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“What ending is that?”
“I won't be one more number for you to call on Saturday night.” Her breathy voice teased him, making his jeans fit more snugly than they had five minutes ago.
“What makes you think that's what I want from you?”
“It's all you've wanted from any woman since your divorce.”
“But those women aren't you.” He traced a finger down her smooth cheek. “There’s something about you that has me wanting more. A lot more.”
She quirked a thin eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh.”
Time for the direct approach. “Come out with me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you're my best friend's brother.”
Not the response he’d expected. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Her silence and the way her gaze slid to the left screamed out how much of a bullshit excuse it was. Damn, Beth would be the death of him. She wanted him. He wanted her. What the hell was the problem?
“I need to get back to the party.” She circled around him.
Oh, hell no.
He stopped her with a light touch on her hip.
She let out the smallest of sighs, but to his ears it sounded as loud as a tornado plowing through a trailer park.
Pulling her closer, he inhaled her vanilla scent. “When you're ready to stop lying to me and tell me what this is really about, I will be here to listen. But this,” he lowered his head, “is real.”
Brushing his lips against hers, his body responded the moment she relaxed into his arms. She tasted of wine and sweetness and unfulfilled promise. As she softened against him, everything about him hardened. He spread his fingers wide on her round hip, the tips grazing her firm ass, and pulled her to him. She rubbed against his fast-hardening cock and he almost lost it right then and there.
Beth pushed him away. Breathing hard, her eyes dark with passion. Without saying a word, she slipped through his fingers and hurried down the hall.
Alone in the hallway, Hank fought to calm his hammering heart and bring his body back under control. But he wasn’t likely to accomplish either until he found a way to win over Beth Martinez.
A week later, he still hadn't come up with a decent plan. Sure, kidnapping her and carrying her off to a remote cabin had crossed his mind, but him being the Dry Creek County sheriff kind of negated actual law-breaking.
“Stop lollygagging and bring me that box of mementoes down from the attic.”
Ah, the sweet dulcet tones of his mother, Glenda, on a Founder’s Day preparation binge. A few more hours as the dutiful eldest son, then it was Friday poker night at Mike’s, and finally out to Vegas on the first flight on Monday to meet his brothers for the traditional Layton poker trip. Playing cards always helped him think. He'd figure out how to get on Beth's good side while staring at a full house.
“Are you taking a nap up there? Get a move on.”
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the box marked “Rebecca’s Bounty” in red marker and hefted it down the stairs. “Where do you want it?”
“Over on the table by the family tree would be perfect. Thanks.”
He nudged a portrait of his great-great-grandmother Emma Davenport a few inches to the left and lowered the box onto the oak table. “What's in this thing anyway?”
His mother appeared out of the kitchen dressed in jeans and a sparkly T-shirt. She carried a bowl and two spoons. “That is your great-great.” She paused and scrunched up her nose. “Oh, I'm not sure how many greats it is, but it's your great-grandmother's belongings. Come sit down and help me eat this, I accidentally got too much.”
She moved the family Bible to the center of the table and set down the bowl. Three gigantic scoops of chocolate ice cream complete with whipped cream and sprinkles filled the speckled blue bowl. His favorite. That meant only one thing—trouble ahead. Well, at least he’d get grilled on a full stomach.
“I thought Uncle Harlan lo
