Something About a Sheriff (Wild West Book 2) Page 5

  She looked down and away from his intense stare, a flutter in her belly.

  “Okay, let’s say it’s soy cheese and turkey pepperoni. Whatever the hell that is,” he said around a mouthful.

  She laughed. “Turkey doesn’t make it better. I don’t eat meat at all.”

  “Okay, so the pepperoni’s made of oat. Try some.”

  The teasing warmed her. Did this mean they were friends? Sharing pizza on the floor sure seemed a step in that direction.

  “Sheriff—”

  “Judd.” The single name dropping from his unsmiling lips almost came as a command.

  She nodded, trying to ignore the thrill hitting her belly. “Judd. Thanks again for all your help yesterday.”

  He lifted a shoulder in a shrug as if it was nothing. But it was something. His kindness had meant so much to her, especially in her hour of need. She wanted to do something nice for him in return, but what that could be evaded her right now.

  “You’ve cleaned up a lot more, I see.” His lashes were impossibly long for a man. Dark and curling and lush. She found herself staring—and getting hungrier by the minute but not for pizza.

  “Between customers I did a bit more unpacking.” She turned a slice of pizza around and bit into the crust.

  “What services will you be offering?” he asked, that little muscle in his jaw flickering with each bite.

  She ticked them off on her greasy fingers. When she got to massage, he stiffened.

  “Massage?”

  “Yes. It can help all sorts of ailments, and I also give relaxation massages.”

  His gaze drilled into her, and she gave a little nervous laugh to dispel the effervescent energy fizzing inside her.

  “What’s wrong with massage? Did you have a bad experience before?”

  “No.” His gritty tone rocked her.

  Oh yeah, she wasn’t a bit hungry for the pizza on the floor between them, even if it was dripping in soy cheese, avocado and organic tomatoes.

  What she wanted came in the six-foot-tall variety clad in denim and a western shirt.

  * * * * *

  Judd didn’t like the thought of Cecily putting her hands on anyone’s body except his. Those soft fingers working over his skin, up and down, kneading, getting to the root of his tension.

  His cock was fully hard, and there was no way she didn’t notice the bulge against his fly.

  He got to his feet, the pizza forgotten. Fuck, this view of Cecily was worse—the sweet little morsel seated on the floor looked like a mussed angel.

  She stood slowly. Every move graceful and turning him on more. It was as if his boots were nailed to the floor—he couldn’t step away though he knew it was crucial to his sanity.

  “You look tense.” Her whispered words sent a tomahawk to his chest.

  Swallowing hard, he stared down at the small curls on her forehead. No, that was no good. He dropped his stare to her mouth.

  Fuck.

  “You have a stressful job, and massage helps work out the kinks. Why don’t you come into my massage room?” As an afterthought, she added, “Sir?”

  Oh Jesus.

  She caught his forearm, squeezing lightly. When she released him, he looked down at his shirt, expecting to see holes singed in the fabric where her fingers had been.

  He looked up to see her ass swaying away from him. Was she trying to seduce him or just being her kindly self by offering a massage? Maybe she was just being a savvy businesswoman—offering her services meant he’d return.

  Yeah, that was it.

  No way should he follow her. Or walk through that door. A massage room had to come equipped with a bed of sorts, and hell, Judd didn’t need a bed to achieve what he had in mind.

  For that matter, he could do just fine without a wall.

  For a gut-clenching—ball-clenching—moment, he couldn’t move a muscle to follow Cecily. Or turn and break for the exit.

  She sent him a look over her shoulder.

  Damn, he had no hope of getting out of this situation. He took one step and then another. At the door of her massage room, he paused. She stood by a padded bed, where she was unfolding thick towels for him to lie on. He gripped the doorframe, watching her work, those nimble hands not having the relaxing effect she was shooting for. He couldn’t get tenser.

  Once she finished, she looked up at him with a smile so sweet it made his back teeth ache. She patted the toweled surface. “Have a seat while I light the candles and incense. The smell of it doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  He shook his head. Feeling like he was in somebody else’s dream, he perched on the edge of the table. Along the windowsill she’d set up a row of white candles in jars. She took out a lighter and in seconds, flames danced and a small curl of smoke from the incense rose up.

  Cecily eyed him. “You have to take off your shirt, silly. If you’re modest, I’ll step out. Unless you want the full body massage.”

  Fuck yes.

  Oh hell no.

  He sucked in a deep breath and reached for his shirt buttons. While he worked the buttons, she fiddled with a tray of oils. “Now this is lavender for calming. This one is for sore muscles. Do you have sore muscles?”

  He had stiff muscles.

  He shook his head.

  “Okay, I think the simple warming oil is what you need.” She ran her gaze over him. Was it his imagination or were her eyes lingering on his chest through his open shirt?

  He must have made a noise, because her gaze shot to his—and held.

  “You have to take off your hat,” she said quietly. “Unless a sheriff isn’t allowed.”

  That raised a chuckle from him, but it was born of pure anxiety. He didn’t know how he’d react to her hands on him. If he started giving her commands, he didn’t know if he could stop.

  He removed his hat and she took it from him, setting it carefully on a chair in the corner.

  “Lie on your stomach please.”

  The table creaked as he stretched out.

  “Arms to your sides.” She took him by one wrist and placed him where she wanted him, with fist near his hip. Then she circled the bed and moved his other hand. Somehow the act warmed his insides. For some reason, it seemed intimate.

  She remained on that side of the table. When she lifted the bottle of warming oil—whatever the hell that was—the glass stopper clinked. He wanted to watch her filling her palm with all that sensual oil, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t switch her places, strip off her clothes and pour it all over her naked body.

  When she placed her warm hands on his spine, he grunted.

  “Ohh, you are tense. Okay, just breathe in and out slowly and relax. Let me work my magic.”

  Jesus, did she have any clue what a woman like her was doing to him?

  In seconds, he realized what the warming oil did. It heated as she worked it into his skin. The tingle took hold and added its own relaxing benefits, at least to those muscles on either side of his spine. Everything else was as hard as stone, especially his cock digging into the toweling.

  As she moved her fingers up and down, she hummed. He couldn’t catch the melody of the song, had never heard it before, but the tones only added to the experience.

  “Do you always hum as you work?”

  She quieted. “Usually I have relaxing music on in here, but I haven’t unpacked the CD player yet. I hope it’s not getting you out of the moment.”

  Only thing getting him out of the moment was wanting to hear her hum with pleasure.

  He groaned, and luckily Cecily thought she’d hit a sore muscle. She worked it with fluttery movements of her fingers. It felt like she had more than two hands and ten fingers. As she worked up to his neck, he finally started to relax.

  He closed his eyes and she began to hum again. Five minutes later, he felt as if he was melting into the table. Had become one with the toweling.

  And had no idea where he ended and her hands began.

  She rolled
her knuckles lightly down his shoulder, over triceps clear to his wrist. When she began massaging his hand, he started.

  She made a low noise that might be a laugh. “Does it tickle?” She moved her hand over his palm in a circular motion.

  “Little bit.” Really, it was an oddly familiar feeling—like he should know her better. Or now did.

  They’d shared pizza—or rather she’d nibbled crust. But was touching him in ways most people never had. Could they get to the part where he tied her up now?

  She rubbed each finger down to the tips, finding all the sore spots around his knuckles he didn’t know he had.

  “Hands of a cowboy,” she commented.

  “Been working my father’s ranch since I could walk. Used to practice roping all the cats and dogs. When I got a little older, I turned to the chickens and pigs.”

  She made another humming noise that had the skin prickling on his nape. That sound was definitely something he’d hear from her in the bedroom—pure pleasure.

  “Relax,” she said softly.

  He tried to focus on that calmness he’d held close just a few minutes before. She laid down his hand and covered it in the toweling. Then she moved to the other side of the bed and began at his shoulder.

  “You visit the ranch often?” she asked.

  “Often as I can. My brother and his wife as well as my cousin who grew up with us, we all go at least once a month.”

  “That sounds nice to have your family around you.”

  “When they aren’t being pains in the ass, yeah.”

  Her laugh bubbled up, music that filled his chest with a new warmth. “Family does that at times, don’t they?” She worked down to his hand again.

  “They wanted to talk to me about my ex.”

  She stilled. “That must have been difficult.”

  “Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m over Cassie big time. But hearing about her again makes me realize how stupid I was.”

  As she swirled her hand against his palm, he closed his fingers reflexively, gripping her lightly. She stopped the movement. “It’s never stupid if you loved a person. It’s only tragic if something happens to change that.”

  He grunted and released her hand. She resumed the motion, her tiny fist rolling around in his palm until he felt completely boneless. “I should have known Cassie wasn’t the woman she portrayed herself as being.”

  “I understand.”

  Did she? He believed her. But why was he jabbering away like some woman in the beauty salon anyway? Maybe it was the magic Cecily had mentioned—people opened up to her as she performed her services.

  But if he had his way, she’d be opening up to him. Spreading her creamy thighs wide to take him, her lips parted on a gasp.

  When she lifted her hand, he snagged it, closing his fingers around her small fist. He turned his head to pierce her in his stare. She was flushed, and he didn’t think it had to do with the warming oil.

  “Thank you for the massage, Cecily.”

  “Of course.”

  He held her another full heartbeat before loosening his grasp. She lifted a big towel and laid it over him like a blanket.

  “Rest for a minute or two and I’ll just step out. Come out when you’re ready. No hurry now.”

  He listened to her footsteps fading and the door closing softly. The weight of the towel seemed to anchor him to the bed, and he couldn’t muster enough energy to get up. At the same time, his mind whirled with images of Cecily—seated cross-legged eating pizza or her hair swinging forward as she leaned over him to work at his muscles.

  Crap on a biscuit, he was in big trouble with this woman. Not only was he interested, and thinking about his rope stash at home, but he had told her things, bared his soul.

  He had to be careful from now on and keep his distance.

  Chapter Four

  Cecily hadn’t slept with her headphones for a solid week., too afraid she’d miss a sound downstairs in her shop. Then, too exhausted to hold out anymore, she put on the whale music and passed out from sheer exhaustion.

  When she woke, the sun wasn’t streaming through the front windows. Outside was a gray and dreary day, but at least she’d had a good night’s rest.

  She removed her headphones and listened hard.

  Oh crap.

  Was that rain pattering lightly on the roof? No. It was a drip on the floor.

  She opened her eyes and looked around her bedroom, the only space in her apartment she’d fully unpacked. Her clothes were hung on a wardrobe bar with a few things folded on a shelf below. Her mattress was on the floor, piled in quilts and pillows. In the other corner was a dressing table that held her makeup—and beside that, the steady drip-drip-drip of a roof leak.

  “Damn,” she muttered and got out of bed, the warmth clinging to her as she moved the dressing table a few inches to the side to make room for a bucket to catch the water.

  She’d have to phone the landlord and see if they’d fix the leak soon. She didn’t want water invading her shop below. Over the last week, things had calmed down and now this.

  “Hello?” A pounding on her door made her leap and her heart slam into her ribs.

  She scrambled to throw on a hoodie over her tank top and pajama pants and ran for the door. Who would come up here? Better yet, how were they getting in?

  She hesitated at the door, hand on the lock. She still hadn’t gotten that deadbolt the sheriff recommended. “Uh, who’s there?” she asked.

  “Deputy Troyer. Are you aware your shop’s been broken into again?”

  She threw open the door, eyes wide. “What?” she cried, looking past the big man who stood on her landing.

  “Your door’s hanging off the hinges and your place is trashed again.”

  “Oh God!” She ran past him, but he caught her before her foot hit the first step.

  “There’s glass all over the place. You need shoes.”

  They’d smashed everything that was left.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” She ran back into her apartment and shoved her feet into flats. She ran past him again and took the stairs at top speed. At the bottom, she drew up short to survey the wreckage of her spa.

  A scream ripped from her throat. She moved to drop to her knees, but Troyer turned her against his chest and cupped the back of her head. “I’m sorry, Cecily. This is a terrible thing. You just got situated and now…”

  “Get your damn hands off her. What the hell’s going on here?”

  She jerked at the sound of Judd’s voice. She hadn’t seen him since he’d practically run from her shop after tossing a few bills at her for his massage. Not only had she not asked for him to pay for the massage, she was a little stricken that he’d felt the need to pay her at all. It made her feel cheap, almost like a woman who woke in her lover’s bed to find cab fare.

  Troyer let her go, and she moved back a few steps. When she turned her gaze to Judd, her tears began to helplessly fall. It had only been a week since the last break-in. So far they had no leads, and she’d hoped that part of her life was all over. Now it seemed the smooth operations of the last week, getting her shop in place and a growing list of appointments in her book, was just the calm before the storm.

  “Damn.” Judd dipped his head, looking away from the catastrophic mess. Or from her, she wasn’t sure which.

  Cries pushed at her throat, but she swallowed them down and spun to her cash register. Nightly, she’d been taking the money out and locking it in a box—

  She ran to the bookcase along one wall where she’d set up her new shipment of hair products. They were rifled off the shelves and lay on the floor, some smashed open and squirting over the hardwood like last time.

  Behind the box of hair masks, she’d hidden her lock box.

  “It’s gone.” Her voice was reedy, and she felt her legs go out from under her again. She sat down hard in the hair products.

  “Shit. Cecily!” Judd hooked his arms under hers and hauled her up. When her legs were
as operational as spaghetti noodles, she hung in his arms. “Damn, baby doll. Let’s get you into a chair.”

  She barely registered him placing her in the salon chair—she was too busy staring at the destruction and realizing everything she’d earned over the past week had been stolen in addition to the cash she kept for change to run a business. So far, the insurance money hadn’t come through either.

  She collapsed forward, head in hands. “Who is doing this? Who wants me gone?”

  “Good question.”

  Using a pen, Troyer lifted the corner of a piece of paper. The paper was stuck to the floor. He let it drop.

  Judd stared at Cecily, his eyes steel-hard. “You didn’t hear a thing? The whale music again?”

  “I-I stopped listening for a few nights, but it’s the only thing that helps me drift off, and I was so tired last night and figured the shop was safe... How do they know I can’t hear?” The shivers were back with full intensity now that she remembered someone had been just downstairs while she slept peacefully.

  “It’s likely if someone is breaking in, it’s coincidence that you’re sleeping with headphones on. But… it’s hard to believe you don’t hear anything, Cecily.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What? Are you insinuating that I’m ignoring it?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long second.

  “C’mon, Judd. She’s torn up seeing her shop this way. Why would she do this herself?”

  Cecily leaped from the chair as if it was made of molten lava. She felt her hair flying around her head like a crazy woman’s as she marched up to Judd and jabbed a finger at his stupid sheriff’s star.

  “You think it’s me doing this? Why would I wreck my own place?”

  “Insurance scams happen all the time.”

  She let out a scream like a wild animal’s. Frustration had her balling her fists at her sides. Judd had the grace—and the intelligence—to look away.

  “I didn’t trash my shop or steal my own money!”

  “How much money was in the lock box?” Judd asked.

  “About five hundred dollars. Not a lot, but all I had besides a little in the bank.” She looked past him, and his stupid square jaw with the dark stubble shadowing it, to the door of her shop, hanging off the top hinge. “Now I have to pay for repairs and new inventory. And to top it off, my roof’s leaking in my bedroom!”