Tempting the Deputy Read online

  She definitely did not want to encourage any intimacy between her and Logan, because she had the feeling under the hot sex god was a man who had made it his life’s work to protect anyone and everyone he thought needed protecting.

  Unfortunately, that warning voice didn’t stop Charlie wanting to have her cowboy cake and eat him too.

  Enlightenment dawned as she took in his intense expression. The only way to ward off any and all unnecessary intimacy was to make it clear to Logan she was one woman who was more than capable of protecting herself.

  “So let me get this straight, you’re offering your services as my personal stud?” she said, deliberately trying to antagonize him.

  But instead of looking annoyed or shocked, Logan Tate surprised her again. He laughed.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Another rough chuckle worked its way up his chest. “If you think you’re woman enough to handle me.”

  A laugh burst out of her own mouth at the challenging look in those pure blue eyes.

  So Deputy Hard-Ass had a sense of humor, too.

  Her gaze roamed over his impressive pecs and glided down to the pronounced bulge in his shorts. Before returning to his face.

  “Oh, I think I can handle you just fine,” she said, the shimmer of excitement obliterating the last of her caution. “In fact it would be my pleasure.”

  Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips, and buzzed a kiss across her knuckles.

  “Tomorrow night,” he said.

  The flames in her abdomen flared higher at the possessive look.

  “Looking forward to it,” she said. Then tugged her hand out of his and walked out of the room—before she gave in to the desire to jump him ahead of schedule.

  Playing with Logan Tate was playing with fire. She would have to be cautious, because she did not want to get burned.

  Even so, anticipation had the pheromones flooding through her body at the thought of all the fun they could have together between now and when she left.

  There was caution and then there was cowardice. When had she ever been able to resist a challenge? Or a dare?

  A little danger was welcome if the thrill was worth it. And on current evidence, Logan Tate—all six foot three of honed, flexible, and surprisingly inventive and unpredictable Montana man candy—would be totally worth it.

  Chapter Seven

  “So you and Charlie sitting in a tree… K. I. S. S. I. N. G.”

  Logan glanced over his shoulder at his brother’s teasing grin. And groaned. “Get lost, Lyle.” He turned back to the French toast he was making for his supper.

  He’d expected Lyle to be smug and unsubtle about what had happened between him and Charlotte, but he had hoped to avoid the ambush until tomorrow morning—in the hope that Lyle might have gotten the message after all the noise they’d been making and gone into town.

  No such luck.

  Lyle patted him on the back. “Stop pretending to be a bear. I can see that secret smile on your face, man. The one that says you just got laid. And even if I couldn’t see it, I sure as hell heard how much fun you were having. Admit it, you owe me for suggesting Charlie hang out here. That girl is seriously hot and you just scored.”

  “Fair warning, bro.” Logan glared at him. “You mention her and scoring in the same sentence again and you’re going to get your face rearranged.” He dumped the toast on his plate. And concentrated on not punching the smug grin off his brother’s face.

  Maybe he did have a secret smile. The sex had been spectacular and Charlotte had seemed enthusiastic about them having more. Which was all good, because he was already thinking about getting his hands on her again. But he did not like Lyle speaking about her so disrespectfully. She might be refreshingly uninhibited about sex talk—but he wasn’t. Especially not where his brother and the woman he was sleeping with were concerned.

  Lyle lifted his hands in a defensive gesture, the smug smile getting smugger. “Hey, backing off, big bro. No need to get territorial. Charlie and I are just friends.”

  “I know that,” Logan said, pouring syrup on his toast—while struggling to ignore the renewed prickle of jealousy.

  Which was just plain dumb. And not like him. He didn’t usually get possessive about women. Both Charlotte and Lyle had made it plain there was nothing between them. And Charlotte had agreed to his suggestion of a mutually satisfying sexual relationship while she was here. And anyway, even if there had been any chemistry between her and Lyle, he knew for all his joking around his brother would never poach. Especially not now Logan had staked a claim.

  But the spike of jealousy still stuck in his craw as he swallowed down the bite of toast, recalling the sight of Charlotte’s hand skimming down Lyle’s spine and getting perilously close to his butt.

  Damn, he was going to have to get a grip, because she was due to be taking shots of all the other guys, ten other guys to be exact, in the next couple of weeks.

  “Where is she now?” Lyle asked as he reached over to tear off a corner of Logan’s toast and pop it in his mouth.

  “She’s in her darkroom.” He’d asked her if she wanted some supper, but she’d told him she’d already eaten. He wished he hadn’t agreed to cover an extra shift tonight at the Sheriff’s Office. But then again, he didn’t want to come on too strong. They had a whole month to make the most of their incredible chemistry.

  The thought that she was hard at work developing some of the shots she’d taken of Lyle that afternoon wasn’t helping with his back-off plan, though.

  Lyle reached for another piece of toast and Logan rapped his fingers with his fork.

  “Ouch!” Lyle yelped.

  “Go make your own.”

  “Well, hell, you could have made me some. Seeing as you owe me so big.”

  Logan glared at him some more. “I’m not kidding around, Lyle. What me and Charlotte have got going on is not your business. And sure as hell not a chance for you to make dumb jokes.”

  Lyle’s expression sobered.

  At last, he’d gotten the message.

  But then his eyebrow quirked as he studied Logan.

  “You do know this isn’t serious for her?” he said, sounding concerned all of a sudden. “That she’s not going to hang around once the calendar’s done?”

  Logan frowned. “Of course I do.” What did Lyle take him for? A romantic? The idea was so ridiculous it should have made him smile. They’d had one booty call with a view to having more. That was all this was, all it would ever be. He wasn’t looking for more. But why did Lyle’s searching gaze make him feel so uncomfortable? When exactly had his kid brother started looking out for him instead of the other way around?

  “Charlie’s a free spirit,” Lyle added. “Which makes her great for a short-term hookup. But she is not the kind of girl who’s gonna settle down in a place like Marietta.”

  “Jesus, Lyle, give me a break, okay.” Logan put down his fork, his appetite shot. “I’m not stupid. And I’m not looking to settle down. With anyone.”

  The truth was he had enough commitments in his life without adding any more. However exciting Charlotte Foster was, she could never be more to him than an entertaining distraction from the many responsibilities he already shouldered. To his kid brother. The Double T. His colleagues at the Sheriff’s Office. And the whole community of Marietta.

  That was more than enough commitments, even for him.

  Lyle’s face softened and he grinned. “So listen, I’m not going to be around for the next week.”

  “Oh yeah?” Logan said, trying to sound circumspect but unable to stifle the quick delighted jump in his pulse, at the thought that he and Charlotte would have the ranch to themselves—and Lyle wouldn’t be hanging about flashing that smug grin at him every time he got into Charlotte’s pants.

  “Don’t sound so devastated,” Lyle said, his wry smile telling Logan he hadn’t managed to stifle his delight as well as he’d hoped.

  Logan felt the smile spread across his face. To hell with it. His b
rother knew he’d gotten into Charlotte’s pants and it wasn’t as if he had anything to hide.

  “Where are you going to be?” he asked, more out of duty than actual interest, for once.

  “As if you care.” Lyle chuckled.

  “Of course I care, little bro; you know how much I love to track your every move.” It had been a bone of contention for years between them: that Logan insisted on riding herd on his kid brother.

  “Well, just so you won’t have to worry like an old woman,” Lyle said, “I’m gonna be at the smoke jumper base in Bozeman.”

  “I thought fire season hadn’t started yet?” Logan’s heart galloped into his throat. He always hated it when Lyle went off for his shifts during the summer months, risking his life jumping out of planes and into infernos. He’d learned not to let his fears get the better of him—even if his brother was an adrenaline junkie, he was also strong enough and smart enough not to put himself in too much unnecessary danger—but Logan did not want to have an extra week to freak out about Lyle’s safety. It would totally take the shine off his planned booty call engagements with Charlotte.

  “It hasn’t,” Lyle said. “But they’re running some additional training sessions—I want to get certified as a spotter. We’ve only got one trained spotter on the squad; it’s always good to have more.” Lyle dragged Logan’s plate across the table and sliced into the untouched toast. “I’ll be back a week tomorrow.”

  Logan nodded. “Okay, stay safe. I’ll miss you.”

  Lyle looked up after shoveling the last of Logan’s toast into his mouth. The smug smile was back. “No you won’t.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hello, honey, I’m home.

  Charlie couldn’t resist a smile as she stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her hot date for the night slaving over a hot stove. A plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves stretched over impressive biceps while his tight buns looked glorious in faded denim. The dish towel tucked into his belt and the deep furrows in his hair, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it, completed the picture of a man totally comfortable in his masculinity while rustling up something that smelled delicious.

  Was he cooking her supper? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It kind of made this a date date, instead of just a booty call date.

  Awareness surged, lifting the weariness that had been dragging her down when she’d caught a lift to the ranch with Tad after two calendar shoots in town at Marietta Regional Hospital—one with the paramedic Patrick Freeman and the other with ER doctor Gavin Clark, brother of the elusive Jonah.

  Whatever. She needed a decent meal. Because she had a feeling she was going to need to get her strength up for tonight’s activities.

  She scooped her camera out of the bag and eased off a single shot.

  Caption: Masculinity in the kitchen.

  The click of the shutter had Logan swinging round, spatula in hand. “Hey, you’re back?” he said.

  “Hmmm,” she said and placed her camera and camera bag on the table. “What are you cooking?”

  “Steaks, potatoes, and I thought I’d rustle us up a garden salad.” He turned back to the stove and flipped the steaks on the griddle. “Figured you might want something to eat.”

  He was cooking her dinner. She felt the melting sensation in her chest and ignored it. This was not cute. It was just sustenance. And she was ravenous. So all good.

  “I’ll do the salad,” she said, crossing to the fridge. She pulled out a head of lettuce, some tomatoes, and cucumber. Then rinsed and sliced and chopped before tossing together a vinaigrette after deciding the blue cheese dressing on the shelf had about a billion additives.

  But as they worked together in silence, the tension mounted. Photographing half-naked hunks all day had put her on edge—until all she’d been able to think about was getting back to the ranch and jumping Logan Tate’s bones. Having him cook supper for her was not making her any less edgy.

  He sat down, the two plates loaded with freshly grilled steaks and baked potatoes as big as bowling balls slathered in golden melting butter.

  “We’re good to go. Why don’t you grab the silverware?” he said, pointing her to the drawer beside the stove as he ripped the dish towel out of his belt.

  He looked a little tense. Not so good. Unless she made it her mission to relax him.

  “Where’s Lyle?” she asked as she tucked into the meal—which was simple, satisfying, and almost as delicious as her date.

  “He’s staying in Bozeman tonight,” Logan said, sawing into his steak.

  “I see.” She savored another succulent bite of steak, the grilled meat so fresh it all but melted on her tongue. A trickle of juice leaked out of her mouth. She lapped it up, aware of Logan’s gaze on her lips.

  He concentrated on adding some salad to his plate.

  “Gonna be there till next week,” he said, not looking at her. “Doing a course to earn his spotter stripes.”

  She put her fork down—now officially full and through eating. However ravenous she had been for food, she was a great deal more ravenous for the man in front of her. Time for affirmative action.

  “You had me at ‘He’s staying in Bozeman, tonight’,” she said, unable to hide the flirtatious grin as his gaze met hers.

  “Something on your mind, Charlotte?” he said, the lazy smile making her flirt gene go into overdrive.

  Who exactly was teasing whom here?

  “Something’s been on my mind since last night, actually,” she said. Getting up from her chair, she stepped toward him, gratified when he lowered his fork. “I’m finished. And that was delicious.” She plucked his fork out of his hand and laid it on his plate. “If you haven’t finished how would you feel about warming it up later?” She pushed his plate away, loving the way his eyes darkened as she climbed up onto the kitchen table and sat in front of him, her legs perched on either side of his chair. “And eat me instead.”

  The request was bold and dirty and deliberately provocative.

  How would Deputy Hard-Ass react?

  Lifting his napkin, he wiped his mouth. “You’re a very bad girl, aren’t you, Charlotte?”

  Endorphins fired through her at the husky tone of voice. And the playful glint in his eyes.

  “Take off your pants.” He stared at her.

  She chuckled. Oh my God. Did he actually just get even hotter?

  “Now, Charlotte.”

  She jumped at the curt demand. And immediately unbuttoned her fly. Slipping the jeans off while perched on a table turned out to be not the easiest or most graceful manoeuver, however. Once she’d wriggled the confining denim down her hips, she was stuck fast, her boots halting her progress—with Logan’s eyes glittering with amusement at her predicament.

  “Bugger!” she said.

  “You want some help, Charlotte?” he said in that I’m-the-boss-of-you voice that had once gotten on her nerves, but was now making her nerves vibrate in some very interesting places.

  She huffed. “Yes! Could you take my boots off?”

  He clasped her hips, then slid his callused palms down to her knees, firing sensation up her naked thighs and into her already yearning sex.

  “Sure I can,” he said. “But only if you ask me nicely.”

  “Please, Deputy Hard-Ass.” She fluttered her eyelashes outrageously. “Will you take off my boots for me?”

  His gaze remained locked on hers, as he tugged off first one boot, then the other. They clattered to the floor. Before he stood up, and dragged her jeans the rest of the way off.

  He positioned himself between her open legs. Large hands grabbed her bottom, and jerked her toward him, until the thin swatch of lace covering her sex butted against the thick ridge in his pants.

  She stretched back, arching up, to rub the erection. Everything inside her melting with need.

  “Take off your shirt,” he demanded, the teasing glint gone.

  She undid the buttons, taking her time, loving the surge of heat and power as
he tracked each new inch of exposed skin.

  At last the shirt dropped open to reveal her matching bra.

  Blunt fingers slipped under the waistband of her panties to massage her ass.

  “All the way off, Charlotte.”

  She shrugged off the shirt, not easy when he was holding her so tightly.

  “Now lose the bra.”

  Her breath came out in ragged pants as she unclipped the hook. The straps fell off her shoulders and she clasped the lace to her breasts.

  Pulling a hand out of her panties, he tugged the thin covering away and flung it over his shoulder.

  Suddenly she was naked, or as good as naked. While he was still fully clothed.

  “Brace your hands behind you,” he said, the deep voice now feral with demand.

  She did as she was told, the movement forcing her back to arch, offering her vulnerable breasts to him.

  He cupped one heavy mound in a large palm and lifted it to his mouth. Arrows of sensation, hot and furious, darted down as he played with the nipple, teasing and tempting then sucking it to the roof of his mouth.

  She couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, her whole body quivering with need. Then he transferred that cruel relentless mouth to the other breast.

  She arched even higher, the torturous play of lips, teeth, tongue, too good to resist.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t stand any more, he stopped. Straightened. The slow smile that spread across his face one of devastating masculine superiority. She could feel the chill of air on her wet nipples, imagined what a wanton she must look like, sitting there sucking in air with nothing but her soaked panties on.

  “Don’t stop,” she managed to say.

  Turning round, he dragged his chair back, and sat down on it. Then clamped his hands on her bottom and drew her right to the table’s edge.

  He inserted a finger into the gusset of her panties. She bucked as his knuckle brushed against the wet, swollen flesh.

  “Easy, Charlotte,” he said as if gentling a wild mustang, then—watching her reaction—ripped the delicate lace.