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“I am not!”
“See?” He pointed his index finger at her. “That’s what I’m talking about. No wonder you went through the local boys like quicksilver. I’d bet that if one so much as disagreed with you on the price of eggs, you dumped the poor sucker. He was out because he didn’t cater to you, pay you homage.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? You can’t stand being topped.” His hand shot out and grabbed a handful of her hair. Using it, he pulled her across the console of the Datsun until her face was directly beneath his. “Let me tell you something, Sunny Chandler. When I top you, you’re gonna love it.”
“Let me go.”
“And I’ll tell you something else.” Pushing the words through his bared teeth, he wound another inch of her hair around his fist. “If I’d been Don Jenkins, you would have never made it through the door of that church. Do you think I’d have let you walk out on me without so much as how-dee-do? No way. I wouldn’t have let you go without a fight, and I think there’s something seriously wrong with Jenkins for letting a firecracker like you get away.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, I do. I know your type. Fiercely independent. Always has to have the upper hand. The last word. You look like sugar, but you’re pure starch. You keep a fellow’s balls in a vise.” He laughed at her shocked expression. “Well, you’ve met your match, sweetheart, and there’s gonna be hell to pay. Beware.”
Sunny, pushing against his chest, tried to work herself free. “While we’re on the subject of types, I know all about yours, too,” she lashed out. “You think you’re God’s gift to women.”
“I’ve had very few complaints,” he said arrogantly. “Certainly no returns.”
“Whenever you flash that come-hither smile, you think a woman should lie down and put out and feel honored for having been granted the privilege.”
Grinning in his most ingratiating way, Ty finally released her. She moved back to her side of the car. “You can sure get down and get dirty when your hackles are raised, can’t you, Miss Sunny?”
Shooting him a fulminating look, Sunny rubbed the sore spot on her scalp where he’d had a grip on her hair. He was a barbarian . . . but a barbarian with insight. She did keep men at a distance. But it was to protect herself, not to tease them. In that respect Ty was wrong about her.
In a strange way, his sudden attack had excited her. No man had ever been so physical with her. She had liked feeling his breath strike her face on each deliberate word. His voice was laced with so much suggestion it seemed tangible. The hint of latent violence that lay just below his easygoing surface held an appeal for her that she was ashamed of.
But, as before, she refused to let him see her shaken. Instead, she pretended to be annoyed. “You made me miss a crucial part of the movie.”
“You enjoy seeing cops get blown away?”
“If this kind of movie bothers you, why did you bring me here?”
“This kind of movie doesn’t bother me. Hollywood could never portray it as bad as it really is.”
Again, she got a glimpse of his serious side. “Were you a cop before you came to Latham Green?”
“Yes.”
“In an urban area?” Sunny glanced at the screen where a high-speed chase down a city thoroughfare resulted in yet another violent death.
Ty, his eyes also on the screen, only nodded in answer.
“Why did you leave?” she asked.
He swiveled his head around and impaled her with a cold, blue stare. “Because I could no longer tell the good guys from the bad ones.”
Sunny realized that she was sticking her neck out when it would have been much safer not to. Fran had hinted that Ty Beaumont’s past was shrouded in mystery, but it wasn’t merely curiousity that prompted her to ask, “What happened?”
“It’s a long, boring story.”
“I wouldn’t be bored.”
“I would.”
“Don’t you miss city life?”
“Nope.”
