A few minutes later, the bubble-gum-pink, white-walled behemoth rolled to a stop at the state highway intersection, and Dante made sure Taffy saw his sedan before he pulled onto the road. She followed behind, repeatedly glancing in her rearview mirror, either making sure no one saw them together or checking her makeup—no way to know for sure.
But where the hell did Dante think he was taking her? All the way to Asheville to his place? How about to her place, where she lived with her grandfather and great-aunt? That oughta work out real good. A coffee shop? A cheap motel? He started laughing at the absurdity of the situation, realizing he didn’t know where to take Taffy because he didn’t know what she’d want from him or even what he wanted from her.
He only knew he wanted her.
Suddenly, the Coupe de Ville roared past him on the left, and Taffy drove a couple hundred feet then signaled. She made a U-turn, motioning out the open window for him to follow.
Dante found himself laughing. And it occurred to him that the last time he’d laughed like that was in the hotel room in D.C.—the last time he’d been with Tanyalee Marie Newberry.
He followed the Caddy as it climbed along the state highway, winding its way up the mountain. He had no idea where the woman was headed. Hell, maybe she was escorting him to the Tennessee state line, where she’d crack him across the face and call him every name in the book for violating her privacy. He might even deserve such punishment, if this meeting hadn’t been mostly coincidence. After all, how could he have known Taffy was visiting Gladys Harbison and the scruffy daughter of a dead meth cook?
Just then, the pink land yacht turned left onto Randall Road, whatever the hell that was. Seconds later, there was a sudden clearing of trees, and Dante glanced to his right. He wasn’t sure why he was so shocked at the view, since he’d lived in Asheville for several months now, but he sucked in his breath. Golden evening light poured down into the valley, and the Great Smokies rippled in waves of purples, browns, greens, and blues for what looked like forever. He watched a hawk swoop down through the sky, obviously on a mission.
Dante returned his attention to the road, smiling to himself. Brooklyn had thin-crust pizza, street art, Peter Pan Donuts, and more than a hundred and seventy subway stations—but it didn’t have anything like this.
The de Ville signaled and turned left again, and Dante had a flash of understanding. He remembered that one of Taffy’s previous addresses was here on Newberry Lane, but that was when she’d been married to DeCourcy, who was now married to Taffy’s sister, Cheri. These people were fuckin’ nuts, no doubt about it, but his most pressing concern was why in God’s name would she want to come here, of all places?
Oh.
The setting sun reflected in a mirror-still mountain lake. Trees of every kind towered over the setting, and a charming stone house was set back about twenty yards from the water’s edge. A simple but sturdy dock jutted out into the lake, and there were two Adirondack chairs angled perfectly for viewing the sunset. The most striking thing about the place was that it was silent. No cars. No people. Just peace and quiet. And Dante was mesmerized by it.
“What the damn holy hell do you think you’re doing?” Taffy had jumped from the Caddy, braced her high heels in the gravel, and slammed the car door with a flourish. The sound echoed over the water and sent birds screeching into the trees.
She marched over to where Dante sat in the sedan and got right in his face. “Who the hell do you think you are, following me to where I live? You have no right! If I’d wanted you to know who I was and where I was from, I would have given you my phone number and address and told you to stop on by! But no! I did not! So how dare you? I ought to slap you to sleep and then slap you for sleeping!”
Dante reached for the door handle, not exactly sure what she meant by that but figured it had something to do with the fact that she wanted to slap him, then slap him again just for the hell of it. “Let me explain, Taffy.”
“No! You just sit yourself right there and let me finish what I gotta say to you, mister big deee-eeee-aaayee man!”
He dared peek up at her delicate feminine features and those perfect breasts now pressed into the open window. Mother of God, she was beautiful when she was pissed. But Tanyalee Newberry had been beautiful in pretty much every state he’d seen her—dressed, half naked, all naked, nervous, tipsy, frightened, laughing, half asleep, or when she was a sweaty, postsex mess. She was most beautiful of all when his cock was buried inside her and her eyes were locked on his.
Dante cleared his throat. In his most pitiable voice he said, “Let me know when I might have a moment to plead my case.”
“You have no case! There is no excuse for this! Now, git out!” She yanked open the door.
“But you told me to sit.”
“I changed my damn mind!”
Dante slowly rose from the driver’s seat. He stood over her, knowing he should be respectful of her anger, because Taffy had reason to be angry. He wasn’t a particularly sensitive male, but even he knew women didn’t like to be surprised. In general, they preferred that you call ahead.
She balled her fists and shoved them into his chest, knocking Dante against the car. He sighed.
“You lied to me! ‘Oh, I’m Dan Carnes and I own a cheesecake factory.’ Right! Such a load of shee-it!”
He raised a finger to object. “Actually, it was just cheese. No cake.”
She slapped his finger away. “Damn right there’s no cake! There’s not even any cheese! Because you’re a liar and you took advantage of me—a poor woman in unfortunate circumstances! I should press charges against you and get your ass thrown out of the deee-eee-aaye!”
Dante nodded. “I can give you the contact information for the agent in charge of my field office.”
“What? Who? I don’t … I just … Arrrrgggghhhhh!” Taffy bunched her hair in her fingers and stomped her feet onto the pebble road.
Dante took advantage of her temporary speechlessness. “Can I just explain?”
“No! You don’t under—” She swung away from him and hung her head for a moment, then snapped back around. Immediately he saw that her rage had turned to sadness. “What we did was a terrible mistake, all right? It was wrong for me to go to that hotel and have sex with you like I did, wrong in so many ways you wouldn’t even believe it! So, I guess what I’m saying is you had no right to use your law enforcement resources to track me down, like it’s some kind of game. It isn’t—it’s my life you’re messing with. And I don’t appreciate it one damned bit.”
Dante took a step toward her. “Please, Taffy—”
She backed away, throwing her arms in the air in frustration. “Sweet Jesus! My name isn’t Taffy, all right? But I guess you already know that, don’t you?” Tears welled in her eyes. She swiped them away with the back of her hand. “Go on, now. Get out of here. This is just plain awful and I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“I’m sorry. Truly I am.” Dante wanted to touch her, hold her close. It hurt his chest to see her miserable like this. “Tanyalee, I wish we hadn’t run into each other this way. Believe me, I had no idea—”
“Oh, puh-lease! I may be a small-town Southern girl who didn’t remember where your precious Brooklyn was right off the bat, but I am not an idiot!”
Dante frowned.
“Oh yes I did, Dan. I saw how you struggled not to say something horrible to me on that plane, all because I temporarily forgot the geography of a city I’ve never even been to! Did you think people can’t read your face? You think people can’t tell exactly what you’re thinking?”
Dante blinked. Actually, he did think that. He’d been told that a hundred times, even by his mother and Daya. When he was undercover, his life depended on it. Apparently, Taffy had some sort of magical ability to do what no one else could do. The idea of that intrigued him. It bothered him a little, too.
Taffy rubbed her forehead. “Look. It doesn’t matter. I just think it’s a shame you were willing to stoop so low to get to me. Knocking on Gladys’s door the way you did, pretending you needed to talk to poor Fern, who’s just a pathetic little creature.” She glared at him. “And then you had the nerve to try to tell me it was some kind of coincidence? Good Lord! Shameful!”
“Uh—”
“Unfortunately, it was a complete waste of your time. You need to go.”
“Can we sit somewhere and talk?”
She laughed, gesturing to the empty grass. “There’s no place to sit, in case you haven’t noticed, and I don’t want to talk.”
Dante was surprised at himself. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman said he needed to go, but if it had ever happened, he surely wouldn’t have tried to convince her otherwise. But that was what he was about to do with Taffy. “I owe you an explanation. All I ask is for five minutes of your time.”
She laughed again, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “You don’t owe me anything, Agent … what was it?”
“Cabrera. Dante Cabrera.”
Taffy shook her head and raised her eyes to the sky.
Dante dared to take another step toward her, and she didn’t back away this time. “Five minutes, Tanyalee. Please.”
When she lowered her gaze once more, she was blinking back tears. “You shouldn’t have come here, Dante Cabrera.”
“Five minutes. Then I’ll go.” He gently cupped her elbow in his palm. “Let’s go sit on the deck chairs. This place is beautiful.”
Taffy laughed again. “I didn’t bring you out here to watch the damned sunset.”
“Why did you, then?”
She sighed deeply. “This place belongs to my sister and her husband and they’re on their honeymoon. I figured I could cuss your ass out without an audience.”
Dante nodded. “I see. Come on, then.” He carefully guided Taffy toward the dock, but she pulled away.
“I need to keep you in sight at all times.” She gestured for him to walk ahead. “Go.”
“You gonna push me in the water?” Dante could hear the tap of her sandals against the wooden dock behind him.
“No. Unless you can’t swim. Can you swim?”
“Of course I can.”
“Then I’ll just have to strangle you on dry land.”
He laughed softly. “You’ve assaulted an officer once already today, so I wouldn’t push it if I were you, Miss Newberry.” Dante sank down into one of the Adirondack chairs and waited for Taffy to take her seat. When she did, the incredibly sensual and female scent he remembered wafted through the air, into his nostrils, and penetrated the primordial part of his brain. He had to close his eyes and let it settle in for a moment.
“Just say your piece so you can leave,” she said.
Dante opened his eyes once more and looked right at her. Taffy was leaned back in the angled chair, her lovely legs crossed at the knee, her pale denim skirt tight against her upper thigh. She wore pearls at her neck, dangly pearl earrings, and another pink top, though this one seemed to have more orange in it than the others he’d seen her in. Dante couldn’t help but notice that she matched the stripes in the evening sky, and it made him smile.
“What color do you call what you’re wearing?” he asked her.
Taffy stared at him for an instant, then began to rise from her chair. “I’ve had enough,” she said softly.
“No! Wait!” Dante touched her knee, truly confused by her reaction. “Why are you so angry? It was just a simple question.”
Taffy pursed her lips tightly. “Because you’re making fun of me, and I don’t deserve it. I won’t stand for it.”
Dante leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. The feel of her silky skin and slim fingers was enough to make him shiver with remembered pleasure, but he knew he needed to be on top of his game here. He pulled himself together. “I’m not making fun of you, Tanyalee. I sincerely wanted to know what it’s called because you wear a lot of pink, but every time I see you it’s a slightly different shade.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s ‘seashell blush.’ But how do you know I wear a variety of pink shades?”
“You were wearing pink when I met you, and you’re wearing pink today.” Dante smiled at her, but apparently this observation was not a conversation starter on its own merits. “So what exactly is seashell blush?”
Taffy pulled her hand from his grasp and looked at him like he was an idiot. Maybe he was.
She tilted her head to the side. “Listen, secret agent man. It’s called seashell blush because it’s the color of the inside of a seashell when it … oh, forget it. So you asked for five minutes and I agreed, but if you think you get extra time for empty sweet talk you’ve got another thing coming.”
* * *
Wainright Miller poked his head into the old insurance office building and felt his eyes widen. “Well, what do you know?” he mumbled to himself. “Candy-ass Carmichael’s really pulling this off.”
Her mother—the crazy, oversexed, rabble-rousing old bat who happened to be one of his residents—had told him that renovations were coming along nicely at the bakery, but he hadn’t believed her. He hadn’t trusted Jacinta Carmichael since she’d whipped the senior citizen residents into a frenzy over the quality of the dining room food.
Cherokee Pines belonged to him. Not the oldies. And that was something Jacinta had never seemed to understand.
Miller sighed in resignation. The sole reason for this uncomfortable visit was the promise he’d made to the residents. He’d assured them that Candy’s desserts would be available in the assisted living dining room. But God, did it ever pain him to have to pay the bitch for pies and cakes—no matter how good they were.
There was another reason this visit was going to be just downright unpleasant. Miller hadn’t spoken to Candy since the day Gerrall Spivey—that useless moron of a front desk clerk—had bound and gagged him, pushed him into the trunk of his own car, kidnapped Candy, and taken them both out to the compound.
Months had passed, but the irony of it all still made him smile. By the time the cops showed up to rescue the two of them, anyone who could identify his role in the meth operation was either dead or bleeding in the dirt, and poor Mr. Wainright Miller was just the victimized owner-operator of Cherokee Pines Assisted Living.
It was incredibly good luck, a random stroke of universal genius. Of course, the Ramirez camp hadn’t been happy that about eighty thousand in product had been confiscated and one of their busiest kitchens busted. But months of the cartel’s profits were safely stashed in the Cherokee Pines front office safe, next to the insurance checks and legitimate cash receipts, and because of that, they’d given him a chance to redeem himself.
All he had to do was manage logistics for the Possum Ridge pot farm until harvest—his last job in the drug business. After this, he was out. By quitting time he would have all the loose ends tied up. Cherokee Pines would be sold to the Charlotte-based management group who’d been courting him for years, and every dime of profit from the sale—and every dime skimmed from the top of Ramirez’s operations—would be safely deposited in his Cayman Islands accounts. He would have a new identity so he could enjoy it all in peace.
“Hello?” Miller called out into the cavernous open space. “Anyone around?”
Fuck. Halliday is here.
“Hey, Mr. Miller! Come on in. Candy’s back in the kitchen and she’s expecting you.”
“Hello, Sheriff. Nice to see you.”
Halliday crossed the wide expanse of the room and held out his hand for a shake. Miller smiled. It gave him a perverse thrill every time he ran into this buffoon and played all nicey-nice. The guy was clueless. No wonder the Ramirez cartel was still willing to invest in Cataloochee County. For every operation that was busted, ten more went undetected. Selling drugs out of this county was like doling out funnel cakes to fatties at the Volunteer Fire Carnival.
“How’ve you been, Wainright? You doing okay?”
“Ah, you know, things are getting back to normal after that horrible kidnapping ordeal I went through with Candy. I’m trying to put the past in the past, but I’ll tell you…” He shook his head and sighed dramatically. “I’ll be happy if nothing that exciting ever happens to me again, that’s for damn sure.”
Halliday patted him on the back. “I hear you,” he said, leading Miller down a hallway to the kitchen. “Mr. Miller’s here, baby!” he called out.
They got to the doorway of the kitchen just as Candy finished stacking baking sheets into a lower cabinet, rising from her knees. He had to admit that Jacinta Carmichael’s daughter was pretty enough, but she was a dishonest sneak—slipping in the back of Cherokee Pines to live with her mother when she knew it was against the rules. He hated sneaks.
“Hi!” Candy wiped the back of her wrist against her cheek, then did a double take. “Oh, my goodness! You look fabulous, Mr. Miller.”
“Thank you.” He’d lost thirty pounds in the last six weeks, and was damn glad to see that somebody had noticed. “I’ve got a ways to go yet, but my blood pressure is down and I’m feeling like I’ve got more energy.”
“Well, it certainly shows. But…” Candy frowned. “I hope all these desserts aren’t going to tempt you off your course. I’d hate to do that.”
Miller saw her smile at him and thought it almost looked sincere, so he smiled back. But this bitch had caused him a lot of grief, showing up at Cherokee Pines, sneaking in her desserts, and making Gerrall fall in love with her. Candy Carmichael coming back to town had led to the downfall of a very profitable little meth operation, and he’d never forgive her for that.
“Oh, no worries, Miss Carmichael,” he said pleasantly. “That’s my battle to fight, not yours, and the residents are looking forward to another of your German chocolate cakes.”
She seemed embarrassed by the flattery, and her cheeks flushed. Miller took a sidelong glance at Halliday and was nauseated by the puppy love in the sheriff’s eyes. These two deserved each other. She was a conniving bitch and he was a dim-witted dolt. They were going to make each other deliriously happy.
Candy grabbed a notebook from the stainless steel counter. “I’d ask you to sit down and join me for a cup of coffee, but we’re not set up for coffee yet and our tables won’t get here until next week.”
Miller waved his hand through the air to dismiss her concerns. He wouldn’t tell her, of course, but if the place were decked out like a five-star French restaurant and served the best cup of joe this side of Paris, he still wouldn’t want to sit across from Candy Carmichael. The business they needed to discuss would take just minutes and could be done standing.
“I’ve got the list,” he said, pulling a sheet of paper from his pants pocket. “These are the results of our questionnaire, after some compromise. If it were up to the residents, they’d want an entire dessert buffet every lunch and dinner, and fancy baked goods at every breakfast, but there is a limit to what our operating budget can afford, I’m afraid.”
Candy nodded and gave him a sweet smile. “I know. My mother told me the process was like negotiating a peace treaty.”
Miller laughed, hoping to God he could get out of there before losing his mind. He began reading from the list. “Okay, so on Saturdays and Sundays we’ll need two kinds of breakfast pastries or baked goods. The residents have asked for sticky buns and popovers, but feel free to substitute other items, or the next thing they’ll complain about is a lack of variety.”
“Of course,” she said, writing quickly. “So a total of about a hundred pieces each weekend morning?”
Miller swallowed hard—this was going to cost him a fucking fortune. “Yes, please. And for weekly desserts, the residents have decided they’d like something of your choosing on Monday and Friday, but they insist on Cupcake Wednesdays.”
“How fun!” Candy started scribbling notes on her pad of paper, and all he could think was how much he hated cupcakes. They were just too damn delicious, and they went down so easy. They were like potato chips—he could never stop at one.
Or five.
Candy gave him a big smile. “You know, Mr. Miller, in all honesty I was quite surprised that you called me. I’m thrilled, but … well, I know we had a rocky start.”
Jesus. Get me out of here. He tried to smile back. “As I just mentioned to the sheriff, all I want to do is put the past in the past.” Miller retrieved his checkbook and a key from an inner pocket of his suit jacket. “This is for the first month,” he said, handing her the check he’d prepared in advance.
“Oh, my goodness! Thank you!” Candy broke out into a huge grin and her eyes shot to Halliday. “My first standing order, Turner!”
“You’ll have to photocopy that and frame it, baby,” the sheriff said.
“What a great idea!”
If Miller didn’t get out of there in the next few seconds, he feared he would vomit. “And here’s the key to the kitchen door,” he said to Candy, noting the way she averted her eyes shamefully as she took it from him.
And rightly so. Gerrall had let her in through the kitchen night after night so she could illegally stay in her mother’s apartment. It still made his blood boil that she’d had no respect for the bylaws. Despite his attempts to be friendly, he couldn’t pass up a chance to stick it to her. “I know that you’re familiar with the kitchen entrance, Miss Carmichael.”
Candy laughed uncomfortably. Miller felt Turner’s eyes bore into the side of his skull. Time to go.
He said his good-byes and got out of there. Fun was fun, but the last thing he needed was to give Turner Halliday a reason to be unhappy with him.
* * *
Tanyalee didn’t know how much longer she could keep up this charade. After she’d blown her top because he’d popped up in her life without warning—which was just plain wrong—she did manage to cool off and stay cool. Since then, she’d been striving for aloof. No-nonsense. She wanted to appear as if she were completely unwilling to give an inch. She needed Dante Cabrera to understand that she was a woman who would not tolerate nonsense from a man under any circumstance.
Why? Because Tanyalee knew if she revealed even a sliver of what she was really feeling—that she was deliriously happy to see him and thrilled she’d been more to him than a no-tell motel rendezvous—she’d likely scream with happiness, rip off her clothes, and jump in his lap!
She fanned herself and stared out over the stillness of the lake. Sweet baby Jesus, help me keep it together.
He touched her hand again. Lightning strikes of delight zapped through her. She kept her eyes on the water and willed the thudding in her chest to subside.
“All right, Tanyalee. I’ll skip the sweet talk and get to the point. And then I’ll disappear, just like you want.”
Tanyalee whipped her head around. No! She hadn’t really meant it! She loved the sweet talk! She wanted him to stay! Tanyalee felt her pulse spike in alarm. Had she pushed too hard? Had she pushed him away?
Then she saw the smile in his eyes. Dante Cabrera knew her game, and he knew exactly how to play. Something about that made her panties wet and her heart soar.
Tanyalee tried hard not to smile. “I’m listening, Agent Cabrera. Just get to the point.”
Dante placed his other hand on hers, which meant he was now cradling her wrist, palm, and fingers in complete safety. She felt his fingertip brush against the tender inside of her wrist. She nearly moaned.
“Yes, I did track you here to Bigler,” Dante said, his voice soft and rhythmic. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve been thinking about you a lot since we met. I told myself it would be best to let it go but I just couldn’t.”
“I see.”
“As difficult as this might be to believe, I work out of the DEA’s field office in Asheville.” He looked at her expectantly, like he thought she was going to jump in with a comment.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Because I didn’t tell you.”
“No, you didn’t, Mr. Big Cheese.”
Dante smiled sheepishly.
Tanyalee shook her head. “That is quite a coincidence, I will give you that, but then how did you find out I lived in Bigler?”
His eyes flashed, and Tanyalee suspected that whatever was about to come out of his mouth wouldn’t be entirely truthful. “I thought I saw you in Asheville one evening, so I decided to find out who you were and where you lived.”
“Really, now?” Tanyalee hadn’t been spending much time in Asheville these days, except to attend 12-step meetings, and she sure as hell hadn’t seen Dante Cabrera at one. The man would have stuck out like a fly in a bucket of buttermilk. “Where exactly did you see me?”
He inclined his head over his shoulder. “Behind the wheel of that pink Cadillac.”
“Oh,” she said, laughing. “Kind of hard to miss, I guess.”
“Yes.”
“So you traced the license plate, like on TV?”
Dante smiled softly. “I did. I do apologize if that violated your privacy.”
Tanyalee stared at him—torn. This Dante Cabrera person was difficult to pigeonhole. Part of what he said seemed sincere, and part was complete horseshit. He was handsome and sweet. He was dangerous. He was equal parts good guy and a bad boy. She’d never known anyone like him, and it threw her off balance. “Why did you follow me to Gladys Harbison’s house?”
“I didn’t. I went there on DEA business. That is the absolute truth.”
She cocked her head at him. “So this isn’t one of your Monterey Jack stories?”
Dante leaned his head back and laughed. It provided Tanyalee an opportunity to check out the muscled shoulders and arms beneath his shirt and tie, the corded strength of his neck, the slight shadow of beard along his jawline, the thick black hair that brushed against his shirt collar. Oh, God! She remembered what he’d looked like the morning she tiptoed from the hotel room, his big body asleep on the bed, sunlight pouring down on him …
He lowered his gaze once more, and caught her staring. He grinned. “And then, Miss Newberry, when you answered the door, I forgot how to breathe.”
“Uh-huh,” Tanyalee said. She squeezed her thighs together to stop the rush of heat between her legs. What this man did to her with a simple touch, a glance, a smile or a laugh … it wasn’t fair. She didn’t react to men in this way. What she came to understand while at Sedona Sunset—because Dr. Leslie forced her to—was that she’d always been the manipulator of men. Tanyalee’s approach was to decide in advance what she wanted from a man, and then take every step necessary to get it. She made sure the man believed he was the seducer, when in reality, he was the seduced.
That meant that what Dante was doing to her at that moment was positively unnatural. Criminal. He should be arrested!
“I know it shocked the hell out of you. It wasn’t my intention, Tanyalee. I’m sorry.” With that, he raised her hand to his lips and planted a soft, warm kiss on her knuckles, just the way he did as the plane had taxied down the runway, gaining speed before it climbed into the sky.
“All right, but…” Tanyalee knew she was supposed to be indignant about something—or at least needed some clarification on what he’d just said—but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what that was.
“Yes?” Dante finished kissing her knuckles, then nonchalantly placed her open palm on the large, hard surface of his knee and held it in place. Her breath went shallow.
“I … what?”
“Were you going to say something?”
“I was?”
“I think so—”
“Wait. I remember now.” Tanyalee blinked hard and refocused. “You said you went there on DEA business. What kind of business? Is Gladys under suspicion for some crime?”
“Not that I am aware.”
“Then—”
“Fern. I wanted to speak with Fern Bisbee.”
“Oh, my goodness, now that is a complete fabrication if ever I heard one! How can a twelve-year-old girl be in trouble with the law?
“She isn’t,” Dante said, his voice suddenly more serious than seductive. “I wanted to speak to her, but I can’t really discuss it in detail, I’m afraid.”
“Why in heaven’s name not?”
“It’s part of an ongoing investigation.”
Tanyalee stared at him, then sputtered in surprise. “That’s it? That’s the case you wanted to plead to me?”
Dante chuckled. “It’s the short version, anyway.”
“And so today was just one big, ole, silly coincidence? You didn’t intend to see me at all?”
“Not today. I had hoped that maybe at some point we might…”
She rolled her eyes and gripped the arms of the Adirondack chair in preparation to stand. “It’s been lovely to run into you again, Dante.” Tanyalee rose to her feet. He stood as well. “Your time is officially up.” She squeezed past him and began the short walk from the dock to Aunt Viv’s car.
Dante put his hand on her waist and tried to turn her toward him. “Taffy—”
Just then, déjà vu—a rush of hot, sensual, electric déjà vu—sliced through her mind and body. She was back in the hotel room in Washington, D.C., looking out the picture window at the city lights, asking herself what in the hell she thought she was doing. And then she’d gone and done it. She’d thrown herself into the arms of a complete stranger, and he made her feel things she’d never felt before, from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.
Tanyalee took a deep breath of the mountain air, but she couldn’t shake the memory of being in that bed, on her back, smiling at Dante, their eyes locked in absolute certainty. She’d never felt anything so powerful in her life. It had been so pure. So simple. So unbearably intense. Everything stopped in that instant, and everything changed.
And as Tanyalee spun on the dock to throw herself at Dante Cabrera once more, she comforted herself with a thought: Well, at least he’s not a stranger this time!
“Whoa! What—”
Tanyalee jumped into Dante’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her mouth was on his before he could finish his question, and his hands immediately clamped onto her butt.
“Wait.” He wrested his lips from hers, staggering backward on the dock. “Hold up, Taffy. Oh, shit.”
The next thing she knew, Dante was falling backward through space, taking one of the Adirondack chairs with him. Tanyalee took a breath of air and pressed her lips against his once more, figuring she’d need the oxygen when they hit the water.
She knew she was about to get soaking wet. Her hair would be ruined. She might even lose her favorite sandals.
And she didn’t care.