Beth Ciotta - Out of Eden

Touch her and I’ll kick your ass.

“Are those army boots?” Ziffel asked.

“Something like.” He couldn’t make out details, but he made out splashes of color. Yellow, pink and blue on black. Definitely different. Hardly sexy, yet he had the mother of boners.

What the hell, Reynolds? Jerk off. Nail a loose woman. Do not approach the temptress.

Ziffel looked at his watch. “Nine-fifteen. McGraw’s Shoe Store always opens at nine prompt.”

“So?”

“Kylie always opens the store. Always. What do you think she’s up to?”

“Trouble.”

“Kylie McGraw?” Ziffel snorted. “That girl’s a pussycat.”

Jack believed otherwise. What’s your game, Tiger? “Keep an eye on Shy.”

“Where are you going?” Ziffel asked as he pushed through the door.

“Making a strudel run.”

“Good Lord,” he heard behind him. “What’s that smell?”

KYLIE WAS THREE STEPS from Hank’s Hardware when she caught a fragrant whiff of baked goods and java. She wasn’t a coffee drinker, but she’d read that caffeine tames headaches. Just her luck, her hangover had magnified on the bumpy ride into town. In lieu of more aspirin, she’d settle for a big honking cup of dark roast. She swiveled toward Kerri’s Confections…and saw Jack.

Just. Her. Luck.

She almost did a one-eighty—hang the coffee—but she couldn’t avoid the man forever. Best to get this over with. About last night…

Standing her ground, she smiled at the approaching lawman and cursed her skipping heart. She told herself she was reacting to his official appearance, not his hunky bad self. Just because she was over him, that didn’t mean she was blind to the pulse-tripping package. He looked more like a SWAT guy than Eden’s chief of police. The ball cap, the cargo pants and tactical running boots. The badge clipped to his taut waist.

S-e-x-y.

She thought about the previous night. Her botched seduction. Her second botched seduction. Her cheeks flamed. Not that he’d bring it up.

A gentleman even when you ached to be ravished.

Dang.

He stepped from the street onto the sidewalk. “Kylie.”

“Jack.”

His eyes were hidden behind a pair of cool cop sunglasses, but she sensed his amusement when he noted her funky but incredibly un-sexy boots. No doubt he preferred his women in strappy four-inch heels. Jack went for glamour girls. Stunning beauties with hourglass figures. Kylie wasn’t voluptuous or blond, but—thanks to yoga—she did have nice legs. Not that she wanted Jack to go for her. She was, after all, over him, and he’d be over Eden in a month, if not sooner. Pursuing an intimate relationship would only end in heartache. She mentally recited that affirmation three times as her traitorous heart raced.

He focused back on her face. “About that kiss…”

Oh, God. If he was compelled to address her drunken advance, then he felt he had to set her straight. You’re a sweet girl, but…

Kylie scrambled to preserve her dignity. “I’m so not attracted to you.”

He regarded her over the rims of his tinted glasses.

Her knees weakened at the sight of those river-blue eyes. Her stomach constricted as she thought she’d maybe, possibly insulted him. Normally she went out of her way not to hurt someone’s feelings. “Not that you’re not attractive. I mean you’re gorgeous. In a, you know, beefcake sort of way.”

He raised a brow.

“But I’m not the beefcake type,” she rambled on. “I mean, you’re not the type for me. That kiss was just…well, I was drunk and you were there.”

“So if Ashe…”

“Exactly,” she lied. “What can I say? I was pretty blitzed.”

“No argument there.”

Embarrassed and oddly provoked, she hitched the purse she’d just picked up at Boone’s higher on her shoulder and hiked her chin a notch. “I’m just saying you don’t have to worry about me stalking you or coming on to you, because I’m over you. Completely. That schoolgirl crush? History. So…there. We’re okay. Right?” She stuck out her hand, offering a truce, retaining her dignity. “Friends?”

He clasped her palm, stroked his thumb over her skin.

Heat shot up her arm and burned a path from her heart to her…Uh-oh.

He smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make her insides gooey. “Join me for a cup of coffee?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You were heading toward Kerri’s.”

“Yes, but…”

“Friends confide in each other.”

“Sure, but…”

“The beef you have with Spenser. Maybe I can help.”

Kylie stared, his words not registering as much as his touch. He was still holding her hand, still stroking her skin. She tingled everywhere. Eh-ver-ree-where. Even her hair tingled. How was that possible? How could she get zip from a kiss and zing from holding hands?

Then again, this morning she was sober.

This was bad. Not the sober part. The zing part.

Really, really bad.

Kylie jerked free. “Thanks, but…I’m late.” She spun back toward the hardware store.

“Thought you were heading for the café,” Jack said with a smile in his voice.

Was he teasing her? The thought occurred that he’d done that thumb-stroking thing on purpose, just to see if she really was cured of her schoolgirl crush. Curiosity? Arrogance? Although, it wasn’t like Jack to lead a girl on.

“I was,” she said over her shoulder, feigning an easy smile. “But now, thanks to our chat, I’m late. Meeting someone. Gotta run.” She intentionally left the identity of that someone to his imagination. Hopefully, he’d imagine a guy. Maybe even—eew—Ashe. She sure as heck didn’t want him thinking she was hopelessly single, which she was, but that wasn’t the point.

Flustered, Kylie rushed over the threshold of Hank’s Hardware and slammed into Faye.

“You’re twenty minutes late.”

“Sorry.” Kylie wanted to spew about the unnerving encounter with Jack, but she felt stupid. Just this morning, she’d sworn she was over him. Actually, she’d declared her undying love dead the day she’d learned he was getting married—much to Faye’s relief. Faye, who’d endured years of Kylie’s unrequited pining. Faye, who apparently had problems of her own. As soon as they had a private moment, she’d have to ask why she and Stan were on the outs.

“I left this at the bar last night,” Kylie said, flashing her purse and hoping it excused her delay. “Had to stop and pick it up.”

“You drove without a license? Are you nuts?” Faye snapped her fingers. “Ah, yes. The new you. The rebel rouser. What next? Picketing the Bixley? Expand or else?”

Again with the sarcasm. Kylie refused to take offense. If she stayed upbeat, maybe she could lighten her friend’s dark mood. “I could zoom my bike down Main Street topless,” she teased while glancing at the signs hanging above the aisles. “That would cause a stir.”

“Speeding. Indecent exposure.” Faye sighed and shook her head. “You’re determined to land in jail, aren’t you?”

Kylie snorted and moved toward aisle seven. “Jack wouldn’t arrest me. It would piss off Spenser.”

“Spenser’s half a world away.”

“Don’t remind me.” Kylie gestured to her flower-covered Doc Martens. “What do you think?”

“So that’s how you’re going to shake up Eden. Impractical footwear.”

“For a start.”

“Nice ensemble,” Faye said, gesturing to the rest of Kylie’s attire. “Sort of retro Madonna. Except…you rode your bike in a skirt?”

“Yep.”

“No tights or leggings?”

“I’m a little backed up on laundry.”

“Tell me you’re wearing shorts.”