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

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About the Author

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

Nice & Naughty
Tawny Weber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suspect?”

“Date.”

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

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

Diego’s grin slipped a notch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Immediately.”

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

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

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

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

The chill in the room turned antsy, nervous.

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

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

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

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

“Sandoval, in my office. Now.”

The command was quiet. Intense. And seriously pissed.

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

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

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

“On my way, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the difference is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diego tensed.

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

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

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

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

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

“But?” There was always a but.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going on special assignment.”

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

“What assignment, sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

“My specialty is vice, not burglary.”

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

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

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

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

“I have no choice at all?”

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

A silly question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jade grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which was probably the part Jade was most jealous of.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not? It’d be fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I mean.”

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

“But …?”

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

“You’re not still holding on to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think it’s all about?”

“It’s a nuisance.” Jade shrugged.

“That’s it? A nuisance? Don’t you worry, living alone like you do? How do you know your panties are safe?”

“Oh, please,” Jade dismissed with a laugh. “Just a few minutes ago you were trying to get some guy into my panties.”

“Don’t joke, Jade. This might not seem like a big deal now, but you don’t know what could happen. Someone this unstable could easily shift from stealing when people aren’t home to sneaking in when they are. From taking panties from the dresser to tearing them right off women.”

Jade wrinkled her nose. It was hard to be scared of something that screamed prank.

“I think you’re reaching a little.”

Ruby got that stubborn look on her face. The one that said she’d made up her mind and wouldn’t let it go until she’d made up everyone else’s, too.

“I hear that Mayor Applebaum is bringing in a detective to solve the case,” Ruby added, her tone triumphant. As if that proved her right for worrying.

“A cop? For this?” Jade laughed. “And not for the pumpkin-smashing spree from a few months ago? Or the spate of dirty phone calls everyone was getting last summer? I mean, talk about sexual harassment.”

“Or Persephone’s holiday-property destruction binges?” Beryl said as she returned with another green bin.

“Hey, now,” Jade chided with a laugh. “Leave my cat out of this.”

“Well, you have to admit, she is a nuisance,” Beryl pointed out, setting the bin on the floor by the others.

“But she only breaks into holiday displays and drags decorations around town,” Ruby defended tightly, clearly upset that her sisters—who, unlike her, still lived in this town—weren’t taking the situation seriously. “The pumpkins were tossed by kids on a dare. And those dirty phone calls, didn’t someone trace them to an out-of-town number?”

“And this is someone with a panty fetish,” Beryl said, laying out the cookie press and accessories. “No big deal. It’s not like he’s keeping them and doing pervy things.”

“That we know of,” Ruby snapped.

Beryl’s chin lifted, her posture echoing Ruby’s angry one. Time to change the subject.

“Let’s switch jobs for a while,” Jade suggested to Beryl, waving her hand toward the table full of deliciously tempting edible decorations. “I’ll press spritz cookies, you dress Santa.”

“You sure?” Beryl said with a frown as she glanced from the cookie disks she’d spread across the counter to the decorations. “You’re usually so territorial about making the cookies look just right.”

“Yep, I’m sure.” She glanced at Ruby, then asked, “We have two weeks until the open house. What else do you want to make today besides cookies?”

While her sisters debated fudge or pumpkin rolls, she filled the press. She needed the distraction. Not because she was worried about a creep with a panty fetish. But all this talk about panties, dating and sexual droughts was making her crazy.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d start eating to numb the sexual frustration. She’d done that after Eric had left, putting on twenty pounds as she tried to deal with the emotional blow. For a girl who topped out at five-four, that’d been a quick wake-up call in how fast things could get out of control if she wasn’t careful.

Still, it was a better option than finding herself a real Horny-for-Hire.

As Jade pressed out the first dozen starshaped cookies, she pretended they were flying across the sky and made a Christmas wish.

Please, let a sexy, gorgeous man sweep into her life just long enough to fulfill her every sexual fantasy. Give her enough good loving to last until she’d sorted out the rest of her life, then scootch on out without any hard feelings, leaving things simple and complication free.

And if she couldn’t have the latter two parts of the wish, she’d settle on having a few of those sexual fantasies come true.

After all, she’d been a really good girl.

Wasn’t it time she had a chance to be a little bad?

3

HER MIND FILLED with images of sexy guys all wrapped in bright red ribbons and nothing else, Jade strolled past the twinkling lights and animated Santa’s workshop scene in Diablo Glen’s version of winter wonderland, better known the rest of the year as Readers Park. One of the few perks of living in a small town was being able to walk everywhere. The library was only two blocks from her cottage, her mother’s house a block to the east and the shopping district—if a dozen buildings could be considered a district—a block to the west.

The houses surrounding the park were dressed in their Christmas best, trees sparkling with festive decorations and eves strung with lights. Nobody did the holidays like people in a tight community.

But tonight, the quaint appeal and homespun warmth couldn’t keep her attention. Jade couldn’t get her sister’s words out of her head. Was she only paying lip service to being empowered? Eighteen months was a really long time to go without sex. Well, it was if it was good sex. Maybe that was the problem. All the sex she’d had was pretty much mediocre. She scrunched her nose, remembering her ex-fiancé’s fumbling fiver, as she’d nicknamed his lovemaking style.

She was only twenty-five. Too young to accept a sexless life. Not that she’d admit it to anyone—especially since it’d put a major dent in her tough, empowered image—but she wanted the kind of sex she read in those books so hot their covers were a blazing red. Just once, she wanted to experience that headlong rush of desire. To be overcome by passion. To need someone so badly, she could forget everything.

But unless star cookies had the power to make Christmas wishes come true, all that passion was going to stay between the pages of a book.

A little dejected and a lot frustrated, she crossed the street that ran between the park and her cottage. Left to her by her paternal grandmother, it was cozy, comfortable and cute. She’d just opened the latch on the white picket fence when a blur of black fur shot across her feet.

Yelping, Jade jumped back. Her book bag hit the ground, paperbacks sliding across the sidewalk like a colorful rainbow. Heart racing, she pressed her hand to her chest and tried to catch a breath.

“Persephone?” Jade’s confused gaze slid from the now-smug cat pushing her way into the book bag to the front door of the cottage. It was closed tight. Glancing right, then left at the multipaned windows, she noted the sheers were still, indicating the windows were closed, too.

“How’d you get out?”

Thanks to her habit of viewing the neighbors’ holiday decorations as enemies to be destroyed, Persephone was forced to be an indoor cat in December. Last week she’d escaped when Jade was hauling out the trash. Ten minutes later she’d found the cat batting foam presents at the tin soldiers on Mr. Turner’s front lawn.

Kneeling to scoop books back into the cat-filled bag, Jade took a second to scratch Persephone’s purring head. Brow furrowed, she craned her neck to get a glimpse of the side of the house. There, from her open bedroom window, fluttered a sheer white curtain.

“Uh-oh.”

Her heart pounded so loud that her head throbbed with every beat. Forgetting the bag, the cat and books, Jade reached for her purse instead. Straightening slowly, she sucked in a shaky breath, telling herself there was nothing to be scared of. Yes, the town had experienced a rash of break-ins. But they were petty thefts. Not assaults. Despite Ruby’s paranoia, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Still, she’d watched too many horror movies to be stupid enough to walk in there alone. With fingers that were only trembling a little bit, she fished her phone out of her purse.

It took her three tries to dial the mayor’s office. It took the phone seven rings to go to voice mail.

“This is Jade Carson, and I think I’ve had a break-in. Can someone call me right back, please.”

Applebaum was a hands-on kind of mayor, proud of always being available to the townspeople. His voice mail would forward to both his and his secretary’s cell phones. Sure she’d hear back within five minutes, Jade took a deep breath and debated. She couldn’t go inside. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t look around. Sweeping the books into her bag, she set it on the porch steps, but kept her purse—and cell phone—with her.

Careful not to step in the flower beds, she leaned forward to press her face to the living room window. Everything looked normal. Nothing to worry about, she assured herself as she continued around the side of the cottage. Her fingers curled around the windowpane, she shifted to the tiptoes of her four-inch-high boots. Squinting through the dusk-shadowed sheers, she peered into her bedroom.

And wanted to cry.

“Holy shit.”

Jade would be the first to admit that she had a lingerie addiction. But seeing every piece she owned thrown around the room, tossed over the bed, dresser, floor and even the curtain rods, she wondered if she should look for a 12-step program.

Just as she was imagining herself standing in front of a bunch of strangers declaring her name Jade and confessing her love of tiny pieces of silk and lace, her phone rang.

“H’lo,” she answered morosely.

“Jade, dear, this is Mrs. Clancy,” greeted the mayor’s secretary. “Are you okay? You think someone broke into your home?”

“Either that, or the Victoria’s Secret Fairy had a tantrum in my bedroom.”

“Oh, dear. The Panty Thief got you, too. Poor thing. You didn’t go into the house, did you? You’re not supposed to.”

“No, ma’am. I’m looking through my bedroom window.”

“Good, good. Mr. Applebaum is meeting that detective the sheriff sent. He’s due anytime now. Not that I have much faith that he’s any good. I overheard the mayor talking to the person in the county office. It sounded like the detective has some issues. And to be sent out here, on a case like this? Clearly that means he’s bad at his job, right?”

Such a comforting thing to say to the most recent victim of the crime that the said detective had been sent to solve.

“Mrs. Clancy,” Jade interrupted, leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the windowsill. She closed her eyes, but couldn’t block out the image of her ransacked room.

“Did you hear they found another pair of underpants this evening? Sheer, red with little pink roses sewn around the sides. Imagine that, sheer undies. I’ll bet they were ordered from one of those catalogs. Not sure who they belong to, since the news hasn’t traveled much yet. But someone will step forward, I’m sure. Panties like those didn’t come cheap.”

“Mrs. Clancy—”

“Not to worry, though. With a detective on the job, even if he’s not a good one, I’ll bet this is solved before your undies are left out in public somewhere. He should be here soon, too. I was making up a plate of cookies to take over. I imagine the young man is hungry after his long drive. And as he’ll be staying at Mary Beck’s bed-and-breakfast, you know he’s not going to find anything good to eat there.”

“Mrs. Clancy,” Jade interrupted, louder this time. She blinked hard to clear the frustrated tears from her eyes, but couldn’t push the feeling of angry embarrassment away as easily. “Please. Can you let the mayor know about my break-in now? It’s getting chilly out, and Persephone is on the loose.”

There was a loud gasp, then the sound of cookies tumbling and crumbling onto a plate. “There we go. Sugar cookies are just as good in pieces. I’ll run this over right now, and the mayor will be there within ten minutes. You go catch that cat, Jade. If she gets into Carl’s train one more time, he’s going to be furious.”

“Only if she eats the head off his teddy-bear ballerina again,” Jade muttered to the dead phone. A new layer of nerves danced through her tummy. Thanks to some creep, her favorite pink silk thong was dangling off her vanity mirror. And now a strange, possibly incompetent cop was going to paw through her stuff.

And her cat, the scourge of Christmas decorations everywhere, was on the loose.

With a grimace and one more pained glance through the window, Jade turned, calling, “Persephone?”

So frustrated she was ready to cry, Jade made her way to her postage-stamp-size front porch, still calling for her pet. Usually the cat responded instantly. But Persephone wasn’t stupid. She knew the minute she got within grabbing distance, Jade would lock her in the house.

Then she saw her across the street. Right on top of Carl’s six-foot inflatable Santa snow globe. Jade squinted, then moaned. Yep. That was a teddy-bear head dangling from the black furry mouth.

DOUBLE-CHECKING the address, Diego parked his Harley in front of a two-story house that looked as if it’d been puked on by Christmas. Santa waved from a sleigh on the roof, danced with an elf on the lawn and flashed in lights, Vegas style, from the front porch.

This was the mayor’s house? Why couldn’t they have met at his office? This was so … small-town. Diego sighed. He wrenched his helmet off and scanned the view with a grimace. A tree glittered holiday cheer from the front bay window, and a beribboned pail of candy canes hung off the mailbox, inviting people to share one.

But it wasn’t the effusive ode to holiday cheer that had him massaging his temple.

It was the man, probably in his sixties, romping around on the lawn while three kids clung to his back as if he was a bucking bronco. Or—Diego squinted at the brown sticks tied to the guy’s head—maybe a flying reindeer?

Kinnison really knew how to twist the knife, shipping Diego off to a modern-day Mayberry. Small towns were worse than a gang-run ghetto when it came to trying to solve a crime. The residents banded together like glue, protecting their own. And while the ghettos had drugs, guns and prostitution, small towns had closed minds, uptight attitudes and suspicion of outsiders. And mayors who saw their citizens as beloved children to be protected.

It took all Diego’s resolve to swing his leg over the bike and step onto the sidewalk. His tension didn’t shift any when the older guy pulled out a friendly smile instead of a gun.

“Well, hello, there,” the man said from his prone position, looking none the worse for wear as a fourth kid came barreling around the corner to latch onto the guy’s neck like a demented squirrel monkey. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mayor Applebaum.”

“That’d be me.”

Of course it would. Diego didn’t bother to sigh.

“Sir, I’m Detective Sandoval with the Central California Sheriff’s Department.”

“Ah.” The mayor nodded, then with a few tickles, a hug or two and a direction to head on home for cookies, he dispersed the children and got to his feet. He watched them scurry over his lawn and up the steps of the house next door before giving Diego his full attention.

As long and lanky as he was graying, the man towered over Diego’s own six feet. Brushing grass off his ancient corduroys, he came forward and offered his hand.

“Welcome to Diablo Glen.” He gestured toward the matching detached garage next to the house, just as nauseatingly decorated as the house. “My office is in the town hall, of course, but I seem to get more work done here at home. Less interruptions, I suppose. Come in, we’ll talk.”

On edge, Diego followed.

“Kinnison sent you, then?” the mayor asked, opening the unlocked door. Following him in, Diego felt his shoulders relax for the first time since he’d got his new orders that afternoon.

Despite once being a garage, and the outside decor, this place was all business. The desk might be polished oak and the law books on the shelves leather, but it wasn’t intimidating. Diego grinned at the life-size oil painting of the Three Stooges as he took the seat the older man indicated.

“Nice office,” he said. This wasn’t going to be so bad, he decided. He hadn’t been looking forward to dealing with another micromanaging tightass like Kinnison, but this old guy seemed pretty chill.

Eyes twinkling, the mayor nodded his thanks as he took his own seat behind the large desk. As if just realizing he had it on, he pulled the reindeer-antler hat off and tossed it on the desk.

“I didn’t get word who Kinnison was sending until an hour ago, which means all I have to go on is his assessment and a cursory check of your record.” Before Diego could do more than frown, the mayor continued. “Kinnison would see a case like ours as an irritant. So I figure this goes one of two ways. Either you have a lot of potential, but somehow got on his bad side so he sent you here as a warning. Or you’re too good to fire, but you regularly piss him off and he’s trying to break you.”

“You know the captain pretty well?” Diego sidestepped.

“We’ve served on a few of the same boards.”

It didn’t take years as a detective to read his tone and realize the mayor wasn’t a fan of the new captain. Score one for the old guy’s good taste.

All traces of teddy bear gone now, Applebaum tapped a finger on the stack of files on the corner of his desk. “Punishment, lesson or hand slap aside, I don’t care that this sounds like a joke of a case. I expect it to be handled with tact, delicacy and a tenacious resolve for justice.”

Kinnison’s threats echoing through Diego’s mind, he debated for all of three seconds. Then, unable to do otherwise, he opted for the truth. “I can only guarantee one of the three, sir. I’ve got the highest close rate in the county. I’m a damn good cop.”

“But?”

“But I failed the course in tact, and have no idea what delicacy is when it comes to solving crimes.”

“Then we might have a problem. This case involves a number of women, all embarrassed over the violation of their privacy. You’re a stranger, a man, and a good-looking one at that. To solve this case, you’re going to have to get them to talk to you about their unmentionables.”

Diego grimaced.

Kinnison was probably laughing his ass off.

“I’ll work on the tact, sir.”

Applebaum’s bushy brows rose, but he didn’t mention delicacy again. He gave Diego a long, searching look. The same kind his uncle had always wielded, the kind that poked into the corners of a guy’s soul. Uncle Leon had always come up disgusted after his searches.

Diego wondered how he’d convince Kinnison that being kicked to the curb before he even started the case wasn’t the same as failing to solve it.

Before he could figure anything out, though, the mayor reached across his rosewood desk and lifted a thick file. Frowning, Diego took it without looking. His eyes were locked on the older man instead. What? No lecture? No warning about not causing trouble in his town?

“Well, then, let’s see what you can do. Here are my files. They’re probably a great deal more detailed than the ones you’ve seen. You go ahead and look through these, then we’ll get to work.”

We? Diego shifted. He didn’t do partners. Especially not ones who saw the townspeople as friends instead of potential suspects. Still, the sooner he started, the sooner he could get the hell out of here. Small towns made Diego claustrophobic. Punishment cases just pissed him off. Not a good long-term combination.

“I’m ready to get to work, but I have a request first.”

“You need a dictionary to look up the word delicate?”

Diego smirked. It was hard not to like a guy who’d honed his smart-ass mouth to such a sharp edge. “I realize this is your town, and your focus is on protecting your citizens. But I’d like permission to handle the case my way.”

Eyes narrowed, Applebaum leaned back in his chair and studied Diego over steepled fingers. “Your way. Which means what, exactly?”

“I’ll follow procedure, stick with the rules and regulations.” Even if it choked him. “But I prefer to work a case alone. It’s easier to form an unbiased opinion, to dig for and sift through information solo. I’m not asking you to stay completely out of it or to give me free rein. It’d just be easier if the victims, the townspeople, see me as the lead on the case.”

“You don’t want me breathing over your shoulder while you grill one of the ladies of my town about her underwear?”

Diego hesitated. Nothing said he had to let Applebaum ride shotgun. But edging him out could be seen as smudging that line the captain was crazy about.

Diego shoved a hand through his hair, noting that he’d forgotten Kinnison’s order to get it cut.

Before he could address the tact Applebaum had mentioned, the door flew open. Surprised, both men watched a plump woman in a red Rudolph sweater hurry in, a plate in one hand and a sticky note in the other.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt. I brought cookies, but they’re a little, well …” She set the red-and-white-striped plate on the desk so fast, at least a cookie’s worth of crumbs hit the floor. Ignoring them, the woman hurried around the desk to hand the mayor the sticky note. Since she looked like the kind who chased crumbs like they were minions of the devil, Diego figured that note was damn important.

The frown on Applebaum’s face confirmed it.

“Thank you, Clara,” he said. Brow furrowed, he gestured to Diego. “Clara, this is Detective Sandoval. Detective, my secretary, Clara Clancy.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise,” she said with a quick smile before poking her finger at the note again. “You should go now. Jade can’t enter her house until you get there, and Persephone’s out.”

The mayor rose quickly. He grabbed a couple of cookie pieces off the plate and gestured Diego toward the door. “You can read the files this evening. For now, we have another theft.”

“Sir?” He did a quick replay of the conversation. “What’s the significance of this burglary? Who is in danger?”

As he always did before approaching a volatile crime scene, Diego did an automatic weapon check. Surprised at how quick the older man moved, Diego lengthened his stride.

“Jade Carson is our librarian,” the mayor said, hurrying around the back of the garage-slash-office. Diego was just about to point out that he preferred to use his own transportation and that his GPS was perfectly capable of finding the address.

Then they reached the carport and his mouth was too busy drooling to get the words out.

“Climb in,” the older man said, sliding into the driver’s side of the cherry-red ‘66 Corvette. “And buckle up.”

Diego didn’t see it as capitulation to follow orders. It was more like expedience. And—he breathed deep the smell of rich leather—appreciation.

“Sir, is there a reason why the current victim being the librarian necessitates the rush?” Noting the sheepish look on the mayor’s face, why did he feel as if he was getting the runaround? In fine style, he acknowledged as the powerful roar of the engine kicked to life. But style or not, he didn’t go into a scene blind. It wasn’t a violent crime, the victim hadn’t entered the premises. So what was going on?

“We’re hurrying because, well, because of something that has nothing to do with the crime but a lot to do with keeping the peace.” Applebaum’s words were as tight and controlled as his hands on the steering wheel.

Diego sighed. Adrenaline, so high and intense a second ago, started dissipating. “Is this one of those small-town things?”

Applebaum gave him a look that was part warning, part amusement. “Jade’s cat got out. That’s how she knew someone had been in her house. The cat is likely causing trouble, so while you investigate, I’ll be rounding it up, assessing the damage and pacifying the neighbors.”

Applebaum parked the car, then gestured to the cozy-looking cottage. Slate-gray with soft pink trim, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Diego’s gaze scanned the neighboring houses. A crowd had gathered across the street in front of one lit so bright, it dimmed the stars. Squinting, he could make out a pair of feet dangling from the roof. Part of the decorations?

“This is it,” Applebaum stated. “You go on in, do your job. I’ll send Jade in after a few minutes.”

Diego’s eyes followed when the mayor gestured to the crowd. Only one looked to be a woman. Older, plump and wrapped in a bright pink tracksuit. The librarian?

“I’d solve this as soon as possible, Detective,” the mayor said as they both exited the car. Frowning, he glanced at the crowd again. “People deserve to enjoy their holiday without this kind of thing hanging overhead.”

“I’ll do my best, sir. I’m hoping to have the case resolved before the weekend, and leave you and the town to your holiday celebrations in peace.”

Diego glanced at the crowd again and shook his head. Yep, the sooner he got himself back to the safe anonymity of a city, the sooner he could celebrate the holidays the way he always did—by ignoring them.

4

CROUCHED ON CARL’S SHINGLED ROOF, the heels of her favorite boots digging into her butt, Jade shoved a frustrated hand through her hair, pushing it from a sassy tousle to a freaked-out mess. Fitting. After all, she was on a damn roof.

“Mayor Applebaum,” she said to the man at the top of the ladder, trying to sound grateful instead of hysterical. “I appreciate your help, but I don’t think you should be climbing on a roof to get my cat. Persephone is my responsibility.”

And the mayor was pushing sixty. If one of them was going to fall two stories and land on Carl’s nativity scene with a splat, it should be her. Younger bones healed faster.

“You didn’t let her out, Jade. A burglar did, so nobody is going to blame you for her escape.” When Jade snorted, the mayor sighed. “I’ll deal with Carl. You go deal with the unfortunate reason the cat’s AWOL.”

Jade eyed the furious mountain of a man pacing the lawn below, his beefy arms waving in the air. In one hand was a headless, tutu-wearing teddy bear. In the other, a very large, very flat sheet of plastic that had once been a blow-up globe. Which was worse? Facing the devastation of her bedroom, or facing the fury that was Carl?

She glanced at the top of the roof where her bratty cat perched, a teddy-bear head still dangling from the black furry mouth. Maybe she’d just wait here for a while.

“Come on,” the mayor ordered. “Detective Sandoval is already on the scene.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Nope. The detective would like to run this on his own. I’ll lure Persephone in with Clara’s sugar cookies. Then after I’ve pacified Carl, I’ll bring the cat and see how our fine detective is holding up.”

She followed him down the ladder, grateful when he planted himself between her and the still-shouting Carl. Avoiding her neighbor’s eyes, she gave a guilty wave and scampered across the street. As she approached her front door, she pressed one hand against her churning stomach. She really shouldn’t have taste-tested so many cookies.

She’d seen how trashed her bedroom was through the window. Nobody else hit by the Panty Thief had mentioned their undies being tossed around. Was this an actual burglary instead? And why was the mayor worried about how the detective would hold up? Was he as bad as Mrs. Clancy thought he’d be?

Knowing she was stalling, she took a deep breath. For the first time in her life, Jade had to force herself to cross the threshold of the tiny cottage, her feet dragging across the polished wood floors. She could hear movement at the end of the hallway, indicating that the cop was already back there.

Maybe she could wait here for him? She could call her sisters over for moral—and housekeeping—support before she had to face the destruction of her bedroom. Her fingers inched toward the cell phone in her pocket. The temptation was so appealing. But so was the voice in her head, clucking like a chicken.

Get a grip, she ordered herself. Tossing her black leather duster over the back of a chair, Jade tugged her tunic smooth over her hips, rubbed a scuff off the toe of her boot, then headed down the hallway.

Chin high, she stepped into her bedroom. And for the second time that evening, froze solid.

Only this time the reason had nothing to do with fear.

Nope, this was lust. Pure, sticky lust.

It was like a million sweaty, hot dreams. The kind that woke her in the middle of the night, aching with need and frustration. He stood in front of her dresser, one hand filled with little scraps of nothings she called underwear.

Intense need swirled through her. Her legs were like jelly, her stomach clenched with an edgy sort of desire. The kind that made her thighs tremble and her nipples tighten against her silk bra.

A bra, she realized, that matched the hot-pink panties dangling from his index finger.

Her breath knotted in her throat, Jade tried to clear her head. Her home, her undies, had been violated. But her brain was busy stripping the man naked. And from the look of him, naked would suit him just fine.

He was gorgeous. At least, he was from the backside.

She took a visual inventory. Tall, an inch or so over six foot. Broad-shouldered and slim-hipped with a butt so tight and hard her mouth watered. Arrow-straight black hair covered his collar and invited her fingers to test the weight of those strands to see if they were as soft and silky as they looked.

Then he turned, just his head, and met her gaze.

Heat poured through Jade so fast, she swore she had a tiny orgasm standing there in front of a complete stranger with his hands in her panties.

His eyes were like midnight. Dark, intense and searching. As if he could see all the way into her deepest fantasies and clue in to her every secret. Nerves, the kind she’d never felt around a man before, assailed her. Jade bit her lip, trying to figure out what it was about him that was so enthralling.

“Can I help you?” he said. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him. Deep and throaty, with just a hint of a Hispanic accent. The kind of voice made for sexy pillow talk.

“Ma’am?” It wasn’t the verbal nudge that yanked her out of the sexual stupor. It was the amusement in his tone that told her that he was not only aware of her overwhelming interest, he thought it was funny.

Nothing like being laughed at to clear a girl’s head.

He turned to fully face her, offering the perfect view of his wide, sculpted chest hugged lovingly by a black T-shirt. Trying to ignore this new enticement, she kept her gaze on his amused face. Big mistake. Chiseled cheekbones, a full bottom lip made for nibbling and eyes so deep and dark she knew if she fell in she’d never climb back out. Her heart, already racing, tripped over itself.

“This is a crime scene. I’m going to have to ask you to leave until I speak with Miss Carson.” His smile was a grin now, just this side of mocking.

“I’m Jade Carson,” she said stiffly, stepping farther into the room. Her foot caught one of the pieces of fabric strewn over the floor, sending a black lace demibra across the hardwood, just inches from his motorcycle boot.

Her face burned as red as the silk panties dangling from her vanity mirror.

His smile faded. His gaze traveled from the small notepad in his hand to the black lace bra on his toe, then back to her.

“You’re Jade Carson? The owner of this house, and—” his finger swirled to indicate the room “—all of this lingerie?”

“Yes.” What? She might not have the overblown curves of a centerfold, but she looked damn good in her unmentionables. Maybe she could yank down her jeans and show him the dove-gray lace of her thong.

“You’re the librarian?” he asked slowly. His gaze took a slow stroll over her body, his expression making her tingle with both nerves and desire. Those dark eyes met hers again, the look in them hot and intense before he shuttered his gaze.

Jade shivered a little, missing the heat and wondering what’d turned it off. And what it would take to turn it back on. After all, he’d already seen all her underwear.

“I’m Detective Sandoval,” he said, that whisky-smooth voice official and just a little stiff. Like he’d just swallowed a rule book. “I’m investigating the Panty Thief burglaries.”

Jade’s gaze swept the room before she gestured with her chin to his little cop notebook. “No kidding?”

His lips twitched. But he didn’t drop the official routine. Jade arched a brow. A man both sexy and disciplined? The mind boggled at the possibilities that combination inspired on a fantasy level. Throw in endurance and attention to detail and he was a dream come true. Or at least inspiration to come.

“Ma’am?” he prompted, frowning as if he was trying to figure out where her mind had wandered. She’d be glad to tell him. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” Even though she doubted any of those questions would involve dinner, dancing or a bottle of wine, her stomach still swirled in anticipation.

“Given the state of the rest of your home, I figure it’s safe to assume your room didn’t look like this when you left it. Can you tell me what time you left the house today and how much of this disorder is due to the break-in?”

“Since I had to be at the library at ten, I left around nine so I had time to stop at my mother’s, then at the bakery to get pastries for the ladies’ club. They hold their meetings at the library and we like to provide a snack for them.”

And while she’d been out doing those regular-life things, someone had invaded her home and wreaked havoc.

Jade finally looked, really looked, at her bedroom. Her sanctuary.

Unlike rumors of the other thefts, which were simple cases of an underwear drawer being dumped on the floor and a pair of panties taken, Jade’s room was trashed. Lingerie strewn about like confetti after a drunken bachelor party, her possessions knocked over, books not only thrown from the shelves but ripped in half.

Who the hell ripped up books? Forgetting that she shouldn’t touch anything, she knelt down to gingerly lift the ravaged pages she immediately recognized as Madame Bovary.

This was a complete and utter nightmare. Swallowing hard as the full impact hit her, she straightened and pressed one hand against her churning gut, trying to see through the swirling black fogging her vision.

“It’s not that bad,” he said. He didn’t sound distant anymore. Instead, his voice was soothing and mellow, almost friendly. She wished he’d stuck with the uptight tone.

“Compared to what?” she asked, furious at the tears clogging her throat. She didn’t cry. Tears were useless, stupid. Even angry tears.

“Compared to what my place would look like if someone did this,” he said, his words teasing. “Car magazines ripped apart, boxers dangling from the lamp. A Speedo hanging in the window for all to see.”

His mock shudder made her laugh.

“Speedo?” Her now-clear gaze skimmed his body, from the T-shirt tight over hard, flat abs down his narrow hips. For just a second, she let her eyes rest on his zipper, imagining what he looked like in a teeny-tiny piece of spandex. She grinned, somehow sure he could make the fashion faux pas sexy.

“Really?”

“A gag gift from the guys at the station house. These thieves have no respect for quality, low or high.”

Her eyes soft with appreciation for how easily he’d pulled her back from the edge of hysteria, Jade nodded. Well, well. Looked like Hottie Cop was more than just a gorgeous face and rock-hard body. Which qualified him as the hottest fantasy material she’d ever encountered.

An empowered woman would go for it, right?

Nerves danced the cha-cha in her stomach. She wanted hot sex. She wanted a fling. And she was empowered, dammit. But could she actually chase a perfect stranger with the intention of getting him naked?

It was as if Santa had heard her wish, decided she’d been such a good girl that she deserved a chance to try her hand at being really, really bad. But only if she was brave enough to play.

She wanted to be brave. She really did. But as she told the girls in her workshops, some things you had to work up to. Small, consistent steps. She swallowed hard, looking around the mess. Maybe she should clean up her underwear first. Then she could work on being brave.

DIEGO’D FIGURED that life’s little ironies were what kept things interesting. Or provided the best torture. It was always a toss-up which was which. Letting his gaze cruise over the woman in the doorway, he figured this was proof yet again. Without the intense four-inch studded boots, maybe five feet and four inches could be measured between her toes and the top of her pale blond head. Mussed and a little wild, her hair looked as if she’d shoved her hands through it a few times, letting the bangs flop down in a long sweep over her eye and down to her shoulders. Sharp, angled features, huge green eyes and lips made to give a man sweaty dreams rounded out the fairylike looks.

Her body was a series of slender lines and soft curves. Legs nice enough to make his mouth water were tucked into boots that had enough edge to assure him that, despite her sweet face, she and the plethora of seductive lingerie were, indeed, well suited.

“I know it’s difficult to tell, given the state of the room,” he said, trying to bring his focus back to the case instead of wondering how it’d feel to have her wrap those gorgeous legs of hers around his waist. Or better yet, over his shoulders. Diego closed his eyes for a second, trying to find control. Kinnison, he reminded himself, letting the name work like a cold shower. “But can you tell if anything’s missing?”

“Not without going through it all,” she said. She took a deep breath, her breasts pressing against the heavy weight of that purple sweater and making his palms itch. “Can I touch anything?”

A list of possibilities, all better fondled while naked, flashed through his mind. Diego blinked twice trying to clear the deliciously tempting images away.

“Yeah, sure. Just touch the fabric, though. I need to dust the hard surfaces for prints. But I’ll wait until you get your delicates picked up.”

Diego slid the black silk he’d picked up earlier between his fingers, luxuriating in the softness. He’d bet the blonde’s skin was even smoother, softer.

Suddenly the crappy assignment took on a tempting sort of appeal. The kind of appeal that was likely to get him in trouble. Because he was pretty sure charming a victim into bed was on the Don’t list in Kinnison’s rulebook.

Still …

“Nice panties,” Diego said with a smile as lethal as the weapon strapped to his side. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah?” Kneeling on the floor to scoop up an armful, she gave him a teasing look from beneath lush lashes. “You’re impressed by my underwear?”

“The quantity is a little awe-inspiring,” he said, sidestepping the truth—and his interest—by keeping his words cool and distant.

A tiny frown creased her brow, as if she was disappointed he hadn’t taken the flirtation bait. Then she focused on her lingerie again. And growled. The sound was low and sexy. The kind of sound a woman might make during sex. Wild sex. Wild, mind-blowing, “do it two more times to see if it was really that good,” sex. Good thing this was a temp assignment and an easy case to wrap up. Because he was pretty sure this was a woman who could actually make him whimper.

“What kind of lowlife dirtbag treats silk this way?” the blonde muttered, cussing under her breath as she held a teeny-tiny pink leopard-print nightie. “What’s the deal? I thought this creep was all about stealing panties. Why would he mess with my nightgowns?”

Forcing his attention away from the curve of her ass as she bent over to scoop armfuls of cotton nighties and sleep shorts, Diego considered the question. It was a good one, the same he’d been wondering himself when she’d walked in.

“Were they in the same drawer?” Unless her drawer was the size of a closet, he already knew the answer was no.

“I keep my lingerie in the armoire, my nighties and pajamas are in the chest of drawers.”

Diego frowned, noting the two pieces of furniture she’d indicated were on separate walls. It’d be easy to assume the destruction was the result of frustration from not finding her panties right off. But it felt like more. This felt personal.

“We’re probably dealing with a kid or some perv with an underwear fetish,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. That’d been his—and the deputies’ who’d written the previous reports—assumption of the case. But he’d learned years ago to listen to his gut over assumptions, his or anyone else’s. “You don’t have much in common with the other victims, though.”

“You don’t think so?” Dumping her armload of delicates into a laundry basket at the foot of her bed, she gave him an amused look with those cat eyes. “I don’t know about that. We’re all female. We all live in the same town. We all wear underwear. Well, there is the rumor floating around this evening that Ben Zimmerman had his undies snatched, too. Now, Ben does have a habit of dressing up as Little Bo Peep for Halloween, and I avoid hoopskirts like the plague. But other than that, I’d say we all have quite a bit in common.”

Diego’d always had a hell of a time resisting a woman with a smart mouth. He eyed the white eyelet bedspread and collection of hardback books lining the shelves on either side of the curved iron bed. The shelf filled with family photos was untouched, other than a leopard-print bra dangling from one frame. Despite the abundance of sexy underwear, he hadn’t come across a single sex toy. And given the feel of the scene, if there’d been one to be found, the culprit would have tossed it in the mix.

Diego glanced back at the petite blonde, looking like an irate fairy as she plucked her lingerie from furniture, curtain rods and shelves where it hung like the fruits of temptation.

She was hot. No question about it.

And he’d seen the look in her eyes. Sexual speculation, mixed with a whole lot of lust. He figured it was close enough to an invitation to move on, even if she had snatched it back pretty damn quick.

Except for two things.

One, she was on the other side of that hard line Kinnison had warned him not to cross.

And two, despite her lusty looks and fabulous taste in what she wore against her skin, she was obviously a nice girl.

And while he might risk Kinnison’s wrath on the first, he never risked the heartbreak that came with messing with the second.

Still …

“You got a boyfriend?”

“Why, Detective, is the sight of my lingerie tempting you?” she teased, her tone flirtatious and light. But he saw that look in her eyes again. The “wouldn’t it be interesting to strip you naked and climb all over your body” look.

Was she trying to kill him? Diego hadn’t been this uncomfortably hard since he’d found a crack in the dressing room wall of the local strip club back when he was a teenager.

“Mixing business and pleasure is against regulations.” And right now, he figured those regulations—and the promotion riding on them—were the only things keeping him from trying to find out just how nice a girl she was. He cleared his throat. “In cases like this, a boyfriend, an ex or a rejected admirer all fit the bill for crimes of this nature.”

He couldn’t help but grin when she ducked her head. Skin that fair sure blushed easily. There. Temptation handled. Now she’d think twice about flirting. Nice girls were easy to handle, he decided.

“No boyfriend, no ex, no rejected admirer,” she told him, her words a little tense. Embarrassment? Then she met his eyes again. His brows shot up. Nope, that wasn’t shyness in the green depths. It was irritation. Did the fairy have a temper?

“I hope you have more to go on than that to solve this case,” she said, separating the clothing she’d gathered into tidy piles on her bed. Panties in this one, nighties in that. Diego swore a drop of sweat ran down his temple when a sheer red thong missed its pile and landed on her pillow. “Then again, rumor has it you might have a few problems with that.”

So she could bite back. When had temper become sexy? Maybe when temper had such great taste in lingerie. Eyeing the tiny roses decorating the red thong, he asked, “Problems with what?”

“Solving the case.”

Diego’s gaze snapped to hers. “What are you talking about?”

Jade tilted her head to one side. The light caught on the row of tiny gold hoops piercing her ear. “Word on the street is that you’re here because you’ve got a problem with your boss.”

God, he hated small towns.

“And you shouldn’t give too much weight to rumors,” he added. “Small towns might thrive on them, but they’re rarely rooted in fact.”

“So you weren’t sent here as punishment?” she asked, her tone as friendly as her face was curious. Whether it was a ploy to garner gossip fuel, or whether she was actually interested, Diego couldn’t tell.

He’d been about to write her off as a sexy nice girl. Sweet, but not much of a challenge. Now he wasn’t so sure of anything but the sexy part. That bothered him. His gift for reading people was one of the keys behind his success.

“I was sent here for two reasons,” he said slowly, measuring just how much to share with the town pipeline. He might be having trouble getting a gauge on the pixie, but he knew how to finesse information. “I’m up for a major promotion. Solving this case is the last step to ensure I get it.”

Diego had no problem lying to solve a case, but it was always easier to go with the truth if possible.

“And the second reason?”

It only took two steps for Diego to cross the room, standing close enough that the scent of her, light and airy, wrapped around him. For a second he forgot what he was doing. Forgot why he was there. Forgot everything except the sudden discovery of just how appealing sweetness could be.

Her lashes fluttered, thick and dark, hiding those expressive eyes. He watched the pulse quiver in her throat, wanting nothing more than to lean closer and press his lips to the soft flesh. To feel her heart race beneath his tongue.

As if reading his mind, she gulped. Then, as if she was trying to make it look casual, she moved over to the armoire, putting breathing distance between them.

Dammit.

“You were telling me the second reason you were sent here,” she reminded him breathlessly.

To find out how many different sounds she could make while he brought her to orgasm? Diego gave himself a mental head slap and tried to shake off the sexual fog.

“The second reason? Because I’m good,” he promised. Her eyes widened, fingers clenching the wicker handles of the laundry basket so hard it made a loud snap. Grinning, Diego nodded. “I’m damn good. I close cases, and I put criminals away. Whoever did this, their ass is mine.”

And there ya go. Toss in a little intimidation, and he’d be home by the end of the weekend. Before he did anything stupid, like give in to the need to find out if the pretty little blonde’s naughty side was reserved for her lingerie.

“You promise?” she asked, looking around the mess of her bedroom. “You’ll find out who did this. And why?”

Diego didn’t do promises. Growing up, he’d had too many broken to ever want to cause someone else that kind of disappointment.

He looked around the room. The deputies who’d been called in on the previous burglaries had dusted for prints and come up bust. Despite the shift in M.O. from snatch-and-run to destruction, there was no reason to think this time’d be any different. This was either a copycat with a grudge against Ms. Carson, a totally unconnected case, or all the other thefts had been smoke. Which meant the green-eyed pixie was the real target.

He’d have to work the case as if all three were fact. But his gut said it was the latter. He just had to find enough evidence to pull all the pieces together. And he would. Because that’s what he did.

But the pretty little blonde was looking at him as if he had a superhero cape tucked under his leather bomber jacket. Diego was a good cop. A damn good one. But no one had ever considered him a hero.

It was weird. And very appealing.

And probably his downfall, since he couldn’t resist leaning closer and reassuring her.

“Babe, I guarantee it.”

5

THREE HOURS AFTER he’d made that promise to Jade, Diego tossed his gym bag onto a creaky bed in a cramped room and sighed. His stomach ached from cookie overload. His head hurt from holding back his investigative instincts and trying to follow Kinnison’s damn rules.

He would bet his Harley that Kinnison didn’t realize how badly he’d screwed over his recalcitrant detective. Dumping him in a town so small, they didn’t even have a cheap motel. Instead, he was stuck holing up in some old guy’s spare room. Because, apparently, as much as the ladies of the town might like the safety of having a man around their home for a few days, it wasn’t proper.

So now, he eyed the twin bed with its threadbare Speed Racer comforter and stingy pillow. It looked as if he’d have a backache to round it all out.

And what did he have to show for it?

Five interviews with four victims and one interested party—namely, a grizzled old woman by the name of Mary Green. Two tins of cookies, one of fudge and a questionable fruitcake—again from Mrs. Green. And a lecture on the lost art of saying please and thank-you.

What he didn’t have to show was any more information. None of the women had been home during the thefts. None had recently been involved in any sort of conflict, either alone or with each other. They didn’t wear the same brand underwear, do laundry at the same place or shop together.

Other than living in the same small town, and as Jade had pointed out, all wearing feminine underthings—which had been painful for all parties to learn during his interview with Ben Zimmerman—there was no common thread.

Not even the type of underwear stolen. Everything from white cotton to something named after spankings—which neither he nor the mayor had been willing to ask about. If the selection left behind at Jade’s was anything to go by, the thief had added supersexy to the collection.

Jade.

Diego dropped to the bed, wincing as springs that were likely as old as he was creaked loudly. It all came back to her. Every victim he’d talked to, he’d thought of her. Of how devastated she’d been when she’d seen the destructive mess in her bedroom. The other burglaries had been obvious, all with an open dresser drawer, rumpled contents.

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