Naughty, But Nice. Jill ShalvisЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 had been forced to come back to Pleasantville to take care of that inheritance coincided with her need to vacate New York for a while.
The third shocking thing wasn’t life-altering, but had bothered her enough that she’d dreamed of it for the past several days. Kate had found their high school diaries and the ridiculous lists they’d each made that fateful night in the tree house after their disastrous prom. Lists that included their childish wish for revenge on a town that had always spurned them. Cassie’s was inspired, if a bit immature, and she eyed the sheriff again, remembering what she’d written.
1 Drive a fancy car, preferably sunshine-yellow because that’s a good color for me.
2 Get the sheriff—somehow, some way, but make it good.
3 Live in the biggest house on Lilac Hill.
4 Open a porn shop—Kate’s idea, but it’s a good one.
5 Become someone. Note: this should have been number one.
Amusing. Childish. And damn tempting, given that she had already nailed number one. Maybe that’s all she’d ever accomplish, driving a fancy yellow car, but one thing she’d come to realize in her most interesting career, she had a zest for life.
She wanted to live.
But if anyone thought she wanted to live here, they needed to think again. She’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth removed. Without drugs.
She took off her sunglasses and immediately wished she hadn’t. The glare of the sun made her squint, and she hated to squint. She also felt…exposed. The way she hadn’t felt since her very first day of kindergarten, walking in with a big smile that slowly faded when all the other kids and their mean moms had stopped to whisper.
Tremaine.
White trash.
Daughter of a tramp.
Wild child.
At age five, she’d had no idea what those whispered words meant. But even then she’d recognized the judgment, so she’d simply lifted her chin to take the verbal knocks. She did the same now. “I don’t have my license because it’s not in my purse,” she said, refusing to explain herself to anyone in this town. Including a cop. Especially a cop.
“Hmm. I hadn’t realized Cassie Tremaine Montgomery was famous enough to not need ID.”
“You know who I am.”
His lips curved. “I’ve seen the catalogs. Interesting work you’ve gotten for yourself.”
“Those catalogs are for women.”
“With you in silk and lace on page after page?” He shook his head, that small smile looking quite at home on his very generous mouth. “Don’t fool yourself. Those catalogs are scoured from front to back by men all across the country.”
“Is that why you pulled me over? You wanted to meet me in person?” Disdain came easily for any man with authority, especially this one. “Or is it because I’m driving an expensive and brightly colored sports car?”
“Contrary to popular belief,” he said conversationally, “cops don’t necessarily have an attraction to all cars painted red or yellow. What we do have, however, is an attraction to speeding vehicles.”
“And this has to do with me because…?”
“Because you were speeding,” he said in that patient—and incredible—voice that told her he thought she was the village idiot, not the other way around. Then he straightened and waved his ticket book. “The question now is, were you going fast enough to warrant reckless driving.”
Cassie never gaped, it went against the grain, but she did so now. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
As he had before, he leaned in, resting his weight on his arm, which lay across her open window. It wasn’t a beefy arm,