Reece Murdoch is back
in Barrister, Wyoming
Candy Grant is never going to allow Sheriff Murdoch a
civil conversation, let alone a discussion. Oh, he’s interested—probably
thinking he can waltz right back into her life. Except he’d gutted her, leaving
six years earlier without warning and only eight scribbled words. She’s since
lived a fast, shallow existence she’s determined to continue, and never get
hurt again.
Reece needs a plan,
one to address Candy’s propensity to speed while asserting his lawful
authority—with handcuffs and a night of house arrest. Will the truth set them
free?
Read an excerpt:
Reese Murdoch
slouched comfortably against the broken-in seat of the county’s second best
cruiser, gripping the wheel with one big hand.
He found
himself sighing. Barrister wasn’t a bad place. Born and raised there, he knew
pretty much all the inhabitants. Being elected as Sheriff had been a no
brainer, being a military man home from Iraq and all, presumably well
versed in weapons and leadership. Both true, except he was hampered by a paltry
budget, and the people he’d sworn to serve and protect were scattered over a
huge part of the state. Good thing the work wasn’t onerous.
No doubt that
would change over time, people being what they were, but he was bored for the
most part. The one thing—person—who could easily obliterate that boredom didn’t
deign to recognize either his existence or his authority, and he hadn’t decided
which plan to pursue in that regard. It’d been months, but if he’d learned
anything in the military, it was that an offensive had a better chance of
succeeding if one gathered solid intelligence and formulated a careful plan of
attack. He wryly admitted he’d come home because of Candace Grant, if only to
determine why she’d ignored all of his efforts to get in touch with her over
the years. Some might call it closure. He just plain wanted her, and knew
enough about women to know that while her demeanor said one thing, something
else was operating behind that icy exterior.
In the meantime, there was the odd drunk and
disorderly to deal with, complaints about cattle rustling to investigate, a few
domestics—and didn’t he hate those—and some traffic violations.
The road
dipped to accommodate an arroyo, and he rose up out of it to crest the slight
hill. And speaking of traffic violations, the unmistakable silver Bimmer
hammering in his direction, trailing a dusty rooster trail, caused him to grind
his teeth and war with his responding arousal. Damn her. She was going to kill herself one day in that stupid car,
maybe before he put the final touches on his plan. Flipping on his lights, he
considered his strategy, noting the way the smaller vehicle’s hood dipped in
response to the application of brakes. She’d been flying along.
She pulled the
Bimmer over, and he drifted on by to pull a three point turn and come up behind
her. Candace hadn’t made eye contact at all, staring straight ahead through the
windshield, and he figured she had to know it was him. She didn’t cut his deputies
dead. He took his time, watching Candace’s profile in the side mirror, willing
his professionalism to the fore when all he really wanted to do was drag her
back to the cruiser, handcuffed, and take her home. Someplace safe—and easily
accessible for both their pleasure. The plan suddenly came together.
Approaching
the open window, he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “You were hitting seventy,
Candace. We’ve had this discussion before.”
She didn’t
reply, instead thrusting her paperwork toward him. Her picture on the license
didn’t fit with the stony visage looking dead ahead. Despite the customary, don’t smile, hair tucked behind your ears,
dictates of the DMV, Candace’s full mouth, with its eminently bitable bottom
lip somehow quirked up at the corners, and there was no mistaking the sparkle
in those baby blues. Just as he remembered her—full of life and joy, bubbly,
vivacious, and all those adjectives people applied to her. But then, he’d admit
he’d hardly given her anything to smile about, primarily because she wouldn’t
give him the time of day. That was gonna change.
Tugging the
license and registration from her stiff fingers, he decided to play her game.
“Step out of the vehicle, Miss Grant.”
That garnered
him a wary look, a quick glance that she instantly modified into boredom. He
didn’t miss the way she flickered her eyes to her watch. Was she meeting
someone? On her way to a hot date? Sheridan
lay in that direction, and whatever Candace got up to, she didn’t do it in
Barrister. The rumors he’d overheard flourished. Reece had access to a
different form of contacts and knew the truth of some of those rumors. He
wasn’t surprised about Candace’s interests, merely disappointed he hadn’t been
able to guide her and take the journey with her. But he’d done what he had to
back then. That she hadn’t accepted his explanation and apology, wouldn’t even
give him the opportunity to discuss it further, grated him raw.
He opened her
door and stood back, breaking procedure, instantly grateful for the way the
door frame concealed his sudden erection, his cock saluting the vision emerging
from the Bimmer without any regard for his bigger brain. The top she wore
hardly covered her attributes, cried out for him to touch the silky fabric and
tug on those discreetly concealed laces. The length of shapely leg revealed by
the short skirt flirting around her thighs forced his hands to grip the metal until
he thought it might groan beneath his grasp.
Once again his
woman was on the prowl, and he was damned if he’d let her take what she was
offering up to Sheridan or any other place loaded with men who couldn’t
possibly appreciate her the way he planned. Disappointment again soured him,
and he impatiently shoved it aside. He’d waited long enough.
“What?” A hint
of nervousness whispered through the aloof question.
“This is the
third time, Miss Grant. I assume you recall the consequences are for persistent
speeding.”
Narrowing,
blue eyes locked with his, then a flush of pink colored her décolletage and
rose up the long, lovely column of her throat to paint her cheeks. She spoke
between set lips, criminally thinning that lush bounty, another crime she’d pay
for in the end.
“Give me the
ticket, Sheriff. I’ll pay it like I
did the others. Help out with your salary.”
“Step out and assume the position.”
About Allyson:
Allyson Young lives in cottage country in Manitoba, Canada with her husband of many years and numerous pets. She worked in the human services all across Canada and has seen the best and worst of what people bring to the table. Allyson has written for years, mostly short stories and poetry, published in small newspapers and the like, although her work appeared in her high school yearbooks too! After reading an erotic romance, quite by accident, she decided to try her hand at penning erotica.
Allyson will write until whatever she has inside her is satisfied- when all the heroes man up and all the heroines get what they deserve. Love isn’t always sweet, and Allyson favours the dark side of romance.
