Bare Essentials. Leslie KellyЧитать онлайн книгу.
out the worst in her.
But she wasn’t here to reminisce and socialize. God, no. If left up to her, she’d have never come back. There was nothing for her here, nothing.
Kate was gone. She’d marched out of town hand in hand with Cassie all those years ago, each determined to make something of themselves.
Kate had done spectacularly in Chicago, with her specialty ladies’ shop, Bare Essentials.
Some would say so had Cassie. But that she could afford to buy and sell this sorry-ass town was little satisfaction when just driving through made her feel young and stupid all over again. Two things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Everyone in Pleasantville had assumed she’d grow up the same as the trouble-loving Flo. Destiny, they’d said. Can’t fight it.
And if you counted going off to New York and becoming one of the world’s most well-known lingerie models following her destiny, well then, that’s what Cassie had done.
Now she was back. Not by choice, mind you. Oh, no. She passed the library. And yep, there was the librarian standing out front changing the sign for tonight’s reading circle. Mrs. Wilkens hadn’t changed a bit, either. She was still old, still had her glasses around her neck on a chain and…was still frowning at Cassie.
Cassie had spent hours at the library looking for an escape from her life, devouring every historical romance novel she could find.
Mrs. Wilkens had always, always, hovered over her as if she was certain Cassie was going to steal a book.
Oh, wasn’t this a fun stroll down memory lane. With a grim smile, Cassie drove on. She passed the old bowling alley, the five-and-dime, the Rose Café.
Pleasantville had a scent she’d never forgotten. It smelled like broken dreams and fear.
Or maybe that was just her imagination.
There was sound, as well. Other cars, a kid’s laughter…the whoop of a siren—
What the hell? Craning her neck in surprise, she looked into the rearview mirror and saw the police lights. Her heart lurched for the poor sucker about to get a ticket. A serious lead-foot herself, Cassie winced in sympathy and slowed so the squad car could go around her.
It didn’t.
No problem, she’d just pull over to give it more room. But the police car pulled over, too.
And that’s when it hit her. She was the sucker about to get the ticket.
“Damn it. Damn it,” she muttered as she turned off the car and fumbled for her purse. She hadn’t been pulled over since…prom night.
All those unhappy memories flooded back, nearly choking her. She hadn’t given thought to that night in far too long to let it hit her like a sucker punch now, but that’s exactly what it did. Her drunken date. Then dealing with the sheriff, who’d been one of the few men in town she’d figured she could trust.
She’d been wrong, very wrong. No man was trustworthy, hadn’t she learned that the hard way? Especially recently.
But after all the terror she’d been through in the days before she’d been forced back here, Cassie wasn’t going to get stressed about this. She’d find her wallet, explain why she was in such a hurry, and maybe, just maybe, if she batted the lashes just right, added a do-me smile and tossed back her hair in a certain way, she’d get out of here ticket-free.
Please, oh please, let there have been a new sheriff in the past ten years, she thought as she finally located her wallet in the oversize purse that carried everything including her still-secret vice—a historical romance. Pirates, rogues, Vikings…the lustier the better. She hadn’t yet cracked the spine on this latest book, but if the sheriff saw it she’d…well, she’d have to kill him.
“Damn it.”
No driver’s license in the wallet. Oh, boy. Her own fault, though. In getting ready for the club she’d gone to several nights ago with friends, she’d pulled out her license and stuck it in her pocket so she wouldn’t be hampered by her heavy purse.
And she hadn’t returned it, not then, and not in the shocking events since. “Damn it.”
“You said that already.”
Lurching up, Cassie smacked her head on the sun visor, dislodging her sunglasses. Narrowing her eyes at the low, very male laugh, she focused in on…not Sheriff Richard Taggart, thank God.
No, Richard Taggart would be in his late fifties by now. Probably gray with a paunch and a mean-looking mouth from all the glowering he’d done.
The man standing in front of her wearing mirrored sunglasses and a uniform wasn’t old, wasn’t gray and certainly didn’t have a paunch. In fact, as her eyes traveled up, up, up his very long, very mouthwatering body, she doubted he had a single ounce of fat on his tall, lean, superbly conditioned form.
Not that she was noticing. She worked with men all the time. Fellow models, photographers, directors…and while she definitely liked to look, and sometimes even liked to touch—on her terms thank you very much—this man would never interest her.
He wore a cop’s uniform and a sheriff’s badge, and ever since prom night she had a serious aversion to both.
Not to mention her aversion to authority period. “I don’t have my license,” she said, dismissing him by not looking into his face. Rude, yes, but it was nothing personal. She might have even told him so, if she cared what he thought, which she didn’t.
“No license,” he repeated.
What a voice. Each word sent a zing of awareness tingling through her every nerve ending. He could have made a fortune as a voice talent. His low, slightly rough tone easily conjured up erotic fantasies out of thin air.
“That’s a problem, the no-license thing,” he said. Having clearly decided she was no threat, he removed his sunglasses, stuck them in his shirt pocket and leaned on her car with casual ease, his big body far too close and…male.
She took back the whole voice-talent thing; he should go bigger and hit the big screen. She didn’t need her vivid imagination to picture him up there as a romantic action-adventure hero.
Without the uniform, of course.
Obviously unaware of the direction her thoughts had taken, he nodded agreeably at her lack of inclination to apologize over not having a license. But one look at that firm mouth, hard jaw and unforgiving gaze, and Cassie knew this man was agreeable only when it suited him.
A car raced past them, a blue sedan with a little old lady behind the wheel. “Hey,” Cassie said, straightening and craning her neck to catch the car vanish around the corner. “That lady was going way faster than me!”
“Mrs. Spelling?” He shrugged and tapped his pen on his ticket book. “She’s late picking up her grandkids.”
“She’s speeding,” Cassie said through clenched teeth.
“Well, you were speeding first.” He cocked his head all friendly-like. “And you’re not carrying your ID because…?”
Because she’d left New York in a hurry. That was what happened when three incredibly shocking things occurred all at the same time.
One, she was being stalked. The man doing so had been a friend. That is, until she’d declined to sleep with him—which is when it’d turned ugly. Seems that if he couldn’t have her, he wanted her dead.
Her agent, her friends and her fiercely worried cousin had all insisted she get the hell out of Dodge—and since Cassie was rather fond of living, she had agreed. What better place to disappear than in a town that had never seen her in the first place?
Two, her mother had decided to sail around the world with her latest boyfriend. She would be away indefinitely, which meant she’d left Cassie a surprising and early inheritance. That Cassie