Flirting with Disaster. Victoria Dahl
the pink pads splaying out on the glass.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tom barked. “That goddamn cat.”
“He just wants in.”
“Well, let him in.”
Isabelle rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension that had latched in like claws. “He won’t come in here. He doesn’t like this room.”
“I’m not surprised!”
“It’s the smell of the paint, not the carnage. You should see what he can do to a rabbit.”
Bear hit the door harder this time, and Tom jumped even as he put the gun away. “Why is he banging on the glass if he won’t come in?”
“Because he wants me to open the door so he can stare at me while I get exasperated. Haven’t you ever had a cat?”
“I’ve missed out on that joy,” he said drily.
“They have their benefits.”
“Like?”
She smiled. “He’s really warm on a cold night when I’m alone.”
He slanted her a look as he ran a hand over a windowsill. “How often are you alone?”
“Marshal Duncan, that’s a very forward question.”
He sneaked another look over his shoulder. “That was a very forward kiss.”
She couldn’t stop her grin. “I’m not attached to anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“Why?” she asked slyly. “Are you going to kiss me again?”
He looked gratifyingly pained by the question. “I can’t. I need to get back to my assignment. Plus, we barely know each other.”
She realized her laughter was a little impolite, but she couldn’t help it. “And we’re not going to get to know each other. You live on the other side of the state. But we can still kiss.”
He finished checking the windows and turned to her, his mouth flat. “Come on. Cheyenne isn’t that far away. Tell me something about yourself.”
“You know plenty about me already. It’s your turn. Do you have family?”
“Yes. Mom and Dad, and a sister who has a family of her own.”
“Are they all in Wyoming?”
“Yes,” he answered as he led the way out of the room.
“Do you get along with them?”
“We get along fine,” he said, as if that meant anything at all. Before she could press, he asked her a question. “How did you end up here?”
“I came through on a road trip, and I liked it.” Another truth. She was getting almost comfortable with it. “Why aren’t you married?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I travel too much.”
“Oh? So US Marshals don’t get married?”
“Fine. I never met the right woman. I don’t want kids, so that complicates things, or so I’ve been told.” He didn’t look to see if she was following him toward her bedroom.
“Now we’re getting interesting. Why don’t you want kids?”
“Why don’t you? You’re, what...midthirties? Why aren’t you married?”
Ha. She could answer that. “I’m thirty-six. And I’m too mean.”
He stopped and turned toward her. “You’re not mean.”
“Oh, really? Am I nice?”
His head cocked, and he studied her for a moment. “You’re not nice, exactly.”
She laughed so hard she had to press a hand to her stomach to try to control it. “I like your honesty,” she managed to say past her gasps. “You’re pretty cool.”
“Now, that’s something I haven’t heard in a really long time.”
“Then we’re even.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Tom shook his head. “Shit, I want to kiss you.”
“Do it,” she dared him, her insides already tightening at the idea.
But his gaze slid to her bed, and he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Afraid I’ll lure you into my bed and steal your virtue?”
“If you can find my virtue, you can have it. And if that’s a euphemism, even better. But what I’m afraid of is having to leave in twenty minutes. Not very memorable. And...” He held up a hand as if reminding himself. “I really shouldn’t get involved when I’m in your house on official business. Now tell me why you’re not married.”
“Tell me why you don’t want kids.”
That shut him up, and Isabelle was free to watch him work for the next five minutes until he left with a warning about locking the door. And with no goodbye kiss.
But that was okay. She could wait. He’d give in before long. And in the meantime, she could fantasize about exactly how it would happen.
* * *
DAMN. TOM WAS in deep trouble. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. It would’ve been a bad idea even without the extra complication that he was looking into her on the side. He had Veronica Chandler to protect, and he couldn’t mess around with Isabelle when he was on duty.
More than that was the trouble of Isabelle herself. Tom had been thirty-one before he’d realized he couldn’t trust himself with women. Not because he had a roaming eye or a callous heart or a cruel streak, but because he didn’t. He’d been a sucker for the damsel in distress. The soft girl who couldn’t quite figure life out. He’d been smart enough not to fall for any hard cases, but that had only made it worse. When a girl was hot and helpless and nice, it was really hard to break things off when you finally realized you needed to.
Isabelle wasn’t like that, of course. He’d finally aged out of those immature attractions. Isabelle was capable and tough and smart as hell. But she was still in some sort of trouble. He couldn’t add sex to the mix, especially when he could tell just how good it was going to be. He couldn’t do that when he was still checking into her past.
“Damn it,” he growled as he drove carefully down her snow-packed driveway and eased onto the road.
All he wanted to do was turn around, bang on her door and spend the next few hours in her bed. But he couldn’t.
Despite his misgivings, he might not have had the willpower to make it out of there, but then she’d said she liked his honesty. When the only reason he’d asked her to stay close in her house was so he could probe her about her past.
He should drop it, but he couldn’t. What if she was in danger? Worse yet, what if she was a criminal and he didn’t do his job because he would rather have sex with her?
He shook his head. Dropping it wasn’t an option. He couldn’t ignore his gut at this point. The most he could do was keep his suspicions quiet until he found out the truth.
You didn’t just ignore trouble. He’d learned that the hard way at a young age. Those were the kind of lessons you got when your older brother was a drug addict. When the choice came down to honesty or tricking someone into getting help, you dropped honesty every time.
If Isabelle needed help, she’d never admit it. And if she’d done something wrong, he couldn’t ignore it.
Simple enough, but he felt like biting someone’s head off by the time he got out of the car and stalked toward the judge’s house. He wanted to slam the door open and yell at everyone