Wicked?
There was nothing wicked about Hunter DeMassi or his grin.
That’s what she told herself as she sat in her living room and tried to ignore the man hammering at her front door. He’d brought a few two-by-fours to nail up inside to cover the holes until he could bring out a new door.
She’d protested that everything was going to get tossed out anyway with the renovation—after she’d given a lengthy explanation that she’d thought he was someone else when she’d answered the door—but he’d insisted on the repair.
“Toss it out when the time comes, it doesn’t matter.” He’d shrugged his broad shoulders. “I promised to fix it and that’s what I’m doing.” He’d winked then. “And if this guy Chuck doesn’t ring your bell, you’re right to cut him loose.”
“My show’s on,” she’d blurted, eager to escape the strange glimmer in his eyes.
A look that said he knew exactly how to ring her bell if given half the chance.
Crazy.
This was Hunter DeMassi. Public servant extraordinaire. Pillar of the community.
He didn’t ring bells. He spent his time keeping law and order and helping out with the middle school car wash and judging pies for the annual ladies’ auxiliary bake-off. He was a stand-up guy. Wholesome. Nice.
With one sexy, wicked-as-all-get-out grin.
The notion struck and she reached for the sorbet. She swallowed a mouthful. The pain of another brain freeze splintered her temples and killed the crazy thought.
Sexy and wicked?
Hunter?
She was losing it.
Grabbing the remote, she hit the volume and pushed it louder to drown out the hammering coming from the doorway. Her gaze fixed, she did her best to concentrate on the good-looking guy handing out roses.
He came up short and the girl left without a flower burst into tears.
Definitely melodrama. The guy was cute in his tuxedo, but he looked too … good.
No scuffed-up boots or ripped jeans or kiss-my-ass attitude.
The kind that really got Jenna going.
Her weakness, or it had been back before she’d made up her mind to clean up her act.
“That’ll do it for now.” The deep voice drew her attention to the doorway and the man who stood there buttoned up in his crisply ironed uniform, his regulation black shoes polished to a nice sheen.
Nice, she reminded herself.
A fact she would have been able to remember except that it was late and a five o’clock shadow had crept across his broad jaw. His hair was slightly disheveled and if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn he’d just rolled out of bed …
Wait a second. What the hell was she doing?
She was not lusting after the local sheriff.
She held tight to the vow, killed the volume on the television, and pushed to her feet. “You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“No trouble. It’s the least I could do after scaring the crap out of you last night.” He glanced at the remaining boxes that littered the entryway. “More to burn?”
“Those are getting picked up by the local shelter, but I’m sure I’ll have some more things for a fire by the time I’m finished. I was just killing a little time before tackling the upstairs. They’re going to be demolishing the house next week.”
“So soon?”
“The sooner the better.” He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at her as if he didn’t buy the comment. “This house really is an accident waiting to happen. It’s falling apart at the seams.”
“It could definitely use a little work.” He eyed the peeling wallpaper. “At the same time, there’s something to be said for a house that’s stood this long. When was this place built? Seventy, eighty years ago?”
“Eighty-eight.”
“And you’re going to tear it down and start from scratch just like that?”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s got character.”
“I guess it does,” she said, eyeing the wooden floor and deep gouge that she’d made with one of the roller skates she’d bought with her birthday money when she’d turned ten. Her sisters had scraped together most of it, but then she’d come up short and James Harlin had offered up the five dollar gold piece he’d kept in his top drawer.
He hadn’t made a big deal out of it. He hadn’t even said a word. He’d just left the coin on her pillow and since he’d never been much for anyone making a fuss, she’d kept her thanks to herself.
Instead, she’d laced up her skates and sailed down the hall, past his bedroom so that he could see her and how happy he’d made her, and straight into a nearby wall. The edge of the skate had dug into the floor when she’d tried to break her fall and left a mark that had been there ever since.
She’d sprained her ankle that day, but it had been worth it. For those few moments, she’d felt invincible gliding down the hall on her new skates courtesy of the most important people in her life. She’d felt special. Loved.
“It’s not such a bad house.” She stiffened against the sudden warmth inside of her. “But it’s cheaper to start fresh than try to renovate.” Tearing down the house was the practical thing to do.
The right thing.
Which was why she’d made the decision in the first place. She was through acting on emotion. Been there, done that. No more.
“I really should get to work,” she started, eager to ignore the strange feelings pushing and pulling at her. The past with her granddad.
The present with Hunter and his see-all blue eyes.
“I could help,” he offered.
See? Nice.
Her gaze hooked on the dark shadow of his jaw. His eyes seemed brighter somehow, understanding, and her stomach hollowed out.
“No, no,” she finally managed when she found her voice. “You’ve done enough.”
“It’s no problem. I’m already here and I’ve got a little time before I check in back at the station.” He reached for the mic on his collar. “Marge, this is Hunter. I’ll be out at the Tucker place if you need me.”
“Roger that, Sheriff,” came the female voice. “And don’t forget to eat that snack I packed in your glove compartment if you know what’s good for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jenna arched an eyebrow. “I thought Marge was the dispatcher, not your mother.”
“She thinks I need to eat better. I guess a slice of cold pizza and a bag of chips doesn’t work for her.”
“I know the feeling,” Jenna said, glancing at her phone and the message light that blinked. “Callie’s been on me lately, too, since she moved out.” She motioned to the sorbet. “I’m supposed to be making healthier choices but I just can’t seem to shake the Doritos.”
“Corn is a vegetable.”
His grin was infectious and for the next few seconds she found herself wondering what it would feel like to rub her finger across the roughness of his cheek. To feel that friction on her hand. Her neck. Her breasts …
“Time to get to work,” she blurted. “I really don’t need any help.”
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
“You really don’t have anything better to do than help me?”
“I’m a public servant. That’s what I do.”
He certainly wasn’t offering because he was just as turned on as she was.
Her head knew that, but damned if her body had gotten the message. Her skin tingled and her muscles tensed and her lips twitched.
Just get it over with.
That’s what her gut said.
Kiss him and you’ll see it isn’t all that great and then you can stop acting like a sex-starved idiot.
Because that’s the way it always was with the nice guys like Hunter DeMassi. She’d tried it, hoping to turn the mild spark into a freaking inferno, to find a good guy that turned her on as much as the bad boys in her past, but it always fizzled out way too fast and she was left with a big fat nothing.
Just a guy that she wasn’t the least bit attracted to who sent her flowers and candy and declared his love via crop duster.
Guys like Chuck. And Kevin. And Johnny. And Marty. And Spencer.
Ugh … No wonder the entire town thought she was a hoochie. She had way too many men in her past.
So what’s one more? Just go for the smooch and get it over with so you can get back to work.
Stepping forward, Jenna reached him in a split-second and then she did what she’d been wanting to do since she’d first opened the door that night.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him.