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there were those cursed
memories again of a wonderful, nearly two years of her life. She’d been given a
hopeful taste of the way it could have been, and then he had taken it all away.
    “I’d appreciate an explanation. Of why I’m here.”
    He sauntered past her toward the
kitchen, and she focused her eyes on the floor, refusing to take even a glance
at his fine ass. She heard glass tinkling dully, and a fridge door shutting,
and then he was back, a tall bottle of beer in his hand. When he stopped to
take a swig, she couldn’t look away from the figure he cut, head tipped back,
strong throat working against the liquid flowing down it. She had the
ridiculous wish to be the mouth of that bottle, pressed up against his lips,
giving him sustenance.
    Lowering the envied beer, he wiped
the back of his hand across his mouth in a purely masculine gesture, and
slouched onto the other chair. He studied her in silence, and with great effort
she didn’t fidget. This was an excellent interrogation technique, but she
refused to be intimidated.
      “Tell me why you’re avoiding me. And cutting me dead when you can’t avoid me.” Delivered with
a decided snap, his comment made her start.
    There was no point in denying it.
Oh, she could give it a try and drag things out, but if she accommodated him
maybe she could still make Sheridan ,
and the evening wouldn’t be a total loss. She did her best to ignore the fact
she was alone in a relatively small room with the man who had once made her
heart swell and her body sing.
    “I suppose you could say we’ve both
moved on, and seeing as we have nothing in common I’m not interested in chit-chat.”
    Another laugh filled the room, shaking
his shoulders and drawing her attention to their breadth, and her traitorous
eyes took in his wide, muscled chest beneath the closely tailored uniform
shirt, sending another stimulating message to her feminine parts. Damn .
    “C’mon, darlin’, you can do better
than that.”
    “What? I don’t treat you any
differently than any other … acquaintance.”
    “Candace, I’m more than an
acquaintance.”
    Okay, he was pushing it, putting
her in a position she wasn’t going to be slotted into. “Asked and answered,
Sheriff. I told you. Moved on. Nothing
in common.”
    “Come here, darlin’.” He pointed to
the floor directly in front of his indolent slouch, and set his beer down.
    “I can hear you fine, Sheriff.”
    “Right here.”
    Silence ensued, and lengthened. Curiosity
prickled at her and undermined her determination not to obey him. Obey. A curious word, and one that wasn’t in her vocabulary—except in
certain circumstances. But she really wanted to escape this place, pick
up her car and get to Sheridan .
Away from Reece Murdoch who was reminding her of things better left in the past,
and lose herself, forget with some form of entertainment. With a huff, she
shoved up to her feet, and calmed enough to walk gracefully to stand where he
bade her.
    The way his features softened with
approval, even as his eyes burned hotter, gave her pause and made her want to
turn on her heel and run. It was awkward, standing in front of this man, so
supremely male, and she fought to stay perfectly still, schooling her emotions.
    “On your knees,
darlin.’”
    Her belly clenched in response as
he literally spoke to that part of her craving mastery, and she very nearly
acquiesced. But instead she gave him as haughty a stare as she could produce, channeling
the Queen of England.
    “Candace, do you really think I
don’t know what you need? That I don’t know? Can’t read you?”
    It was like standing on the high
board over the deep end of the pool. The drop drew her just as her mind warned
her not to jump. How in hell would he know what she needed? People changed.
He’d walked out of her life without a backward glance, and she had no idea if
he’d lived or died until he had come back all arrogant and confident to take on
the position of Sheriff.