"Was I?" No concern in his voice at all. "Must have been distracted. Saw this gorgeous brunette hiding behind that billboard back there. Made me forget all about speed limits."
My face burned, but I kept writing, ignoring how my body responded to the compliment. "That's not?—"
"You've been there every afternoon this week. Same spot. Same time." He leaned back against his bike, completely relaxedwhile I fought not to combust. "Starting to feel like fate, Deputy Jenkins."
He'd noticed me. My stomach flipped at the realization.
"It's called a speed trap. And you fell for it."
"Did I?" His gaze traveled down again, slower this time, appreciative, making me achingly aware of how my uniform fit, how the afternoon sun was hitting me. "Feels more like I won."
I thrust the ticket at him, needing distance before I did something stupid. "Slow down, Mr. McCarthy. Next time it won't just be a warning."
"This isn't a warning. It's a hundred-dollar ticket."
"The warning is that next time I might have to arrest you."
His eyes flared with interest. "Promise?"
Oh God. The image that flashed through my mind—him in cuffs, pressed against my cruiser, those blue eyes dark with want—made my knees weak.
He took the ticket, fingers deliberately brushing mine again. This time the contact lingered, his thumb grazing my knuckles, tracing the bones there before I yanked my hand back.
"Wolf," he corrected. "And I'll see you around, Deputy."
A promise and a threat wrapped in one. I couldn't decide which interpretation I preferred, and my body didn't seem to care either way.
"Not if you stay out of trouble."
"Now where's the fun in that?" He swung one long leg over his bike, the movement fluid and graceful for such a large man. "Besides, trouble seems to be finding me lately. Pretty, brunette trouble with a badge and her daddy's attitude."
I walked back to my cruiser with as much dignity as I could manage, his attention like hands on my skin, touching all the places that ached for actual contact.
"Drive safe," I called over my shoulder, surprised my voice came out steady.
His laugh followed me, rich and deep. "Where's the fun in that?"
The motorcycle roared to life, the sound vibrating through my chest. He pulled onto the highway at exactly the speed limit, throwing me a two-finger salute as he passed. I sat in my cruiser for five full minutes after he disappeared, trying to regain control, trying to forget the way he'd looked at me—like I was something he wanted to devour and savor at the same time.
My radio crackled. "Quinn, you there?"
Dad's voice made guilt crash through me. Here I was, getting worked up over exactly the kind of man he'd warned me about. My thighs pressed together, trying to ease the ache between them, while my father checked in on me like I was still sixteen.
"Yeah, Dad—Sheriff. I'm here."
"Everything okay? Saw you had a stop. Took a while."
Of course he was monitoring. Probably had GPS on my cruiser, knowing exactly how long I'd been parked on the shoulder with Wolf McCarthy.
"Just a speeder. Handled it."
"Who was it?"
A pause, knowing this would trigger another lecture. "Wolf McCarthy."
Silence stretched before Dad's voice came back, harder now. "Stay away from him, Quinn. From all of them. The Pike Creek Riders are nothing but trouble, and that one's the worst of them. Cocky bastard thinks his smile can get him out of anything. Thinks because he's charming people will forget what he really is."
"What is he really?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
