Thrill Me Read online

  One step. That was all it would have taken to get out of the animal’s way. But she didn’t see him.

  Then dog and woman got all tangled up in a mass of legs and fur, leash and parka. The big dog won the wrestling match and then bound away as the woman dropped like a rock on the icy sidewalk.

  2

  SOPHIE DIDN’T know what had hit her. She just had the impression of shaggy fur before she struck the ground. Hard.

  For a moment or two…or twenty…she lay there on the sidewalk, staring up at the cold blue sky. Her breath had escaped her lungs when she fell and by the time she could suck it in again, the freezing air stung her chest. She hacked out a cough and slowly sat up, only to have the monster who’d plowed into her trot back over and begin to lick her face.

  “Ugh,” she muttered, noticing the icy cold drool coating the big dog’s snout. “Get away from me, Cujo. You’ve done enough damage and I don’t forgive you.”

  The dog gave her a hurt look with its big brown eyes. God, Sophie was a sucker for big brown eyes. “All right, you big drool machine, I do forgive you, but you have to promise not to kiss me again. I already had breakfast and don’t need a dog slobber chaser.”

  “Let me help you up.”

  She’d been expecting no more than a woof in response. For a second, she was startled, wondering if she’d been struck hard enough on the head to hallucinate about talking dogs. Then she realized she and the Cujo lookalike weren’t alone.

  “Miss? Are you all right?”

  She turned away from the dog and found herself staring at a pair of men’s khaki pants. Slowly lifting her eyes, she prayed those long legs, lean hips, and that broad, leather-jacket clad chest didn’t belong to the person she suspected they belonged to.

  But, of course, they did.

  “I’m okay,” she told Chief Daniel Fletcher, the new cop in town. The one she’d seen several times, usually from a distance, but had avoided for a variety of reasons. Cops had a way of figuring out secrets. This one in particular had a dangerously confident smile that said he always got his man. Or woman.

  She’d been intrigued by Chief Fletcher since she’d first heard his soft, husky laugh from behind a book stack in the library. No doubt, with his looks, his build, and that warm, throaty laugh, he could probably talk a woman into admitting anything from her real dress size…to her secret identity.

  Not someone she should be getting to know better, as much as she wished she could.

  Besides, with a newcomer, it would be a lot harder to maintain her sweet Sophie persona. People who’d known her all her life never looked any further than her kind smile and accommodating demeanor. So they never heard the sometimes biting sarcasm and keen wit she might slip up and fail to hide. This man, she suspected, would notice a lot.

  It hurt to crane her neck back, but she had to because the man was so darn tall, especially with her sitting on her butt on the sidewalk. His incredibly handsome face, framed with a head of thick dark hair, looked down at her with real concern. When she didn’t try to stand up, or reach for the hand he extended, he crouched beside her. As their eyes met fully, his big brown ones widened in surprise. He flinched, his own feet slipping out from under him until he landed in the snow beside her.

  “My hero,” she muttered.

  The dog, who’d finally figured out Sophie didn’t want any of his apologetic kisses, immediately turned his big head toward the chief and laid one on him but good.

  “Eww,” Fletcher said, wiping the back of his arm across his face. Then he shot a glare at the dog’s owner, who’d finally worked up the courage to trot over to assess the damage. “Todd, get your dog outta here.”

  “Yes, sir, Chief,” the boy said, wide-eyed as he stared back and forth between the two adults sitting on the frozen ground. Quickly grabbing the dog’s leash, he hurried away, probably thrilled he was getting off so lightly.

  Then the chief really surprised her. “I’ve seen you before. Outside the drugstore, two days before Christmas.”

  “It was Christmas Eve,” she replied. She cursed her tongue for the admission.

  He looked pleased by it. “You remember.”

  “Um…sure,” she said. Then she hurried into a reasonable explanation, which was nowhere near the truth. “I remember because of the Torrence twins. They got arrested for shoplifting. But the store owner dropped the charges when he found out they’d been trying to get a present for their baby sister since their mother couldn’t afford one.”

  He nodded, looking slightly disappointed that she’d remembered for no other reason. She didn’t correct his assumption. Truthfully, she’d never forgotten her first glimpse at the man every woman in town had been talking about. He was one fine looking specimen.

  “Is his name really Cujo?”

  She tilted her head in confusion, not sure what he was talking about.

  “The dog. You called him Cujo.”

  Uh-oh. He’d heard her less than sweet-natured mutterings to the big mutt. “No. I was kidding.”

  “Oh. Because, I mean, probably a lot of St. Bernards were named Cujo after the book came out.”

  She raised a brow, trying to look artless and innocent. “Book? I wouldn’t know about that, but I saw part of the movie once, on cable.” She shivered delicately. “Scary.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Probably not your thing.”

  If only you knew.

  The chief finally rose to his feet, almost slipping again on the ice before planting his feet in the snow instead. “They ought to salt this sidewalk.”

  She frowned. “Miss Hester slashed the budget for salt. It’s only spread on the front sidewalk used by the parishioners.” She shook her head in disgust. “And, of course, the one between the residence and the church. Heaven forbid she slip and fall. The Fire Department would have to bring in a crane to get her up.”

  He let out a bark of laughter. Sophie cursed her own tongue and gritted her back teeth. “Oh, that wasn’t nice, I’m sorry. Miss Hester’s a dear old thing. She just worries so much about keeping the church money to help the poor.”

  He gave her a quizzical look, as if confused by her sudden change in tone, but didn’t press her. He extended his hand. “Let me help you.”

  She stared at it for a minute, that big, masculine hand. He wore no gloves for protection against the cold. Nibbling her lip, she slipped her gloved fingers into his and let him pull her to her feet. Once standing, she was about to extend her thanks when her shoes skidded again. She reached out for the closest thing to grab. And because fate had a cruel sense of humor, immediately found something.

  His shoulders.

  Crashing into him, until they were chest to chest, separated only by the padding of her thick parka and his leather jacket, she found herself staring up into those chocolate-brown eyes of his. She caught a whiff of spicy aftershave from his smoothly shaven cheek. She was also close enough to notice the most incredibly kissable lips she’d ever seen on a man.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, “I’m awfully clumsy today.”

  He gave her a slight smile. “My pleasure.”

  She didn’t pull away. Not because she couldn’t easily stand on her own, but rather, because it felt so very nice to lean against his long, hard body. They stood there, right outside the church, in broad daylight. Two strangers, practically wrapped in each other’s arms, just staring at each other.

  It had been a long time since she’d been in a man’s arms. A long time since a lot of things. And she’d missed those things. Particularly missed being kissed with deep, wet intimacy. Right now, she suspected she wanted that from this stranger more than she wanted to hit number one on the Times list.

  She licked her lips. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”

  “It’s slippery,” he replied in a low voice.

  “Slippery,” she repeated, wondering why her body felt so weak all of a sudden. Now she leaned against him out of necessity because her legs felt too weak to support her.

 
“The ice,” he clarified. “It’s slippery.”

  She swallowed. “Yes, slippery. Dangerously slick.”

  He tightened his grip on her hips. His fingers curved around her with gentle possession that confirmed they were both playing a sensual word game having nothing to do with the ice.

  Some devil made her add, “And hard.”

  Sophie heard a soft sound that might have been a groan from deep in his throat. His jaw tightened and he closed his eyes briefly, as if needing to regain control of himself. He finally said, “Do you need me to carry you inside?”

  She felt hot blood rise in her cheeks as she ordered her feet to move. Stepping back, she said, “No. I, uh…needed to take a second.” Struggling to find a reason for clinging to the man like a helpless, twitty female, she mumbled, “I just hurt my, I mean, I fell on my butt.” Oh, God, shut up, Sophie! “I mean, I’m fine now.” Fine, hell. She was a babbling idiot.

  Though it didn’t spill from his lips, she saw the laughter in his eyes. He kept a hand on her elbow. “Think you can walk?”

  She nodded, clenching her teeth to keep any more stupid words from coming out of her stupid mouth.

  “My name’s Daniel Fletcher.”

  “I know who you are.” Then, grudgingly, she added, “I’m Sophie Winchester.”

  “Winchester…”

  “Yes. That family.” Her family was very well known in Derryville, having lived here for more than a century. Her grandfather had been the chief of police for years.

  “There are pictures all over the walls of the station of your grandfather doing good deeds.”

  She nodded. “And my uncle, too, I’d imagine.” Her uncle had followed her grandfather in the role of chief. They’d fully expected one of the members of the current generation to follow in their footsteps. Her cousin, Jared, had gone into law enforcement for a while—working with the FBI—but had left to become a writer. Not fiction, like Sophie, but true crime novels. Happily, he’d recently returned to town and gotten engaged to one of Sophie’s friends.

  Carefully bending down, she began to gather up the pieces of clothing that had fallen out of the box she’d been carrying from the car. “For the rummage sale,” she explained when he bent to help her. “I cleaned out my closets.”

  She spied a glittery pile of red fabric and reached out to grab it, but he beat her to it. Sophie scrunched her eyes shut, hoping he wasn’t paying attention to the clothing he picked up.

  No such luck. “Hmm. This doesn’t look quite like the typical Derryville church social dress.”

  Shoot. She couldn’t believe she’d been foolish enough to leave the sequined red halter dress in the box. She’d meant to pull it out, knowing Miss Hester would have a fit if she saw it. It wasn’t something “sweet Sophie” could easily explain.

  Sophie had gotten the dress from a working girl in Chicago, who’d helped her research a book about a serial killer prostitute. The woman had mailed it to her as a gift, telling Sophie she’d inspired her to go back to school. Sophie had been touched, though she would never have worn the dress unless she had some reason to dress up as a hooker. Or a drag queen.

  “Halloween costume,” Sophie muttered, reaching to grab it out of his hands.

  He wasn’t letting it go so easily. “It’s definitely not your size.” He straightened. “Too big for you.”

  She shot him a glare, wondering if he meant the ample bodice of the dress. Because busty she wasn’t. “I know.”

  He eyed her from head to toe. “It would be way too long.”

  Okay, maybe she could forgive him for the size crack. Besides, wrapped up in this thick parka from shoulder to thigh, he couldn’t have any idea what kind of figure she had, even though she had been in his arms a few moments before. With this much padding, she looked and felt about as curvy as the abominable snow monster.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said, determined to get away from this man now, before he could fluster her even more. Somehow, she could barely keep a thought in her head under that warm, brown-eyed stare of his. He’d already seen or heard a lot more of the true Sophie than she ever usually revealed.

  “Let me carry the box for you.”

  Hearing the firm tone in his voice, she lead the way to the office. After unlocking the door, she preceded him inside and flipped on the light switch. Luckily, no one else was in yet. She took the box from his arms and deposited it on her desk.

  He looked surprised as she flipped on more lights and unlocked the door to the inner office. “You work here?”

  She nodded.

  Then he took a nearly imperceptible step back, suddenly looking a little pale. “Are you a…minister or something?”

  She hesitated, easily able to read his dismay at having played sexy word games with a female minister. Then she relented and set his mind at ease. “No. Just a secretary to one. Thanks again for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.” Then he tsked. “It’s so cold in here. I can see my breath better now than I could when we were outside.”

  “Miss Hester,” Sophie muttered, knowing the older woman had once again turned the thermostat completely off last night, instead of lowering it. No matter how many times Sophie explained it, the woman didn’t seem to realize it probably cost every bit as much to bring the office back up to a reasonable temperature as it would to keep the heat running on low all night. “She’s very frugal.”

  “Maybe I should start calling you Bob Cratchit,” he said.

  She grinned. “That’d make Miss Hester Scrooge, right? If any ghosts visited her in the night, she’d scold them for being wasteful by using too much chain.”

  “So why do you keep working here?”

  She thought about it, particularly since she’d been wondering the same thing, just an hour ago. Not that she could tell him her real reasons for staying. “Pastor Bob’s a dear. And Miss Hester’s not really bad…just a bit eccentric.” She thought of the characters she’d based on Miss Hester in recent books, who had provided some comic relief, which her readers seemed to enjoy. She gave him a secretive smile. “Let’s say she inspires me.” Unable to resist, she added, “To do murder.”

  He laughed, low and long. That laugh. Oh, Lordy, she couldn’t resist his low, masculine laugh. For a moment she’d almost forgotten how much she liked the way this man sounded. As much as she liked the way he looked.

  This will never do.

  “I have a lot of work to do. And it wouldn’t be great for Miss Hester to find us in here alone.” God, wouldn’t that give the old woman something to gripe about? “So, thanks again.”

  He stiffened, obviously taking the hint. She cursed her own lack of tact, knowing he probably thought her an uptight, prissy church secretary. But wasn’t that what he was supposed to think?

  She should have felt relieved when he gave her a curt nod, then turned and walked out into the cold morning. Somehow, instead of relief, she felt a vague sense of disappointment.

  DANIEL DIDN’T KNOW Sophie Winchester well, but he didn’t mind. Because nobody else does, either.

  For the rest of the day, he opened up his ears, listening to conversations on the street, in the bank, in the break room back at the station. Her name came up a few times. And every time, within sixty seconds, somebody would comment on how sweet the youngest of the Winchesters was. Sweet, biddable, small-town-loving, and wasn’t it an almighty shame that she hadn’t found the right local boy to settle down with?

  That thought made him sweat even more than his two dozen reps with the free weights that night. She was single.

  He didn’t usually drive over to the gym in Margate on Thursday nights because it was an hour away. But tonight, he’d needed to pound some metal. Derryville boasted a YMCA with one-hundred-year-old weights and a treadmill used by every resident. His feet had sunk into the two tracks on the thing the one time he’d tried using it. He’d joined the gym in the next town the same day.

  During the drive, and his workout, he’d thought about n
othing except the woman who’d practically thrown him out of her office. “There’s gratitude,” he muttered as he bench-pressed his last set. “After I saved her butt when she fell on it.”

  She puzzled him. And like any true cop, he was fascinated by puzzles. Her expression could be so tender, but her wit so biting. She’d been friendly, then aloof. Saucy, then proper. She was a walking contradiction—getting flustered and embarrassed as hell when she’d fallen against him. But then she’d played sexy little word games while wrapped in his arms. He only regretted that they’d come to their senses. He had the feeling he could have kept holding her all day and not had his fill.

  Though she’d been wearing a thick winter coat, he’d been able to feel the slightness of her body. The delicacy of her hands, jaw and neck gave evidence of a petite figure, and she’d fit just about perfectly tucked underneath his chin.

  Damn, he was losing it. Sitting here getting hot and bothered while he worked out in a sweaty gym.

  Finally, having pushed himself enough to pound the woman out of his thoughts, at least for now, he toweled off and headed toward the showers. The place wasn’t crowded this late on a weeknight, which meant he should find the locker room nearly empty. He pulled his tight tank off his body as he walked down the corridor from the weight room, anticipating the way the cool shower would feel against his heated skin.

  Then something caught his eye. A group of women were working out in one of the closed-in exercise rooms, doing some kind of aerobics with karate moves. He recognized one of them.

  “Holy….” He froze, staring through the window. “So I’m not the only one who cheats on the Derryville YMCA,” he whispered, his lips widening into a grin.

  Because Sophie Winchester, clad in skintight spandex and looking like pure neon sin, was working her cute fanny off.

  3

  SOPHIE WAS AWARE of the titters and whispers long before she realized why the other women around her were tittering and whispering. She’d been completely focused, following the instructor’s moves as she demonstrated this week’s steps in her Tae Bo class. But she could no longer ignore the fact that something had distracted her classmates.