Jill Shalvis: Naughty, But Nice

“Sunshine-yellow Porsche.” Tag shook his head at the idiotic tourist who’d probably taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Pleasantville. “Shouldn’t be hard to find. Owner’s name?”

“Let’s see, it’s here somewhere…Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.”

Not a tourist. Not a wayward traveler lost by accident. Not by a long shot.

Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.

She’d belonged here once. Though now, as a famous lingerie model, she was as far from Pleasantville as one could get.

He might not have ever met her personally since he’d been several years ahead of her in school, but her reputation preceded her. A reputation she’d gotten—according to legend—by using men just like her mother.

If he remembered correctly, and he was certain he did, Cassie had been tough, unreachable, attitude-ridden and…hot. Very hot.

And she’d been practically run out of town after her high school graduation by rumors. They’d said she was pregnant, on drugs, a thief. You name it, someone in town had claimed she’d done it. Hell, even his loser cousin Biff had plenty of wild stories, though Tag had no idea how much of it was true given Biff’s tendency toward exaggeration. He’d never expended any energy thinking about it.

But now he was sheriff and she was back, stirring up trouble. Seemed he’d need to think about her plenty.

He saw her immediately, speeding down Magnolia Avenue in her racy car, with a matching racy attitude written all over her. Blond hair whipping behind her, her fingers tapping in beat to the music she had blaring.

Knowing only that things were about to get interesting, Tag turned his cruiser around and went after her.

GET WHAT YOU CAN, honey. Get what you can and get out.

Cassie Tremaine Montgomery smiled grimly as she remembered her mother’s advice on life and took Magnolia Avenue at a slightly elevated speed than was strictly allowed by law. She couldn’t help it, her car seemed to have the same attitude about being in this town as she did.

In other words, neither of them liked it.

As she drove downtown throughout the day, running errands, people stopped, stared. Pointed.

Logically, she knew it was the car. But the place had slammed her into the past. People recognized her. People remembered her.

Had she thought they wouldn’t? Hadn’t Kate warned her after she had been back in town recently to close up her mother’s house? Good old Pea-ville.

There was Mrs. McIntyre coming out of the Tea Room. The Town Gossip hadn’t changed; she still wore her hair in a bun wrapped so tight her eyes narrowed, and that infamous scowl. She’d maliciously talked about Cassie and Flo on a daily basis.

But that was a lifetime ago. To prove it, Cassie waved.

Mrs. McIntyre shook her finger at her and turned to a blue-haired old biddy next to her. That woman shook her finger at Cassie, too.

Well. Welcome home. Cassie squashed the urge to show them a finger of her own. She couldn’t help it, this place brought out the worst in her.

But she wasn’t here to reminisce and socialize. God, no. If left up to her, she’d have never come back. There was nothing for her here, nothing.

Kate was gone. She’d marched out of town hand in hand with Cassie all those years ago, each determined to make something of themselves.

Kate had done spectacularly in Chicago, with her specialty ladies’ shop, Bare Essentials.

Some would say so had Cassie. But that she could afford to buy and sell this sorry-ass town was little satisfaction when just driving through made her feel young and stupid all over again. Two things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Everyone in Pleasantville had assumed she’d grow up the same as the trouble-loving Flo. Destiny, they’d said. Can’t fight it.

And if you counted going off to New York and becoming one of the world’s most well-known lingerie models following her destiny, well then, that’s what Cassie had done.

Now she was back. Not by choice, mind you. Oh, no. She passed the library. And yep, there was the librarian standing out front changing the sign for tonight’s reading circle. Mrs. Wilkens hadn’t changed a bit, either. She was still old, still had her glasses around her neck on a chain and…was still frowning at Cassie.

Cassie had spent hours at the library looking for an escape from her life, devouring every historical romance novel she could find.

Mrs. Wilkens had always, always, hovered over her as if she was certain Cassie was going to steal a book.

Oh, wasn’t this a fun stroll down memory lane. With a grim smile, Cassie drove on. She passed the old bowling alley, the five-and-dime, the Rose Café.

Pleasantville had a scent she’d never forgotten. It smelled like broken dreams and fear.

Or maybe that was just her imagination.

There was sound, as well. Other cars, a kid’s laughter…the whoop of a siren—

What the hell? Craning her neck in surprise, she looked into the rearview mirror and saw the police lights. Her heart lurched for the poor sucker about to get a ticket. A serious lead-foot herself, Cassie winced in sympathy and slowed so the squad car could go around her.

It didn’t.

No problem, she’d just pull over to give it more room. But the police car pulled over, too.

And that’s when it hit her. She was the sucker about to get the ticket.

“Damn it. Damn it,” she muttered as she turned off the car and fumbled for her purse. She hadn’t been pulled over since…prom night.

All those unhappy memories flooded back, nearly choking her. She hadn’t given thought to that night in far too long to let it hit her like a sucker punch now, but that’s exactly what it did. Her drunken date. Then dealing with the sheriff, who’d been one of the few men in town she’d figured she could trust.

She’d been wrong, very wrong. No man was trustworthy, hadn’t she learned that the hard way? Especially recently.

But after all the terror she’d been through in the days before she’d been forced back here, Cassie wasn’t going to get stressed about this. She’d find her wallet, explain why she was in such a hurry, and maybe, just maybe, if she batted the lashes just right, added a do-me smile and tossed back her hair in a certain way, she’d get out of here ticket-free.

Please, oh please, let there have been a new sheriff in the past ten years, she thought as she finally located her wallet in the oversize purse that carried everything including her still-secret vice—a historical romance. Pirates, rogues, Vikings…the lustier the better. She hadn’t yet cracked the spine on this latest book, but if the sheriff saw it she’d…well, she’d have to kill him.

“Damn it.”

No driver’s license in the wallet. Oh, boy. Her own fault, though. In getting ready for the club she’d gone to several nights ago with friends, she’d pulled out her license and stuck it in her pocket so she wouldn’t be hampered by her heavy purse.

And she hadn’t returned it, not then, and not in the shocking events since. “Damn it.”

“You said that already.”

Lurching up, Cassie smacked her head on the sun visor, dislodging her sunglasses. Narrowing her eyes at the low, very male laugh, she focused in on…not Sheriff Richard Taggart, thank God.

No, Richard Taggart would be in his late fifties by now. Probably gray with a paunch and a mean-looking mouth from all the glowering he’d done.

The man standing in front of her wearing mirrored sunglasses and a uniform wasn’t old, wasn’t gray and certainly didn’t have a paunch. In fact, as her eyes traveled up, up, up his very long, very mouthwatering body, she doubted he had a single ounce of fat on his tall, lean, superbly conditioned form.

Not that she was noticing. She worked with men all the time. Fellow models, photographers, directors…and while she definitely liked to look, and sometimes even liked to touch—on her terms thank you very much—this man would never interest her.