Dear Reader,

Okay, I admit it. I have control issues. I like to be in charge whenever possible. I can’t help it. So I felt for Liza when she realized she had to make a change, and that change might have to start with herself. Giving up control (on occasion, let’s not get radical here!) might sound easy, but when you do that, especially with a man in, say, an intimate situation…well, then elements like trust start to come into play and things can get pretty scary.

I knew I’d have to put Liza in good hands (among other interesting and capable body parts), so I put her directly in the path of Sheriff Dylan Jackson—he of the shiny handcuffs and imaginative ways of incorporating them into his personal life. Because sometimes the person learning to trust and give over control needs a little nudge. Or restraint, as the case may be. I hope you enjoy Liza and Dylan’s adventure!

Happy reading,

Donna Kauffman

P.S. And don’t forget to check out tryblaze.com!

His Private Pleasure
Donna Kauffman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

1

THE MOMENT SHE SPIED that nicely formed male derriere sticking out of the tree, Liza Sanguinetti realized that giving up her career was going to be a whole lot easier than giving up men.

She slowed her shiny blue roadster convertible to a crawl. Which was only slightly slower than the speed limit posted next to the sign welcoming her to Canyon Springs, New Mexico. Population… “A hell of lot less than L.A.,” she murmured. But definitely bigger than some of the one-horse towns she’d driven through. Canyon Springs looked like a festive place, with rows of quaint storefronts lining the main thoroughfare and banners streaming from the light poles, announcing some upcoming celebration.

The town was nestled in the foothills of the rugged Black Range Mountains, which, according to the brochure she’d picked up at breakfast in Santa Fe, were the source of the natural springs that fed down into the deep canyons and rincóns. Whatever the hell a rincón was.

All she knew was that she’d been drawn toward the dark shadowy mountains as if some guiding hand was pointing the way. The vistas here were downright awe-inspiring and pulled at something deep inside her. Which struck her as odd, considering she was a born and bred city girl. Her idea of a wild country weekend meant going horseback riding in a Palm Springs resort spa.

All she wanted at the moment was a bite to eat and the chance to wander around the antique stores she’d seen advertised on her meandering drive. Sounded like the perfect way to spend the afternoon. She was hoping the perfect housewarming present for Natalie and Jake would sit up and grab her attention. She smiled, picturing Natalie’s face when she told her she’d been antiquing in the mountains of New Mexico. Not exactly on the list of Liza’s normal haunts. But then, that was the point of this trip. Expanding personal horizons.

At the moment, however, the only thing grabbing her attention was the man perched in the towering corner oak.

“I could think of another way to spend a perfectly nice afternoon in Canyon Springs,” she murmured appreciatively, staring openly at the fine masculine scenery as she tooled beneath the outstretched branches of the tree. An amazingly loud screech erupted a second later, causing her to swerve around the corner and pull to the side of the road. One hand clutching her racing heart, she climbed out of the low-slung car and shaded her eyes with her free hand. Just past the beautiful specimen of man was an even more exotic specimen of bird perched just out of his reach.

“Come on, Mango. Step up,” the man beckoned, reaching his hand alarmingly close to that intimidating black beak.

The enormous bird was mostly white, with a vibrant orange plume that erupted all about its head as it spread its huge wings and shrieked once again. Liza covered her ears at the skull-splitting sound and wondered how the man managed to keep his perch a mere foot away without so much as flinching.

“Mango is a pretty bird,” he cajoled, though now Liza could see the muscles flexing along his jaw and neck. Perhaps the bird sensed the tension as well, since it lunged for the fingers being offered, as if they were a snack to be gobbled down rather than a lift to safety.

“Pretty, pretty Mango,” he said, repeating the words over and over in a smooth, singsongy voice. A nice deep singsongy voice, Liza found herself thinking. What sort of things could that voice cajole her into?

“Come on, pretty boy, pretty bird.”

Another piercing shriek split the air, making her jump.

“Pretty loud bird,” Liza muttered, testing one ear, then the other. The bird flapped and ducked, bobbed and pranced in quite an ornate show of birdy fervor, but didn’t move one speck closer to the outstretched hand of its brave savior.

“I don’t think he’s interested,” Liza called up.

The man glanced down then, and Liza thought, But I sure am! Even frowning, he was quite gorgeous. Not Hollywood glamorous, but real world rugged. Mmm. Her afternoon was getting better by the second. No, down girl, down. It had been eight weeks since she’d gone cold turkey on men and she still got the shakes when confronted with a prime specimen. Surely that was natural. On the bright side, he’d be a real litmus test of her testosterone sobriety.

And test her he would. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but she could definitely make out just about everything else of importance. The close cropped blond hair, straight nose, sharp cheekbones and square jaw topped equally squared shoulders and a chest that did justice to the brown-and-tan uniform he wore. The shiny star on one pocket explained why he was up in the tree.

She’d never harbored uniform fantasies before, but that fact was in rapid transition. Just because she couldn’t play with him didn’t mean she couldn’t imagine what kind of playmate he’d have made. “Doesn’t the fire department usually handle this sort of thing?” she offered oh-so-helpfully. Something about that scowl provoked her. She was an unconventional flirt, but this wasn’t actually flirting. It couldn’t be flirting as long as he kept scowling, right? “I passed a station on the way into town,” she continued. She remembered because the guys had been out washing the trucks. Suds and muscular men with long hoses, always a good combination.

She sighed and wondered if there was a resort spa out here with a twelve-step plan to help her embrace celibacy. Hi, I’m Liza Sanguinetti and I enjoy hot sex. Probably the first step was truly grasping there was a problem with that. But she was working on it. At her own pace.

“If you’d like, I can drive over and ask them to send some help?” she offered. Who knew, maybe there were trucks still being washed. Another sobriety test in case she failed this one.

“I can handle things, ma’am,” he said evenly, clearly not keen on his rescue mission drawing an audience. Even an audience of one.

Liza wasn’t put off. She was still hung up on that “ma’am.” All husky and direct, in that I-can-take-care-of-anything tone they must teach them at the law enforcement academy. She shivered, just a tiny bit. Apparently she’d repressed more uniform fantasies than she’d thought. “I can see that,” she responded, smiling, not going anywhere. “Totally under control. I’m sure the citizens of Canyon Springs sleep better knowing that you’re on the job. Protecting them from killer birds.”

He merely stared at her. “Thanks for stopping. Please be careful when you pull back into traffic.”

She glanced over her shoulder. He must be kidding. Traffic? Sure, the town had a steady little bustle of cars and trucks streaming up and down the main road, but traffic? Obviously he’d never seen Long Beach Freeway at five-thirty on a Friday.

“I think I can handle it, Officer,” she said with great seriousness.

“I’m sure you can.”

She smiled then. So, there was a real man lurking behind the badge. And that oh-so-official tone. She wondered what it would take to put a shudder in that “ma’am” of his. No, bad Liza, bad. No playing with small-town sheriffs.

But wasn’t she on this personal odyssey for the express purpose of discovering new things, new ways of life? In addition to an appreciation for mountain scenery, she’d discovered she had appreciation for uniforms. That was totally new. Liza had spent the past eight of her twenty-nine years hopscotching around the globe, making sure her celebrity clients were all well pampered and cared for, and she’d never once lusted after a man in blue. Or brown and tan, as the case may be. So this could be seen as a positive step.

Maybe this was a test of another kind. “And maybe you’re trying way too hard to rationalize an afternoon quickie,” she murmured. But the longer she looked up in that tree, the harder it was remembering why celibacy had been an absolute rule on this journey of hers. Yes, she’d watched her oldest and dearest pal, Natalie, fall headlong into love earlier this year, and yes, her own heart had taken a tiny ding when she’d stupidly allowed one of her playmates to become more than a playmate. In her mind, anyway. And okay, so it had been more than a tiny ding.

More like a wake-up thwack in the head. And heart. But those weren’t the only reasons Liza had taken stock and decided that success didn’t always equal happiness. She supposed she’d been heading toward that epiphany for some time. Natalie’s wedding and Conrad’s infidelity had simply been an impetus to examine why it was that the more successful Liza got, the less fulfilled she felt.

Sure, she’d kicked ass as the hottest public relations consultant on the West Coast, and just as certainly, she’d enjoyed the wealth and the wide variety of perks it brought her way. Hard work and hard play had made Liza a very happy girl. For a time. But somewhere along the way she realized that while she enjoyed the limelight she garnered for her clients, at the end of the day, when she went home to her glossy, Century City penthouse condo, she went alone. She’d substituted clients for real friends, and flings with the man of the moment for real intimacy.

She could put together an A-list party at the drop of a hat. But if she wanted someone to hang out with? Talk to? Just kick back and be Liza with? Other than Natalie, who lived three thousand miles away—or had before meeting the man of her dreams—she had exactly no one. In fact, outside of her work persona, she wasn’t even sure who the real Liza was. Hence her personal odyssey…and hence swearing off men until she figured out how to have fun without one.

But…but if she knew it was just a fling, a teeny tiny little detour, something to take the edge off—after all, it had been two months, for God’s sake, and a vibrator could only do so much; she had needs, dammit—wouldn’t that be okay? Sort of a little reward for being so good for so long?

That rationale took on more and more logic the longer she stood there looking up at the sheriff’s gorgeous chiseled face. Even his scowl turned her on. She had no idea why he was so irritated with her; she was only trying to help. Well, okay, maybe she wasn’t helping, exactly. But she certainly wasn’t keeping him from doing his job. And usually men were more than happy to let her help them. She’d built an entire career on that specific ability. Her clientele had been largely of the male persuasion simply because she understood their needs, their sense of pride and that little boy insecurity they never seemed to outgrow.

That was the part she missed most. Being needed, being the one they called to make it all better. She knew it was more of that faux intimacy thing, but without that, the gaping void in her life loomed even larger. Actually, it had sort of come as a surprise to her that she didn’t miss much of anything else. Not the parties, the tours, the openings, the award ceremonies, the press conferences. The wild, uncontrolled sex with the Hollywood hottie of her choice. Okay, so maybe she missed that last part just a little bit. But she didn’t miss the empty feeling that came afterward. The little pangs of neediness that postcoital snuggling no longer fulfilled.

Only, she wasn’t quite sure how to transcend the arm-candy-at-the-latest-premiere followed by the fun-in-the-sack part. Probably she had to be friends with a guy first, find a man who satisfied her on levels other than sexual, a guy whose sole credentials weren’t that he owned his own tux and looked damn fine in it. Then the rest would probably just happen. Wouldn’t it? She thought of Natalie and had to grin. Her best friend had found her man in exactly the opposite way. An exclusive, purely sexual relationship that had led to real love.

So why couldn’t it work that way for her?

Because it never has before, Liza, that’s why. Nat had just gotten lucky.

Well, she’d like to get lucky, too, Liza thought with a wistful sigh as she watched Sheriff Sexy Ass lever that impressive torso of his up a bit higher, trying to reach his quarry. A quarry with an awfully big beak.

“Does he bite?” she asked.

Mango strutted some more and let out another one of his ozone-disintegrating screeches.

“Never mind,” she called up. “Who needs the beak when you can defeat your predators by deafening them first?”

She thought she heard Sheriff Sexy Ass snort under his breath, but when he looked down at her again, his face was an impersonal mask. “Really, we’ll be fine up here, ma’am. Thank you for stopping,” he repeated. “Please be careful when you pull back into traffic.”

Brown. She was pretty sure his eyes were brown.

“Do you always come to the rescue of your feathered citizens?”

“Do you always refuse to take a hint?”

She merely grinned.

He sighed. “I do when it’s this one.”

“She belongs to you, then?”

“God, no,” he said, his tone one of horror. Mango strutted closer and he turned his attentions back to the bird. A minute or two passed, but he didn’t look her way again.

She was being dismissed. Had been being dismissed for the past several minutes. Problem was, she wasn’t ready to leave yet. An occasional drawback of hers, true, but more often a hallmark of her success. She never left something alone until she was done with it, no matter if it was done with her.

Staring at the flex of muscle in the good sheriff’s thighs as he pushed himself up even higher, she freely admitted she wasn’t done with him yet. In fact, right at that moment there was nowhere else she’d rather be than standing on a street corner in downtown Canyon Springs.

Suddenly Mango lunged, and Liza squealed and pointed. “Look out!”

He might not have flinched at Mango’s scream, but he did at hers. Mango made a beak-dive for the nice, shiny star on his pocket just as he lost his balance.

Liza gasped. He slid from his branch and fell, butt first, into the V of branch and trunk just below. Mango flapped his wings and raced up and down the branch overhead, screeching the entire time as the sheriff cut loose with his own vocal tirade.

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t teach you that in the academy.”

“Nope, those I learned courtesy of Vegas street scum,” he grumbled, trying to unwedge himself.

Las Vegas? Street scum? Hmm, Liza thought. She didn’t think he was talking about Las Vegas, New Mexico. Which meant her sheriff had once run a much bigger town. A town filled with vice and sin. Fully intrigued now, she folded her arms and leaned against her car as she watched him try to extricate himself. He certainly appeared to have the upper body strength for it. A nice, thickly muscled chest, and incredible arms… Did they have a gym in Canyon Springs? she wondered. Somehow she didn’t think her sheriff had paid a membership fee for those biceps.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to run over to the fire department and get them to bring a ladder or something?”

“I’m sure,” he growled, not bothering to look at her. His gaze was focused on Mango, who sat, quietly now, preening his magnificent tail feathers and looking as innocent as a little canary. “Escape artist,” he muttered.

“So, he makes a habit of this, huh? Whose is he?”

“My mother’s.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you, rescuing your mom’s bird.”

“There is nothing remotely sweet about this bird. Or my mother, most days, for that matter.”

Liza thought of her own parents and nodded in understanding. She hadn’t heard from her father since marriage number five, which, as several years had passed since then, was likely several “I do’s” ago. Her mother only remembered to check in when she wanted something. Which was mercifully infrequent. “So, what kind of bird is Mango?” she asked. “I’ve never seen a white parrot before.”

He gave her a long look, then sighed. “He’s a cockatoo. Moluccan.”

“He’s really gorgeous.”

“Yeah. Right. A real prince. Listen, maybe you can do me a favor.”

Liza grinned. She knew she’d get to him eventually. “Sure.”

“How good are you at climbing trees?”

Her grin disappeared. “You’re not asking me to climb that tree.”

He twisted a bit and looked down at her. He could smile, as it turned out, only there was nothing friendly about it. This was more like a take-no-prisoners kind of smile. Still, it managed to send those shivers through her again, anyway. She might like being taken prisoner by him for an afternoon…or three. But she drew the line at physical exertion of any other kind. That’s what personal trainers were for—to sweat with her clients while she got her nails done and took another business lunch.

“I’m not what you’d call a climber,” she said. “Social, maybe,” she appended with a saucy grin. “Why don’t you let me get you a nice strong fireman with a ladder?”

“Because Tucker Greywolf would love nothing more than to come pull me out of this tree.”

“Ah.” The pride thing. This she understood. “What exactly is it you think I can do for you if I were to climb this tree?” Not that she was going to, but she was nothing if not good at solving crisis situations. It was simply a matter of finding out who to call to fix it.

“My belt is stuck under a knob on this branch. I can’t reach around for it without letting go. If you could climb up just a few feet and pop it off, I could maneuver myself out of here.”

He was only about twelve to fifteen feet up. A person—meaning someone other than her—would only have to climb about three or four feet, reach the rest of the way, and presto. Shouldn’t be too hard to wrangle someone walking down the street to do that. Only when she turned and looked around the corner, there seemed to be a sudden dearth of pedestrians. A few children down the block on their bikes and two elderly women crossing at the far corner—that was it. She sighed and looked up again.

He was staring down at her, waiting.

She glanced down at her perfectly gorgeous Jimmy Choo slings. They gave a two-inch advantage to her skimpy five-foot-four frame, but that wasn’t going to be enough.

“I can’t climb in heels,” she said.

“Then kick them off.”

“I really don’t climb trees. I’m a city girl. L.A. by way of New York.”

“This is a city.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “A city with a perfectly good fire department two blocks down.”

“Forget it.” The sheriff redoubled his efforts, making the branch Mango was perched on sway wildly. The bird merely continued to preen, as if it were the wind blowing and not its rescuer flailing about. Then the sound of ripping fabric rent the air. “Well, shit.”

“Shit! Shit!” Mango did a little hop from claw to claw, quite happy with his new vocabulary word. “Well, shit!”

Sheriff Sexy Exposed Ass let his chin drop. “Wonderful. This is all I need.”

Liza was wide-eyed, staring both at the bird…and the patch of bright yellow smiley faces peeking out from those brown trousers. She focused on the former, though it cost her. “I didn’t know Mango talked. What else does he say?”

“Only the things you never want him to. Listen, could we cut the chatter—” he glared at Mango “—from both parties, and get my belt unstuck, please?”

Liza shifted her attention from the prancing cockatoo to the smiley faces. After all, she had tried to focus on the bird first, hadn’t she? “A briefs man, huh?”

“Wha—? Oh, that. Present from a friend. A joke, really. It’s early when I get up and they were just what came out of the drawer next. Why am I explaining this to you?”

She shrugged. “That’s what you get for dressing in the dark. Me, I prefer doing it with the lights on.”

For a split second his gaze sharpened to such a fine point she thought she felt it pierce her. Right where she wanted to be pierced, too. Then he sighed and let his head drop back, and it was like the moment never happened. Only it had. She knew it, and her libido definitely knew it. And wanted to be pierced again. And again. Down, girl.

“Please, I’m at your mercy here,” he said. “Name your price.”

Boy, talk about a test. The things she could come up with right now. But she met the challenge and said, “Do they serve lunch somewhere nearby?”

“Fine, lunch, great. Now could we— Oh, shit.”

“Shit!” Mango mimicked happily. “Shit, oh, shit!”

Liza ignored the bird and turned in the direction the sheriff was looking. From his vantage point he could see past the corner. She took a step or two and craned her neck so she could see as well. A small, somewhat interesting contingent was heading their way. A strapping man in a form-fitting blue uniform, framed by two identical middle-aged women in identical business attire, fronted by a tall, rawboned woman wearing plaid Bermuda shorts, a pale green, long-sleeve pullover and a floppy straw hat. A long braid of shocking red hair lay over her shoulder. Her cane clacked against the cement sidewalk.

“Please God, just kill me now,” she heard the sheriff say over her head.

“Greywolf and company, I take it?”

“I will pay any price if you could get me out of this tree before they get here.”

Liza looked at the closing contingent, still a good block and a half away, then back up to the beseeching eyes of her sheriff. Definitely brown, she thought. And she was a sucker for brown eyes. Okay, so she was a sucker for green eyes. But that was only because she’d never seen eyes like his before.

“This is going to cost you big, you know,” she said, still weighing her options. “Very, very big.”

Then he grinned. A real grin. The Cheshire cat had nothing on this grin. “Oh, I’m sure it already has.”

Liza sighed, then kicked off her shoes.

2

DYLAN HADN’T THOUGHT she’d really do it. But he was too damn grateful to tease her about it. He’d get his chance later. A vivacious brunette who liked the feel of a hot rod vibrating beneath her thighs was almost impossible not to have some fun with. And he might just be up for a little fun. As soon as he got out of this damn tree.

If he wasn’t so annoyed at his mother’s damn bird—and all too aware of the coming confrontation—he’d have enjoyed the hell out of watching Ms. Fancy Heels try to climb a tree. She wasn’t kidding when she said she wasn’t a climber.

“Dammit!”

She glared up at him as she lost the scant foot she’d gained and landed on the ground again. He had to admit he admired her spunk when, rather than quit, she squared her lovely, rounded shoulders and tried again. She wore a silky, aquamarine T-shirt that clung to her curves. A narrow band of smooth, honey-colored skin peeked from between the hem of the shirt and the low waistband of her white cotton pants. Pants that hugged her all the way down to just below her knee…and just above a very nice flare of calf muscle.

Must have gotten them from tottering around on those Popsicle stick heels, he thought, not uncharitably. Given her definite lack of athleticism, he figured she’d been born into those amazing curves of hers…and he was damn grateful for that, even if it didn’t get him out of this tree.

He winced a little when her bracelets—she wore what looked like dozens of silver chains on her wrists—scraped along the gnarled trunk as her slender, ringed fingers scrabbled for purchase. He mentally added a manicure and possibly a trip to the jewelry store to the tab he was rapidly running up with her.

Another slide, another broken nail. She didn’t even look at him this time. Instead she turned, shot a gauging glance around the corner, then shifted her gaze to her car.

Oh no. “Now you’re taking off?” Not that he could blame her.

“Of course not. I always finish what I start,” she retorted, then hopscotched barefoot on the hot pavement as she hurried to the driver’s side of her car and jumped in. Literally. So maybe she was a bit more limber than he’d credited her with.

“What exactly are you—” He stopped as he realized her plan. She edged her car just beneath the tree, climbed back out, then scooted her fine little body onto the metal luggage rack bracketed to the miniscule trunk.

“Hold on,” she called up to him.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” He couldn’t believe she was actually going to all this trouble. But it was too damn entertaining to watch. Not to mention critical to saving his backside. Literally and figuratively.

He hadn’t been surprised to hear she was from L.A. He could spot that movie-town gloss a mile away. Usually her type headed for Santa Fe and Taos, but occasionally they tooled down to Sierra County for the Balloon Regatta, or just to tell their friends they’d been to a town called Truth or Consequences.

None of which explained what a West Coast princess was doing crawling up on her car in downtown Canyon Springs. He watched her steady herself and carefully straighten, before looking up at him. Damn, but God had been having a really fine day when he put her together.

So, maybe Dylan would discover why she was here over lunch. And if he was lucky—and it had been so long since he’d even thought about getting lucky, he figured he was long overdue—breakfast as well.

Her short black curls whipped about in the breeze, dancing along a forehead presently furrowed as she reached once, then twice, for his backside.

Her nails were painted dragon-lady red. As was her mouth. And dear Lord, what a mouth. How had he missed that? Her eyes were a bright flashy blue that almost matched her shirt. But that bow-tie mouth… A man could waste large portions of the night fantasizing about a mouth shaped like that.

She reached up again. This time those nails scraped lightly along the swath of cotton the tear in his uniform had revealed. The way his body leaped to attention you’d have thought she’d stroked them down the length of his—

“Careful,” he barked when she brushed him again. Jesus, it had been too long, if just the tips of her nails were arousing him so swiftly. It was bad enough his choice in underwear was being flashed to half the town. He really didn’t need to reveal anything else, most especially not a raging hard-on.

“Get down before you fall,” he ordered, when she made a little hop and swiped at his belt.

“I can get it, I just have to…” She crouched and jumped a little higher and smacked the heel of her hand against the part of his belt that was stuck. “There!” she cried as it popped free, then shrieked when she lost her balance and did a slow tumble into the front seat of her car.

“Are you okay?” Dylan levered himself up onto the branch and looked down at the scene below.

She didn’t answer. Not because she was hurt. Because she was laughing.

She was sprawled in the passenger seat, legs spread akimbo over the headrest and dashboard, arms flung wide as if waiting for him to hope down to join her.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he murmured, then watched in amused fascination as she expertly untwined herself from the upholstery, levered herself upright, then pushed her wayward curls from her face, checked her lipstick in the visor mirror and settled in the front seat as casually as if she was merely waiting for her driver to show up. Yeah, definitely more limber than he’d given her credit for.

He’d never harbored hot-rod sex fantasies before, preferring the roominess of a bed—a big bed—thank you. But images of tangling himself up with her and all that soft leather were definitely appealing to him at the moment.

“Sure you’re okay?” he asked, thinking he’d be a lot more okay after a cold shower. Or an afternoon drive into the countryside with her in that car.

“Oh, no problem, Officer,” she said oh-so-innocently, then followed it up with a sly wink that was anything but. “But you might want to get down from there before…” She pointed behind him.

Oh yeah. “I have to get this damned bird down first.” He’d forgotten all about Mango. His scowl returned as he looked up to where the cockatoo had been moments ago. There was a great flutter and flapping sound behind him. He swiveled just in time to see Mango stretch his huge wings—his huge clipped wings—and swoop ever so gracefully in an umbrella of white-and-salmon-colored feathers to land on—

“Look out,” he shouted. “Incoming.”

Ms. Bow-tie Lips turned just in time to see Mango land on the seat back behind her.

“Mango is a good boy!” the bird announced rather proudly, then attempted to prove his claim by prancing back and forth, bopping his head up and down, then extending one claw and, very sweetly, asking, “Step up?”

Dylan swore as he climbed to the lowest branch, then dropped to the ground. “Come here, you big pink chicken,” he said as he approached the car.

But Mango was having nothing to do with him. He lunged and squawked, his crest fluffed out to its fullest extent.

“You know, I don’t think he likes you,” his rescuer murmured.

She really did have the sassiest mouth.

“He does prefer women. Go ahead, put your arm out for him. He’s asking you to, so it’ll be okay.”

She laughed—a full-bodied sound that had those images flashing in his brain again. “Yeah, right. I’ve already lost three nails. I’d as soon keep the fingers they were attached to.”

“He won’t—”

“Why, there’s my precious boy!”

Dylan broke off and looked up as Tucker and his mother rounded the corner. He had no idea where the Miller twins, Metsy and Betsy—one fraction of Tucker’s personal fan club—had left off, but Dylan was glad for the reduced crowd. His mother rushed toward him. Rush being perhaps a bit too enthusiastic a term. Avis Jackson did everything at her own pace, even before she’d had to take to using a cane after a round of knee surgery.

“Come to Momma, my baby.”

Dylan didn’t turn or open his arms for her, knowing she wasn’t referring to her only son.

Instead he casually leaned against the car and crossed his ankles, concealing the unfortunate state of his pants—both front and back. “Safe and sound,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth as she cooed and fussed over her “sweet baby.”

“Sweet my ass,” he muttered.

“I happen to think it’s pretty sweet.”

He glanced down to find Liza sizing up the posterior he’d rested just beside her. But before he could respond to her whispered aside, his attention was pulled back to his mother and Mango.

“You really need to stay where I put you, baby,” she was telling the bird.

“You really need to use that safe lock I got you after his last escape.”

His mother merely clucked her tongue and scooped the giant bird up so she could cuddle him against her chest. “He doesn’t like being all locked up. Do you, sweetie?” she crooned.

“Then you have to keep the windows—”

She turned on him, her frown emphasizing the deep grooves bracketing her mouth. “I’m not getting any younger, and I’ll stifle if I have to sit all cooped up in some air-controlled trap. I like to feel the air move. Mango and the rest of the flock like the breeze, too.” She turned and her face became a wreath of smiles. “Don’t you, sweet boy?”

Dylan had long ago stopped trying to figure out how a recalcitrant, oversize parrot could weasel its way into his mother’s good graces when he’d spent the last thirty years trying to do the same thing, only to conclude no such path existed. For him, anyway.

“So, you new in town?”

Dylan shifted his attention back to the sports car. Tucker was leaning over the driver’s side door, beaming that million watt smile he’d perfected back in his high school quarterback days.

She didn’t answer directly. Instead she stuck her hand out and said, “And you would be?”

“Tucker Greywolf, town fire marshal.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Dylan scowled as he watched Liza give Tucker a thorough visual frisking. His frown deepened when Tucker returned the favor. And she didn’t seem to mind.

Dylan cleared his throat. “We should get this car moved.” He glanced at Tucker. “It’s in a fire lane.”

“So it is,” Tucker said, still smiling. “Why don’t you move it right around the corner to that lot there?” He pointed diagonally across the intersection. “Next to LuLu’s. I’ll spring for some lunch. It’s nothing fancy, but—”

“I’ve already got a lunch date, Marshal, but thank you for—”

“Call me Tucker.”

She merely smiled. “Thanks for the invitation, Tucker. Maybe some other time. I’m Liza.”

Liza. Dylan groaned silently. No. This couldn’t be happening. First the call from his old captain this morning. Then playing George of the Jungle. Now this. What were the odds her name would be Liza, of all things? And he’d thought his day couldn’t get any worse.

Both Tucker and his mother had fallen silent and turned to look at him.

“Oh shit,” Mango whispered.

His mother gasped and tucked Mango’s head to her breast. “Dylan Benjamin Jackson,” she hissed. “Tell me you did not use profanity in front of Mango.”

For perhaps the first time ever, Dylan was almost grateful to the pink chicken for his timely interruption. “Mom, really, it’s not like he—”

“You know how fond he is of reciting anything said with drama. If he so much as repeats that one time during bingo, I’ll—”

“I’m sure he’s heard far worse at the fire house. And really, it’s not like the ladies have never—”

His mother cut him off with her trademark Glacial Glare of Doom, then flipped her attention back to Liza. Before Dylan could open his mouth to sidetrack her again, or better yet come up with a rapid explanation, she said, “So, you’re the floozy keeping my son from getting married, hmm?”

Liza’s blue eyes—which only a second earlier had been dancing in amusement at his maternal dressing-down—popped wide as she looked from Avis, to him, then back to Avis. “I beg your pardon?”

“Dylan’s stripper. From Vegas.” She turned to him and said, “I guess I should be happy you’re getting it from somewhere. I’d almost begun to think maybe you were hiding something from me. Although you could have told me you were gay, you know. I’m hip. I’m…what do they call it? Down with that?”

Dylan’s eyes bulged. “What? When did you come up with that idea?” And how many people had she shared her little theory with? He groaned, thinking back to the way the old-timers at Pete’s Barber Shop had fallen silent the other day when he’d walked in. “And since when do you use phrases like ‘down with that’?”

Avis had to raise her voice to be heard over Tucker’s howls of laughter. “I have cable. I watch that cute Carson Daly on MTV. And what’s a mother supposed to think when every young lady she introduces you to—”

“You mean shoves down my throat,” he argued, forgetting Liza for the moment. “Like that poor woman who stopped by the VFW Hall last week during bingo to use the rest room?”

“Bingo!” Mango piped up. “B-12, N-35! We have a winner!”

Avis sniffed and stroked Mango’s feathers. “Perhaps I’ve grown a bit desperate. It’s hardly my fault. I want grandchildren to dandle on my lap while I can still sit upright.”

As far as he knew, she’d never even dandled him on her lap. She’d been too busy feeding her flock. “And you think that accosting every—”

“Shush now,” Avis commanded, then turned a forced smile toward Liza. “Introduce me to your stripper.”

“I’m not a stripper,” Liza interjected, looking amused once more.

“No,” Tucker said, still chuckling. “She’s a showgirl, Mrs. Jackson. Remember, Dylan told us all about how she could never find the time to visit due to the two-a-night shows she performs at the Tropicana.”

Avis eyed Liza. “Doesn’t look tall enough to be a showgirl. Aren’t showgirls usually taller? She’s got the boobs for stripping, though.” She looked down at her own meager chest. “Saw a program on the Discovery channel about showgirls. Always thought it would be fun to wear those tassel things and…” She looked at Liza, and in all seriousness, asked, “Do you know how to make them swing in circles and—”

“Mother!” Dylan felt his stomach burn, and automatically fished in his pockets for a roll of antacids. Only he didn’t have any. That’s why he was sheriff of Canyon Springs and not vice squad detective in Las Vegas anymore. So he didn’t have to pop Tums like they were gumdrops. He gently tugged his mother away from the car. “I’m sorry, Liza. This is all a huge misunderstanding.” He turned to Avis. “Mom, this isn’t what you think. She’s—”

“Really pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Jackson,” Liza interrupted, nudging her door open and climbing out. She bent down and scooped up her slings and slipped them on her feet, instantly adding a little showgirl length to those fabulous legs of hers.

Avis looked her up and down. “Add one of those headdress thingies and I guess you could fill the bill.” She transferred Mango to one sturdy forearm and stuck out a liver-spotted hand. “Sorry if I offended. I just worry about my boy, is all. He’s thirty-two, you understand. Pleasure to meet you.” She shot a reproving look at Dylan. “Finally.”

Liza grinned and winked at Dylan. “Pleasure is all mine, trust me.”

What the hell did she think she was up to? As if this farce hadn’t played out too long already.

Dylan squeezed between them, determined to straighten this out immediately. “Mom, this isn’t—”

“The place for formal introductions,” Liza interrupted. “Your son was just about to take me to lunch. We’d love to have you join us.”

Avis’s face flushed with surprised pleasure. Dylan swore silently. He didn’t know what Liza’s game was, but he wasn’t going to play along.

His mother patted her braid and adjusted her hat. “I’m not really dressed for lunch. I was out in the garden, weeding, when Mango pushed the screen out again and tried one of his little flying hops. He hates to be away from me. Don’t you, boy,” she said, snuggling Mango’s salmon-colored head, which he’d tucked against her chest. “He’s clipped, but the breeze lifted him, and next thing I knew, he was gone.”

“Again,” Dylan asserted, but no one was listening to him.

“You look fine,” Liza assured Avis. She turned to Tucker and gave him her testosterone-booster smile. “I’m sure Marshal Greywolf wouldn’t mind seeing to Mango, as he’s been in the firehouse before, right?”

Tucker took one look at Dylan’s obvious discomfort and stepped right in, all grins and helpful as hell. “Not a problem. Come on, Mango buddy. Let’s take a walk.”

He stuck out his arm and Mrs. Jackson gave the big bird one last cuddle, then said, “Step up, precious.”

The bird dutifully did so, then looked at Dylan as if to say, “It’s not women I prefer, just anyone but you.”

Yeah, same to you pal, Dylan thought as he watched Tucker hold Mango close to his chest and saunter back down the block toward the station.

“Oh goodness, I almost forgot.” Avis grabbed Dylan’s wrist and turned it so she could read his watch. “I have a ladies auxiliary meeting. We’re discussing the final plans for our Fiesta Day booth.” She placed a hand on Liza’s forearm. “You will be staying for the fiesta, won’t you, dear? We’re having our famous salsa-making contest. People come from all over. It’s a real event. Nothing fancy like they have in Vegas, I’m sure, but—”

Dylan stepped in, taking Liza’s arm in his, mostly to get her out of his mother’s clutches. “I don’t think Liza can—”

“Liza can speak for herself,” Liza said, extricating her arm and smiling at Avis, who was looking well pleased at the way she was handling herself.

Great, he thought. Thirty-two years he hadn’t been able to get on his mother’s top perch and now it was suddenly two against one. How in the hell had this happened, anyway?

“I’m not sure of my plans at the moment, Mrs. Jackson,” Liza was saying.

“And she has manners, too,” Avis said to her son. “I’m sorry I called you a floozy, dear.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Liza assured her.

If Dylan’s life hadn’t been flashing before his very eyes, he might have smiled at the momentary blank look that crossed his mother’s face.

“Yes, well, I suppose there are some with small minds who would make sweeping assumptions,” she managed to murmur.

Never mind that she’d just done the same thing, Dylan thought. His mother definitely operated in her own universe, of which she was the undisputed center. He’d long ago learned it was best to stay in his own distant orbit.

Liza merely caught his eye and winked. “Yes, sweeping assumptions can be a problem.”

Avis smiled. “Come now, I’ll walk you to LuLu’s, it’s on my way.” She tucked her hand through Liza’s arm and steered them back to the sidewalk. “So, is being a showgirl so lucrative that you haven’t found another line of work to bring you closer to my Dylan?”

“Mother, please.” He thought about trying to explain the misunderstanding yet again, but one look at Liza’s dancing eyes told him she’d only circumvent him. She obviously thought this was hysterically funny, and if he weren’t so annoyed, he’d probably think so, too. He’d put an end to it as soon as he got Liza alone.

Which no longer entailed the pleasurable scenario he’d envisioned earlier. Now he was thinking that the sooner he got her out of town, the better.

“Actually, I’ve quit my job,” Liza announced.

“Well, hallelujah,” Avis crowed. “Does this mean you’re coming to Canyon Springs permanently?” She reached over and rapped Dylan’s ankle with her cane. “Why didn’t you tell me? We would have thrown a party or something.”

“I’m going to have you register that thing as a lethal weapon,” he said, wincing as he flexed his leg. “And I didn’t tell you, because I’m as surprised by this as you are.” He sent Liza a pointed look.

She merely smiled brightly as they paused in front of the door to LuLu’s. “Here we are.”

Dylan stepped in, blocking the door and separating the two women at the same time. “Enjoy your meeting, Mom.”

Avis frowned, clearly not liking being manipulated. If she only knew.

Liza opened her mouth—to say God knew what—but apparently thought better of whatever it was when she caught his eye. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Jackson,” she said instead.

“Why thank you, dear. And please, call me Avis. Where will you be staying?” She eyed the two of them.

Dylan placed a hand on Liza’s shoulder and squeezed.

“We, uh, haven’t worked that out yet,” Liza said.

“I’ll call you later, Mom, okay?”

Avis clearly wished she didn’t have other obligations, but finally nodded. “See that you do. Have a nice lunch.”

Dylan waved. Liza opened her mouth, but with a bit more applied pressure from him, simply nodded and waved.

Once Avis was around the corner, Liza turned, slid neatly from his grasp and reached for the door.

He shifted and blocked her entry with the toe of his boot. “Just what in the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing at here?”

She looked up at him, her expression one of consideration, not guilt or apology. Why didn’t that surprise him?

“Tell me one thing,” she said. “Is there really a showgirl in Las Vegas pining after you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

She flashed those white teeth, aqua eyes dancing. “That’s what I thought. Pretty clever. Coming up with an out-of-town flame to keep the matchmakers away.”

“Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Not that it’s working either, apparently. Did she really try to hook you up with a woman making a potty stop?”

“Just what is it you want from me?”

“Besides lunch, you mean?” She reached up and straightened his badge, which had become crooked during his descent from the tree. “Come on, you can always make up another imaginary girlfriend, right? I mean, no harm really done here.” She sighed then. “Okay, I’m sorry, I got carried away. I just couldn’t resist.” Her lips curved again and she brushed a quick finger along the groove in his chin. “You have the sexiest scowl.”

Dylan’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t have time for this.” But he couldn’t deny he’d like to make some. An hour or three, anyway. It had been a long time since he’d whiled away an afternoon with a willing woman. A woman who knew how the game was played, and what the rules of engagement were. Only, from what little he knew of Liza, he didn’t think she was all that interested in playing by any rules.

She pursed those incredible lips of hers. “Come on, Sheriff Jackson. For a man who climbs trees, you don’t seem to enjoy the concept of having fun.”

“I had all the fun I could handle in Vegas. I didn’t come here to have fun.” That hadn’t exactly come out how he’d meant it, but he didn’t bother trying to explain himself further.

“A pity.” Liza turned so that her body brushed briefly against his as she stepped behind him.

“What are you doing?” He almost leaped out of his skin when she snugged up behind him.

“I wasn’t sure the citizens of Canyon Springs really wanted to know their sheriff favored smiley-face briefs.”

Jesus. How had he forgotten about that? He knew exactly how he’d forgotten. One look at those party girl lips and far-too-knowing eyes and a guy could forget his own zip code. He scooted so his butt faced the wall, putting her a few merciful feet away from him at the same time. “I know I owe you a lunch, but—”

“Yes, you do. Wait right here.”

“But, I can’t go in there like—” It was too late. She’d disappeared inside.

She was out a moment later, dangling a navy-blue sweater from her fingers. “Here, tie this around your waist.”

“Where did you get that?”

“From the coat rack. It was all the way in the back. Probably left here ages ago. Listen, I deal with these sorts of little crises all the time. You can always drop it back off later after you’ve changed clothes.”

He fished his wallet out. “Fine. Great.”

She frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked as he peeled off a twenty dollar bill.

He took her hand and placed the bill in it. “For services rendered. Have a nice lunch on me. I have to get back to work and change. I don’t have time for—”

“Oh. I see.”

How she could put such a wealth of meaning into a couple of tiny words, he had no idea. And why he cared what the hell she thought of him, he also had no idea.

She folded the twenty very carefully and stuck it behind his badge, then patted his chest. “Thanks, anyway.” She turned to walk away, then stopped and looked at him in that direct way she had. “Listen, I really am sorry if I caused you any problems. I don’t know what got into me back there. I just—” She broke off, then shrugged and smiled at him. For the first time, that bright confident light didn’t suffuse that ocean of blue in her eyes. “Have a nice life.” She turned and walked away. On those impossibly sexy heels. She didn’t look back.

Dylan swore under his breath. Just another eventful day in Canyon Springs, he told himself. Except there were no eventful days in Canyon Springs. He’d come here specifically to embrace the sameness of life that was Canyon Springs, New Mexico.

And then she’d strolled in and reminded him of just how invigorating change could be.

Before he could question his decision, or his sanity, he tied the sweater around his waist and said, “Wait.”

3

JUST KEEP WALKING, Liza. She really had to work on her impulse control. Because God knew she’d totally failed in that department over the past half hour. And here was the perfect opportunity. She really wanted to stop, find out what sexy Sheriff Jackson had to say. She wanted to say outrageous things to him and watch that little divot in his chin appear, watch the light flash in those yummy caramel eyes. “But no,” she said under her breath, “you’ve wreaked enough havoc for one small town in an afternoon. Time to move on.”

Only she really didn’t want to do that, either. In fact, this past hour was the most fun she’d had since leaving Natalie and Jake’s ranch in Wyoming eight days ago. Hell, since leaving her condo in L.A. a month before that.

She had no idea what had gotten into her—okay, that was a lie. Sheriff Dylan Jackson had gotten into her. Her poor little libido had whimpered pitifully, and the next thing she knew she was letting his mother believe she was a Vegas showgirl. Although, and she doubted Dylan would be impressed with the significant difference, she hadn’t actually told Avis anything that wasn’t true. Liza had quit her job. And she didn’t know where she was staying tonight.

But, dear Lord, she knew where she’d like to stay.

He was an ex-Vegas cop, her little libidinous voice whispered. Not a small-town boy with those inconvenient, uptight small-town morals. Certainly not if he’d created a showgirl as his imaginary girlfriend. Liza smiled to herself. Maybe he enjoyed saying outrageous things, too.

All the more reason to keep on walking. She was supposed to be “finding” herself. Not finding a man to play with. But, dammit, one nice afternoon playing with Sheriff Dylan Jackson would sure as hell take the edge off.

She slowed, just fractionally, as her resolve wavered. Fortunately for her, it was just enough of a pause to allow Dylan to catch up to her. Her conscience clear—after all, she hadn’t actually given in to her impulses, right?—she turned to face him. Dear Lord, she thought, feeling her skin heat up. Even with a silly blue sweater tied around his waist, he was every woman’s pure, unadulterated authority-figure fantasy come to life. She’d never harbored any domination fantasies…but, hey, she was adaptable.

“If you’d like, I can go to the auxiliary meeting and explain everything to your mother,” she offered.

She almost laughed at the look of horror that flashed across his rugged face. “That won’t be necessary.”

Liza folded her arms. It was that or reach out and trace those lips. They were so distinctly defined, almost hard looking. But she’d bet they were quite clever, that he knew just how to use them for maximum effect. Like now, she thought. The frown he was delivering was very effective. If she was the sort to be put off by that kind of thing. Which she wasn’t.

When he didn’t say anything else, she took a step back. “Well, then, I’ll be on my way.” It was a distinct invitation for him to stop her, to say whatever it was that had prompted him to follow her down the street. She could see the urge to do so warring with the resolve to simply nod, wave and wish her a safe trip. She knew all about that little internal tug-of-war. She lost those battles more often than she won them. She didn’t use to mind. She wished she minded more now.

“Where are you headed?”

Good compromise, she thought with admiration. Not exactly a capitulation, but not a decisive victory, either. “Why?” she asked. “Did you want to escort me out of town before I get into any more trouble?”

His lips quirked, and for a moment she thought she’d be treated to another one of those I-dare-you-to-be-bad smiles. “I have a feeling that nothing stops you from getting into trouble if that’s what you want to do.”

“Why, Sheriff, I’m not sure you meant that as a compliment. But if you meant to say that I get whatever I set my mind to having…then you’d be right.” Stop flirting, get in your car and head out of town. But this was fun. He wasn’t like the flavor-of-the-month men she’d helped Hollywood churn out by the fistfuls.

The fact that she’d actually fallen for one of those prefab flavors still irked her. She’d never been susceptible to developing emotional attachments to the men she dated, and still had no idea why in the hell Conrad had been any different. Actually, he hadn’t been any different. It was she who had been different. Needy. Emotional. Devastated when she’d found out he’d been sleeping with his own flavor-of-the-month. The fact that it had happened just as Natalie thought she was finding her real true love hadn’t helped matters any.

“What makes you think Canyon Springs is a pit stop and not my destination?” she said.

“Call it intuition.”

“The same kind of intuition that told me your Vegas dream girl was a figment of your imagination?”

He flashed her that smile, and her thighs actually went liquid for a moment. Damn, but he was potent. She could have done amazing things with that smile in her old line of work. The very idea of convincing Dylan Jackson to take a screen test had her suppressing a smile of her own.

“I have a fairly vivid imagination,” he assured her, his smile shifting to a cocky grin. “But I didn’t need to rely on that.”

Oh yeah, he’d have tested off the scale.

“Have plenty of experience with Vegas showgirls, do you?”

“I’ve seen one or two.”

“Personally…or professionally?”

He simply smiled.

Dear God. Liza pressed her thighs together. “So, is it the flashy car that pegged me as an outsider?”

“It’s not the flash of the car, but of the occupant.”

She laughed, not at all offended by his assessment. After all, he was right. He was also fun. And sharp. And eat-me-up sexy. Maybe she would hang around Canyon Springs. Just for a little while. And really, what harm could come of it? She was hardly going to break his heart. And her heart, despite recent bizarre activity, was certainly safe from a big-city-turned-small-town sheriff.

She may have decided that the superficiality of Hollywood had been slowly sucking her spirit dry, but wherever she landed, she was reasonably sure it would have more than two traffic lights. And at least one seriously upscale shopping mall.

“So, I’m flashy, am I?” She looked down at her capri pants and clingy silk T. “What’s glitzy about me?” She was wearing only a few bracelets and one pair of earrings. No belly chain, no toe rings. Even her hair was relatively tame. Shoot, she was a total Plain Jane today. If you didn’t count the shoes. But they were such sweet little heels, weren’t they?

She glanced up just as Dylan stepped closer, and actually felt a slight tremble when he lifted his hand. Man, she hadn’t reacted to a male this viscerally since…well, never. Probably it was the enforced celibacy magnifying her reaction.

But she doubted it.

He flicked a wayward curl from her cheek without actually touching her skin, then let his hand fall away before she could press her cheek into his palm. Not that she would have. Surely she would have resisted being that obvious. Surely.

“It’s not the clothes,” he said. “Some women just radiate flash.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, so now I’m ‘some women?’”

“Ah. I suppose you’re used to being singled out. Put on a pedestal. Worshipped. Is that it?”

She shrugged and tossed him her sauciest grin. “What can I say? Slavelike worship has always worked for me.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re definitely not run-of-the-mill.”

“Oh gee, my heart is all aflutter, Sheriff.”

Now he grinned. “I do my best.”

“So, if I’m nothing special, why are you standing on the street in downtown Canyon with a sweater hiding your smiley faces, stalling me from leaving?”

He took another small step forward. There was still plenty of space between them. To anyone passing by, it would look like a simple conversation between two adults. But she knew better. The air between them all but crackled. “Do you want me to keep you from leaving?”

“Maybe I just want you to admit that I’m special.”

He smiled. “Surely you’ve heard that enough times, from enough men, to believe it by now. Why would hearing it from me make any difference?”

She’d just been playing with him, not serious at all, but his question made her pause. It shouldn’t make any difference, anything he said to her. She didn’t even know him. But she did know what he wasn’t. He wasn’t a player. He wasn’t part of the machine, part of the hype, part of the world that never said anything, did anything, for anyone, without there being some angle, some hidden agenda. So, in that respect, it did make a difference hearing it from him.

A shame she’d just been teasing him. He didn’t know her, couldn’t possibly make an informed judgment on anything about her. “You’re right,” she said, feeling vaguely depressed by the admission, ridiculous as that was. “I guess it wouldn’t.”

He cocked his head. “Why are you in Canyon Springs, anyway?”

“I’m on my way home from a wedding.”

“Albuquerque? Santa Fe?”

She shook her head. “Wyoming.”

He laughed. “Sort of a circuitous route you’re taking back to California, isn’t it? Either that or you’re really lost.”

“You can’t get lost when you don’t have an itinerary.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it. But you do have a destination. Which is west of here, you know. West and a state or so away.”

“I’m aware of that. I don’t have to be back anytime soon.”

“No new job waiting?”

She shook her head. “I’m on an extended…sabbatical.”

“Must have been successful in your old job, to take an open-ended leave like that.”

“Yeah, well, success isn’t measured only in money,” she said, then smiled. “But it does make sabbatical-taking a whole lot easier.”

“Sort of like running away from home, but with an expense account, huh?”

“Is there any other way to run?” He really was an intriguing guy, she thought. Intuitive. Sexy as hell, good sense of humor, but with something a little dark and edgy on the fringes. Probably the part of Vegas he still carried inside him. A shiver of awareness raced over her skin as she wondered what he might have been like if she’d crossed paths with him when that darkness was still fresh. Visions of those authority-figure fantasies popped into her head again, complete with handcuffs, leather belts and—

And that was quite enough of that. She clasped her hands, surprised to find her palms a bit damp. “I guess I’ll be on my way, then.”

“I guess you will.”

Neither of them moved.

“Head west, go past one state and hang a right, huh?” she said, after the silence stretched until her thighs got twitchy again.

“Or you could keep heading south. Since you’re in no hurry.”

“True. I’m not sure I’m done running away yet. I’m sort of enjoying my little adventure.” Or I am now, she thought.

His eyes suddenly narrowed and his entire body language shifted even though he didn’t move a muscle. “You aren’t running from something, are you? Someone?”

Liza felt the hairs all over her body lift at that sudden shift in intensity, all focused so deliciously on her. “Just the old me.” She smiled when he only fractionally relaxed. “Although she does seem to be dogging my steps today.”

“Meaning?”

“Old habits die hard.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Rescuing men is a bad habit of yours?”

She laughed. “You could say that. Be thankful, though. My price used to be pretty steep.”

“Hey, I tried to buy you lunch.”

“No, you tried to buy your way out of lunch. There’s a difference.”

“You didn’t honestly expect me to go in there dressed like this?”

“Half the town has probably driven past by now and seen you dressed like that. And, frankly, you don’t strike me as the sort whose masculinity is threatened all that easily.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And typically, you’d be right. Anywhere except here. Hometowns have a way of making you feel you have to prove you’re a grownup.”

“And not the roughneck rascal you used to be?”

He laughed. “How’d you guess?”

She could tell him her body knew a bad boy when it was around one, but he was so many things she’d never been around, it wouldn’t have been entirely true. “So, why come back?”

“I was done being gone.”

“Interesting answer. Surely there are other places besides Vegas and your hometown that needed a sheriff.”

“I’m sure there are. I guess I needed to be someplace where I mattered on more than just a professional level. Good or bad, and there’s some of both, Canyon Springs is that place for me.”

Liza smiled. “So, is this a good day or a bad one?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“Ouch.”

“Well, you did wreak a bit of havoc that I’m going to have to clean up.”

“Guilty as charged.” She stuck her arms out, wrists close together. “Take me in, Officer.”

He surprised her by taking her wrists in one broad hand before she could drop them. His strength and speed shouldn’t have surprised her…or soaked her panties like that.

“Maybe I’ll do just that,” he said.

She lifted her gaze from that big hand restraining her, circling hers so easily, so completely…. She hated not being in control. Really hated it. So why she opened her mouth and said, “Maybe I’ll let you,” she had no idea.

Those caramel eyes of his heated up. “Do I need to lock you up right now?” He stroked a finger across the pulse thrumming in her wrist…and his lips curved in a knowing smile. “Or can I leave you on your own recognizance until I’m off work?”

“Depends,” she said, proud that she’d managed to get the word past her suddenly parched throat. “How long will I be left to my own devices?”

He grinned. “I’m thinking any amount of time is time enough for you to find trouble.”

Liza merely smiled.

“Can I trust you to leave well enough alone with the showgirl story?”

“I don’t know, that’s asking an awful lot. I’m a people person. So I’m bound to meet up with some, and you know how it is, you get to talking and all.” She tried hard to ignore the riot of sensations his gentle, but quite firm grip on her wrists was wreaking on her body. Christ, she’d have to be a saint to pull that off. And one thing she’d never be, no matter how long a sabbatical she took from the opposite sex, was a saint.

She shuddered just a tiny bit when he rubbed his thumb along the base of her palm. And she was pretty sure she was about to take a sabbatical from her sabbatical.

“To be—” She was forced to stop and clear her throat. She wondered if he had any idea how long it had been since a man confounded her like this. One look at the smile teasing that hard mouth of his and she figured he had plenty of ideas. Dear Lord have mercy. “To be on the safe side, why don’t you fill me in on what you’ve told the general population here. So I can keep my story straight, of course.”

“Of course.” He relaxed his hold, but rather than sliding his hands up her arms and pulling her closer, which he had to know she was ready for, he surprised her once again by sliding his fingers down along her hands instead, all the way down her fingers to the very tips…before finally dropping his hands away.

Way more effective. Way.

“Tell you what,” he said, his own voice just a fraction rougher. He fished in his pocket and came up with a set of keys. He slid one off and handed it to her.

Just full of surprises. She was off balance—badly enough that it rattled her a bit. This was so far outside the way these things typically worked for her that she reacted on instinct, meaning she used her mouth to put herself back on top. Figuratively speaking. “So, I’ve won the key to your heart already, have I?”

He didn’t even blink. “Not a chance. This one unlocks something far less dangerous.”

He was way too good at this. Almost as good as she was.

“It’s the key to my place.”

She laughed. “What kind of sheriff are you?”

“The kind that knows which is the safer bet. Trust me, there’s not too much damage you can do at my place.”

“Meaning you’d rather keep me tucked away, private, out of sight.”

“Out of earshot is more like it.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “So, do you make a habit of giving strange women the key to your house?”

“You would be the first. And you’re hardly strange.”

She grinned. “Well, that’s close enough to admitting I’m special to appease my inner princess.” She eyed him consideringly. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m in the habit of taking keys from strange men?”

He chuckled then. “Well, let’s just say—and I know you’ll take this the right way—I have a feeling you can handle yourself just fine with any man.”

She could have told him he wasn’t just any man, but she had little enough leverage as it was. “That may well be true. But I’d still be putting myself in a situation that would be hard to defend, if you chose to…overpower me.” Dear Lord, where had that come from? So much for that pesky little domination fantasy she’d never had.

He pushed another curl from her cheek, this time just lightly brushing her skin. “I’m pretty sure the one overpowered here is me.”

If he only knew, she thought, fighting the shudder of pleasure that threatened to ripple through her.

“But if you need further reassurance, I’d hardly do anything nefarious in my own hometown, where everyone’s business is, well, everyone’s business.”

“You are the law, though. If you want something done, doesn’t it get done?”

“You did stand under that tree an hour ago and watch me lose a battle with a bird, did you not?”

She laughed. “True. And your mother is a formidable woman.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“You’d be surprised. Sometime we’ll have to swap parent tales. I could raise your hair.” This is an afternoon fling, Liza, not This Is Your Life.

“I could make the obvious observation here, but that would be too easy.”

Easy. Sort of like some might think she was being at the moment. Only this didn’t feel remotely easy. Still…

“When I said I rescued men, just exactly what did you think my former occupation was, anyway?”

Now he laughed. “Trust me, that was the last thing on my mind.”

“So sure, are you?”

That dark edgy look was back in his eyes. “I worked vice in Vegas. I’m sure.”

She relaxed. A little. “Okay. So I’m just supposed to head over to your place and sit and wait for you.” She smiled. “I’m not sure whose fantasies we’re fulfilling here.”

“Is that what this is for you? A fantasy fulfillment of some kind?”

Oops. Oh well, in for a penny… “Didn’t start out that way.”

“But?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding horribly unimaginative, which, trust me, is so not like me—”

“That, I believe.”

“Says the guy who created the floozy girlfriend.”

“Showgirls work hard, they’re not floozies.”

“I won’t ask how you know that.”

He shrugged. “Your choice.”

She grinned. “So maybe I will ask. Later.”

“I suppose we both have some stories to tell. If that’s how you want to spend the evening.”

“Depends. What else did you have in mind?”

“Dinner. And—”

She raised a hand. “I might be willing to sit and wait, but I draw the line at cooking.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t recall us discussing more than this one dinner at the moment.”

“At the moment, huh? I’ll keep that in mind, too.”

“Oh, I doubt you forget much of anything.”

“You’d be right. You like grilled steak and a good red wine?”

“Add a tossed salad and we have a date.”

“Deal.”

“What else?”

“What else what? You want the dessert menu?”

She laughed. “I could make the obvious statement, but that would be way too easy. What I meant was, you started to say something else earlier. Dinner and what?” Something told her he hadn’t been going to say “hot sweaty monkey sex.” Although she might have been perfectly fine with that.

“Dinner. And an evening spent talking on the front porch, watching the sunset.”

“Sounds very nice. I guess we can discuss that dessert thing during our porch talk, hmm?”

He grinned and dangled the key. “I guess we can.”

She didn’t take the key, not right away.

“I’m offering to be part of your adventure,” he said, looking at her in such a direct way she couldn’t help but stare back. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Liza was used to being the one in charge, the one calling the shots, the one jacking up the atmosphere until the man in her sights was reduced to a quivering mass of need. Needs he believed—in that moment, anyway—only she could fulfill. She was never the one trying to sort out the dizzying swirl of emotions. Never the one reduced to taking what was offered.

Of course, once she got him alone, there was nothing to say she couldn’t be the one in charge, the one driving the course of the evening’s activities. He’d told her he was willing to be a participant in her adventures, hadn’t he?

So why, when he pressed the key into her palm, were her fingers the only ones trembling?

4

HE’D TOTALLY LOST his mind. Dylan drove his Range Rover past the lightning tree and slowed as he approached the road leading to his house. What in the hell had possessed him to give her the key?

He thought about the way she’d looked at him, like she’d wanted to inhale him. The light in her eyes that told him she knew just how she’d lap him up. Slowly, and with great relish. He went hard just thinking about it.

And knew exactly why he’d given her his key.

“Dinner and some sunset conversation, my ass,” he muttered. They both knew casual conversation was not her reason for taking that key. Which should have been an immediate turn-off to him. Of the fistful of reasons he’d come back to Canyon Springs, women figured prominently among them. Specifically, the type of woman he’d tended to run across in his previous line of work. Hard, cynical. Bored, lonely. He’d had too many of each, before realizing he saw himself in them.

But Liza wasn’t like that. “That’s just your hard-on talking,” he told himself, shifting in his seat. Although that was partially true, so was his initial take on her. For someone taking a break from life, she didn’t look used up or worn-out. Absolutely the opposite. Alive, hungry, ready. Those were words he’d use to describe her. He doubted she was casual about anything, even sunset conversation.

He wasn’t that blinded by those aquamarine eyes and candy-apple lips. He knew a player was a player, no matter the league. Okay, maybe he was a little blinded. But they had one thing in common that intrigued him enough not to care. They were both escapees. And they wanted each other.

He smiled and pressed down on the gas. So maybe this wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had. At the very least it would be an enjoyable mistake.

His home, a soaring A-frame with more glass than any sane man with an aversion to cleaning would ever put in a house, appeared on the horizon. He smiled. So what? He’d spent long nights staked out in cramped cars dreaming of this exact house. And now it was a reality. And all his.

He topped the last hill and something in him settled, as it always did, every time he saw it. It was nestled perfectly among the tall pines and jagged rocks. He’d had to blast out some of it to make an area large enough to build on, but no one could say the foundation wasn’t rock solid. The second-story deck afforded him a wide view of the rincón, or valley, below. A short walk to the other side of the mountain presented him with a spectacular view of the canyons where the springs originated.

He enjoyed sitting out on the deck with a cold beer, watching the sun go down as the few winking lights in downtown Canyon Springs flickered on, the endless sky full of stars overhead, the moonrise.

He kept thinking this feeling would wear off, that he’d get that same itch that had driven him from this town the day after he’d graduated from high school. But he’d been back a little over two years now. It had been eight months since he’d hammered the last nail on this place. And he still felt that sense of homecoming every time.

They said you can’t go home again. But he was coming to believe that you couldn’t really appreciate what home was until you’d left it for awhile. For all the annoyances that went with living in a place where everyone knew you, the sense of security, the steady pace of life, soothed the part of him left jagged and raw by his years in Vegas. That more than made up for the occasional bird rescue or irritating comments from the hometown hero–turned–fire marshal.

The sudden bleat of his cell phone jarred him from his thoughts. He thought about ignoring it, his body humming as he spied Liza’s shiny little roadster parked in the drive. He reached over to punch the phone off, but stopped when he saw the number on the digital display. His gut tightened in that familiar way he’d hoped to never feel again. He pressed the Answer button. “How did you get this number?”

The deep voice on the other end chuckled. “Come on, D.J., I worked vice, same as you. If I want to find a number, it gets found.”

“What part of ‘I’m not interested’ didn’t Hannigan understand this morning?”

“You know the captain doesn’t listen to what he doesn’t want to hear.”

Dylan let the truck drift to a stop, still a hundred or so yards away from the house. “And all you’re going to hear is a bunch of silence when I hang up on you.”

He felt the amusement leave his former squad member’s voice even before he spoke. “You’re the only one she trusted, D.J. She’s ready to talk, but she’ll only talk to you.”

“I heard all this from Hannigan. She knows I’m not on the force anymore.”

“That doesn’t seem to matter. We’ve been trying to nail Dugan for—”

“I know exactly how long.” The old bite was back in his voice. Dylan didn’t appreciate being forced to use it. “It was my case, remember?” His stomach pitched and the acid burned his gut. One phone call and it was like he’d never left Vegas.

“Yeah, we all remember.”

Dylan started to tell him where to get off, then bit back the words and sighed. “Quin, I’m out of that game. I’m not coming back.”

“No one is asking you to come back. We just want you to conduct this one interview.”

“To conduct an interview,” he pointed out, “I’d have to come back.”

There was a pause. “Not if we brought her to you.”

Dylan went still, then his grip tightened on the phone. “Not a chance. I’m hanging up now.”

“D.J., wait!” There was just enough desperation in Quin’s voice for Dylan to keep his finger hovering over the End button without pushing it. Dylan could be gone for a hundred years and still never forget what it was like to be consumed by that sense of desperation, on the heels of which was always the realization that you’d devoted your whole life to bringing down scum like Armand Dugan. So if you failed…it meant your whole life was a failure.

“Dugan lost interest in you at exactly the same time you lost interest in him,” Quin was saying. “He’s been way too busy covering his tracks from the rest of us to worry about what your sorry ass has been up to. He also has no idea that we finally got Pearl to turn.”

“How did you get her to turn?” Dylan swore under his breath when Quin said nothing. “It’s a simple question. I worked on her for months. Never met a tougher broad than Dugan’s ex-flame.”

“Let’s just say a woman scorned is a woman to watch the hell out for.”

“He scorned her years ago and she accepted his sorry behavior as her due. So why turn on him now?”

“You asking because you’re interested in helping out?”

“I’m asking because you’re wasting my time with all this, so you might as well tell me the details.”

There was another pause while Quin weighed what little leverage he thought he had. Dylan wished there were none at all, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least interested in what had transpired on this particular case since he’d left Vegas. It wasn’t the only one still open when he’d left, far from it, but it was one he’d poured a considerable amount of personal time and energy into. It was only human to be curious about how it was going, right?

He wasn’t going back. But he might be able to help them out. “If I know why she turned, I might be able to tell you how to get a confession out of her without dragging me into this.”

Quin sighed. “I’ll take whatever help I can get.”

“And owe me for it.”

He laughed, but there wasn’t as much humor in it. “Yeah, add it to my tab. Okay, here’s the deal—”

“You sure you want to discuss this on the cell?”

“You aren’t exactly giving me many other options here.”

Dylan looked up at his house. His haven. A haven where a gorgeous and hopefully willing woman was waiting for him. He was not taking this into his house, for a lot of reasons. “If you think we’re clear, go ahead.”

“I’m as reasonably certain of it as I can be, or I wouldn’t have said as much as I already have.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Sorry. I have an appointment here, so give already.”

“What, with the Rotary Club or something? What could possibly be going on in that one-horse town of yours at this hour?”

“We don’t have horses. We actually drive cars now. And I didn’t say it was a business meeting.”

Quin hooted. “Some things never change, do they?”

“You’d be surprised,” Dylan muttered. “So, why did Pearl decide to turn on her one and only true love?” Out of several Vegas casinos, Dugan ran an underground operation they’d been trying to break open and shut down for years. Despite his mob connections, Dugan played the role of family man. His extended family of aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews all benefited generously from not only his money—the part he kept clean—but also from his time and affection.

Five years earlier, word had leaked out that Dugan, who was forty-five at the time, had begun to despair of ever starting a family of his own. Family was sacrosanct to him, but he’d yet to meet the right woman who would help him continue his little dynasty. In the meantime, he’d run into Pearl Halliday, showgirl-turned-stripper. Definitely not the woman to bear his children, but Dugan hadn’t minded getting her to bear his attentions for a while. What he hadn’t counted on was falling in love with her.

Hopelessly in love. So much so that he’d tried to turn her into the proper woman his family would respect. He set her up with her own dance studio, as a proprietor and instructor. He lavished her with nice things, hired tutors to put some polish on her brass, basically did his best to turn his pearl into a diamond.

Only Pearl was simply Pearl. She wanted Dugan’s love, not his things, not his Pygmalion-Svengali attempts to turn her into something she was not. She just wanted her Duggie, the man she’d made breathless with the sheer magnetic force of her attentions. So she made the fatal mistake of giving Armand Dugan an ultimatum: love me for me, or find someone else.

It had taken Dugan less than a week to find that someone else. A quiet young woman of good breeding—and obvious bad taste, if you asked Dylan, for falling for a slimeball like Dugan. It wasn’t a love match, but Dugan had come to realize that passion distorted things, took away his ability to control. Elaine Bartoloni would be the perfect, malleable kind of wife he should have been looking for all along. He occasionally wished he could have had it all, but he wasn’t stupid. So he took what was best. He graciously left Pearl the title to the dance school and the apartment that sat over it—what had once been their little love nest—and walked away.

Pearl should have hated him for that. Instead she was grateful for the chance to live quietly, out of the spotlight. She was pushing fifty now, but life had aged her beyond her years. Makeup, no matter how pricey, covered only so much. She was too old—in more than calendar years—to dance in the casino shows, and too aware of what real love felt like to take her clothes off again for leering, jeering drunks.

So she’d kept her school, made a life for herself and kept her mouth shut when it came to Armand Dugan. She wouldn’t be used as the instrument for the downfall of the only man she’d ever loved. He wasn’t to be blamed for the pressure his family had put on him. He was an important man. She was lucky to have had him for the time she did. She’d supposed she’d known all along she’d never be good enough for him. Giving him an ultimatum had just brought to an end what would have ended anyway.

“So why, after years of living quietly, has she finally decided to turn on him?” Dylan asked.

“That’s just it, she won’t say. She came to us three days ago, asking after you.”

“You didn’t tell her—”

“Please, no matter how much we hated you walking on us, we’d never do that to you.”

“Don’t expect an apology. There was never going to be a good time. So I did it on my timetable.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Who knows, someday I might retire down there myself, if for no other reason than to drive you to an early retirement.”

“I’m real amused here.”

“Let us bring her down to you, you get the information we need to bring him in and get a conviction, then we’ll disappear back into the night and leave you to your sweet little six-thirty appointments.”

“Until the next time you need my help.”

Quin laughed. “You weren’t that hot a shot, D.J. Just this one favor, then we won’t come knocking again.”

The problem was, he had been that hot a shot. And they both knew it. They also both knew that one turn as a “consultant” would put him on their list. They’d come knocking whenever they needed to, with whatever excuse they saw fit to use to get what they wanted. “Liar.”

Quin said nothing. “You going to help us or what?”

Dylan already knew it wasn’t as simple as saying no. If so, it would have worked when he’d done just that to Hannigan this morning. “I say no and you’ll just show up in my office with Pearl in tow. So why didn’t you just do that in the first place?”

“Professional courtesy?”

“That’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one, especially out of our department.”

Quin didn’t rise to the bait. Probably because he knew it was true. Dylan was thankful enough that he had called first not to push it any further.

“Are you sure she knows anything? I mean, it’s been years since she’s been in the loop with Dugan. If she really knew anything important, he’s had plenty of time now to cover it up. Otherwise he’d have never left her to her own devices in the first place.”

“Maybe he knows she’ll be loyal because she still loves him. Maybe he was stupid enough about her to trust her that way. You know we all think with our dicks half the time. Why not Dugan?”

“I don’t know, Quin. It just doesn’t sound all that solid to me. Did she give you any specifics of what she was going to spill?”

“No. But we have to pursue it, D.J. We don’t have that many options with Dugan these days. So how does this Wednesday sound to you?”

That was only two days away. But it was probably best to get it over and done with. Dylan sighed and massaged his temple. Maybe he’d been wrong after all. You could go home again, but all the baggage you’d collected along the way came home with you.

“We’ll come to your place. Keep this quiet and out of the local papers.”

“No, not at the house.” If he’d had the time, Dylan would have simply caved and gone to Vegas, done the interview and put it behind him. But with the festival coming up and all the attendant council meetings, there was no way he could be gone without making explanations he’d rather not make. He blew out a long breath and decided sleeping with Liza was moving way down on the list of possible worst mistakes.

“You pick the place, then.”

Setting up secret meetings with ex-mob girlfriends wasn’t exactly high priority these days, so he had to think about it for a moment. “Mims Motel. We keep this private.” It was small, but nice enough, and more importantly, tucked away on the outskirts of town. “Reserve the room, an end unit, under the name Liza…” Damn, he didn’t know her last name. “Smith.” Lame, but he was thinking on the run here, and rusty at it.

“Hey, Boss, you trying to get the department to pay for your little shack-up?”

His jaw tensed. “You want my help?”

“Liza Smith it is,” Quin said instantly, but not without a little amusement. “See you Wednesday, Boss.”

“Yeah, great,” Dylan muttered, but Quin had already hung up. Dylan tossed the phone on the passenger seat and scrubbed his hand over his face, then around the back of his neck. He wondered what his chances were of getting Liza to hang around Canyon Springs for another forty-eight hours.

He was certain his mother had mainlined the information about his supposed showgirl’s arrival directly into the artery of the very active ladies auxiliary. The entire town was buzzing as he sat here. So, it would cause barely a ripple if he were to visit said girlfriend at a local motel. And there was the added bonus of gaining what little approval he could get from his mother over not allowing Liza to stay at his house. Why a thirty-two-year-old man gave a damn about that was simply too pathetic to contemplate.

Of course, Avis might be so thankful over his proved heterosexuality that she wouldn’t care if he and Liza swung naked from the trees smack in the middle of town.

He shook his head at the image and climbed his truck the rest of the way up the steep drive.

She was waiting for him on the deck.

“I thought you were having second thoughts,” she said, leaning over the railing. “And third and fourth ones.”

He closed the truck door and climbed the spiral stairs to the second-story deck. “What do you mean?”

She turned to face him, but stayed by the railing. “Well, you sat down there at the bottom of the hill for so long, I began to wonder.”

“Oh. Phone call. Sorry.”

“Ah.” She gestured behind her. “You have quite the view from up here.”

“You improve it greatly.”

She smiled at him. “Smooth, very smooth.”

He shrugged and the whole problem with Quin and the upcoming interview slid to the background. Maybe he should arrange to come home to a beautiful woman more often.

“I try.” Rather than move closer, which was what he wanted to do, and likely what she expected him to do, he leaned against the side door that led into the living area. The entire front wall of the house was sectioned glass. His bedroom was in the loft at the upper rear of the house and had a small balcony off the back. He wondered if she’d been up there yet and absently hoped he hadn’t left too many stray socks lying around. “Can I get you a beer or something? Or have you helped yourself?”

“Actually, I haven’t been inside.” She dangled the key. “I came up here and got cozy with the view instead.”

“You could have at least gotten yourself something to drink.” He’d assumed she’d make herself right at home. Maybe she enjoyed doing the unexpected, as well. Should make for an interesting evening.

She lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t come directly up to the house.” She grinned. “Now don’t go frowning like that. I didn’t talk to anyone. At least not anyone immediately related to you.”

“In this town blood isn’t necessarily thicker than water.”

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