A spark of intensity flashing behind come-here-baby brown eyes that sucked her in even quicker than his smile.

And he was poking fun at her moodiness?

“Serious is the only way my life works.” How she made it through the day. “I work hard, and I don’t make careless mistakes like this.”

“Not being the most controlled person in the room might be fun for a change. Why not give it a chance?” His lips curled playfully. “Who knows, darlin’. You might just like a bit of carelessness in your life.”

“Carelessness is something I can’t afford to develop a taste for. I’m leaving.” She cringed at the schoolgirl waver in her voice.

She stood, her frazzled nerves screaming to sprint, not walk, toward the door. His hand caught her wrist, and her skin tingled with excitement, same as any other time they touched.

“I’m sorry.” All teasing drained from his voice. “Look, you’re right. This was a mistake. The last thing I want to do is cause you trouble, but…”

His unfinished sentence vibrated between them. Words beyond good friends and easy camaraderie. Words that would shove the craziness they’d started tonight over the invisible line between careless and too far.

How many times had they almost had this conversation? How many months had she let this drag on, as they flirted with the ugly way this could turn out for both of them?

Against her better judgment, she let her gaze caress his face. The bar’s dim lighting and the uncharacteristic worried expression Tony wore had produced a sight few in town would believe. Roughness edged the jaw of Oakwood’s golden boy and shadows eclipsed his nonstop cheerfulness. The restraint it took not to smooth away his frown made her ache.

They’d only talked about his parents once or twice, but she knew enough, and had guessed plenty more. He’d lost them both too young—his mom, when she’d split only a year after he was born; then his dad, killed while on the job as sheriff six years later. And ever since, he’d made a point of not letting himself want anything or anyone he couldn’t walk away from with a shrug and smile. Keeping everyone at a comfortable distance while he was the life of the party was more Tony’s style. A warped world view Angie couldn’t help but appreciate. She hid behind her man’s uniform and her career. He overindulged in shallow relationships with women. The end result was the same.

Sometimes she wasn’t sure who was lonelier.

“Let me go, Tony.”

“Come on, don’t leave like this. It won’t happen again.” His grip on her arm tightened. “We see each other at work nearly every day. You’ve been friends with my family for years. We’re going to have to figure out what to do when—”

“There’s nothing to figure out. There is no when!” She pulled free and slammed the door shut on her indecision. “And you’re damn right this will never happen again. I’m your superior officer, Deputy Rivers. That means hands off, for both of us.”

She made herself walk out of the Eight Ball. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need him.

She’d rebuilt her life from nothing. She’d regained a speck of the peace she’d thought she’d lost for good. Her job as a deputy, and then chief, had saved her. Her run for sheriff was the future.