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Confessions of a "Wicked" Woman GOOD "BAD GIRL" |
Kensington Brava, |
Stephanie reached for the sheriff's hand, really, really wishing she hadn't flashed him earlier that evening. She guessed it was like mooning a passing car. You accepted the dare and felt deliciously naughty and cool doing it at the time. You thought you had gotten away with it until you see the guy you mooned at the next gas station. And, of course, the guy somehow recognizes you. You hope it's the car that stirred his memory, because if there's a resemblance between your face and your butt, you might as well go play in heavy traffic. But it's too late to run in the middle of the street because the guy you mooned is approaching you, ready to deal with you on that one time you threw caution to the wind. And she could tell from the glint in the sheriff's eyes that he was going to torment her about the impromptu performance. Well, Stephanie decided as she reluctantly reached for his hand, as long as he didn’t critique her routine, then they'd both survive the next five minutes. She took his hand and her stomach twitched. Her mouth suddenly went dry. Adrenaline, raw and powerful, slammed through Stephanie as her skin glided over his. Oh, this can't be good, she thought frantically as the noise faded and her surroundings blurred. Her gaze darted around and connected with his dark, brown eyes. And her world tilted. Because he felt it, too. Now she really wanted to snatch her hand back. But Jack Logan wouldn't let her. His long fingers wrapped around her knuckles, and guided her from her seat. He wasn't going to let go until he was ready. This had better not be a slow, seductive song, Stephanie hoped, her skin flushing hot at the thought. Each breath she took became more difficult. It was like her ribs had shrunk and pressed against her lungs. Although, Stephanie thought, her mind fluttering wildly like a butterfly caught in a net, considering how her luck had been going, the band would immediately become Pink Floyd wannabes the minute she got on the dance floor. They'd play something that Just. Won't. Ever. End. Jack led her to the dance floor. His long, ground-eating strides made her quick steps seem girly. She didn't like the way her control of the situation was seeping away. Stephanie especially didn't like the way his possessive hold made her want to curl into his side. If anything, his silent claim should make her keep her distance. The other bar patrons made way for him as he cut through the crowd to the dance floor. Stephanie vaguely wondered how Sheriff Logan did that. He didn't even have to shoulder anyone out of the way. And the sheriff had strong, sleek shoulders. Stephanie's eyes locked onto the bold, sculpted lines that his gray T-shirt couldn't soften. Those shoulders were the kind you could lean on, the kind that would shelter you until the storm passed.
He turned, their eyes clashing, and she quickly diverted her attention, knowing her defensive move came too late. He probably knew she had been checking him out the whole time. The band on stage started to play a song she didn't recognize. It wasn't a seductive tune that would make her melt, but it wasn't a raucous "Twist and Shout", either. The music was created for an excuse to hold someone close and sway to the beat. Wrapping his sinewy arm around her waist, the sheriff drew her against his rock-solid chest. Her breath hitched in her throat and she inhaled his scent. It triggered something deep inside her. Her pulse went haywire as his right hand spanned her back. His left hand cupped her right one and held it against his chest, directly above his heart. Stephanie rested her other hand on the edge of his shoulder. She stared at a fixed point on his shirt, hating every shy bone in her body. It was just a dance, Stephanie fiercely reminded herself. It wasn't a prelude to sex, no matter how her body was responding. She could do this. After all, what was she worried about? Jack Logan was a hick policeman. Stephanie cast a look at his face from underneath her lashes. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in the stubborn jaw, the sexy mouth, and the glimmer in his gorgeous brown eyes. The very eyes that were staring right back at her like she was the only person in the room. Alrighty, Stephanie thought as she looked away. Her heart pounded harder, making up for the lost beat. Maybe not a hick policeman. But he was a policeman from a hick town. She'd dealt with plenty of those, played their game and wrapped them around her finger. That's all she needed to remember. She could still feel his intense gaze and it unnerved her. Her clothes scratched against her hot skin, her breasts felt heavy and tight. She needed to distract the sheriff until the song was over, and then she could leave. Stephanie cleared her throat. "By the way, thanks," she said to his shoulder. "For what?" His mouth was at her ear. She shivered as his warm breath fanned the wisps of her dark hair.
"I didn't do you a favor. I'm keeping the holding cells empty for the real criminals." "Oh. Okay." She didn't know what else to say and fell into an uncomfortable silence. A white-hot tension stretched across her. She felt hot, flushed, and exposed under his unwavering stare. Jack Logan's need strained under his skin. He held her firmly, his heat rolling off of him and billowing against her. She could sense the desire ready to burst from him. "You know," she said, her voice tinged with exasperation, "you already have a mug shot. You don't need to memorize my face." "I'm not." She heard the smile in his voice. "I just noticed something about you." Typical. He had saved her life and forgot about her minutes later. She had let her temper loose and told him off. She had whipped her clothes off in front of him, and he just now noticed her? That was her life in a nutshell.
End of excerpt. Like it?
The setting plays a big part in this story, but I couldn't come up with a name for the town! All of my ideas were … shall we say, ironic? My editor is much better at this naming game. She came up with "Mayfield" seconds after I presented her with the problem, and it suited the small town perfectly. Thanks, Hilary! I was working in the St. Louis area during the Flood of 1993 and drew heavily on the experience when writing Confessions of a "Wicked" Woman.
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I had O, Yeah! Ultimate Aerosmith Hits on constant repeat while I was writing this book.
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"Susanna Carr provides a wickedly hot humorous fun tale." – Harriet Klausner, The Best Reviewssusannacarr.com home | books | printable list | coming soon | oh, susanna | media+events | jenesi ash | blog | contact | site | copyright |