Hot to Trot (Dancing in Texas #5)

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

H E'D LOST HIS COMPOSURE.

Not cool. He shouldn't have baited her. Shouldn't have implied she was trouble. And he damned sure shouldn't have touched her.

Adam Hinton dusted the dirt and gravel off his boots as he watched the taillights of the BMW fade into the distance. He'd polished the black motorcycle boots last night and now they looked dusty.

Damn it.

He reached inside the cruiser for the backpack holding an assortment of necessities. First-aid kit, flashlight, extra clothes, and other things he might need when away from the small house he rented in the middle of Oak Stand. He pulled a package of wet wipes from the depths. Not the best thing to use on leather, but it would do. He'd apply another coat of polish later tonight.

He needed to stop by the Hamilton reception. He'd told Brent he would, even though technically he was on duty. It could count as his lunch hour. He liked both Rayne and Brent though he didn't know them as well as others in the small town did. He'd only been in Oak Stand for nine months. But as the newly appointed police chief, it was in his best interest to drop by the much-anticipated event. Nearly everyone in the town had been invited to the wedding and reception, which was being filmed as the premiere of Southern Kitchen, a new show featuring Rayne Rose, a rising chef in the culinary world. Not only was it a joyous celebration of the love shared between the couple, but also of the opportunity Rayne Rose had given Oak Stand when she'd talked the network into using Serendipity Inn as the base for filming the show. Everyone was thrilled about the potential benefit to a town still trying to get on its feet after a tornado ripped through last spring.

Everyone except obviously one smoking-hot redhead.

The image of Scarlet arching against the rear of the BMW like a naughty advertisement for porn popped into his mind. She'd had him salivating at the blatant taunt. He'd done his best to remain impassive, but inside his libido had ratcheted up several notches and revved to near out of control.

She was everything he wanted and nothing he needed.

Adam felt a stirring in his gut. Or maybe the stirring was lower? Definitely lower.

Scarlet Rose was exactly the type of woman he lusted after. Lush, brash, and absolutely naughty. He liked the girls who wore their clothes too tight, drank Bud from a bottle, and had tattoos of La Vida Loca on their backside. Years ago, he'd gone through a parade of women who threw things at him when they got angry, wore cheap red lace bras, and drove him totally over the edge. So addictive.

Why he preferred trouble to perfectly acceptable in a sweater set escaped him. He supposed it had something to do with his father and his sexcapades. That's exactly what his shrink would say. Perhaps Adam could explore that line of reasoning the next time he went to Houston and saw Dr. Fitzgerald. Maybe he could find out why coiffed blondes with monogrammed stationary turned him off. Why cute soccer moms with juice packs and empty smiles left him cold. And why women who went to Bible study and drank hot tea with lemon made him want to run for the hills.

Because those kinds of women were what a police chief needed. An acceptable lady. Not a sex kitten.

He gave himself a mental shake and pulled his thoughts from women of his past, present, and future.

He was on the clock with a job to do. He tossed the soiled wipe into the trash receptacle he kept on the floor of the idling cruiser and climbed inside. One pass around the town, then he'd stop at the reception. Hopefully, the redhead hadn't caused any problems. By his watch, she would have been too late. But something told him she wouldn't let Rayne and Brent get in her way.

Desire unraveled in his belly. He tamped it down.

Scarlet Rose spelled trouble. With a capital T.

And if there was one thing Adam didn't need in his life, it was that kind of Trouble.

But as he made a loop of the town square, he saw her zippy little convertible parked in a handicapped spot.

And that delighted him.

ADAM CLIMBED THE STEPS of the century-old house that served as Oak Stand's only bed-and-breakfast. It was a gingerbread of a house, freshly painted blue with bright white trim. Lush ferns greeted visitors as they made their way onto the wide porch featuring rocking chairs and a swing. He could hear the hum of the crowd, most of which likely filled the interior and the pristine backyards of both the inn and the Hamiltons who lived next door. No one was on the front porch.

Except Scarlet.

She sat on the porch swing, looking as if someone had kicked her. Hard.

"Hey," he said, a little too loudly.

She started. "Oh, it's you."

"Yeah," he said, for want of anything clever to say. As he stood there contemplating a feast for the eyes, his libido tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “Get you some of that, boy.”

Libido was hard to ignore.

She sighed and leaned back, causing the swing to tilt and her breasts to thrust forward. A gold shoe charm hung from a chain around her neck, nestling right in the middle of her breasts. He wanted to be that little shoe. His mouth went dry at the thought. His libido resumed the incessant tapping.

God, why did he want her?

Trouble, remember?

"Wow. Not only are you competent in the art of detection, but you excel in the art of conversation, too. Bet the ladies in town are lining up." Sarcasm didn't drip from her mouth. It gushed enough for him to shove his libido under a rock.

"No luck in stopping the wedding?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You gave me that DUI test on purpose. And the parking ticket? Really?”

He shook his head. "No. I detained you because a bottle of liquor fell from your glove compartment. I'm entrusted with a job to protect this community."

She snorted. "I'm a real danger. Hide your children."

"Just doing my job."

She shrugged. ‘’You got the two tickets in, didn’t you? The ones I deserved for being ….what did you call me? Trouble?”

He winced. "I shouldn't have lost my cool. It was unprofessional. I'm sorry."

She averted her eyes to the large magnolia tree that squatted in the yard between the inn and the street. "No problem. I’m not easy to deal with. Everyone knows it. You aren’t wrong.”

Silence descended on the porch. He thought he heard crickets.

"I'm sure you're not difficult to everyone. Some guys appreciate difficult women. They are a taste.”

What was wrong with him. Striking matches and letting them burn to his fingertips. Sweet Jesus, he’d just about implied he wanted a taste of her.

Not a lie.

Amusement twitched at her mouth and her gaze caught his. Her eyes weren't brown like her sister's. More of a hazel with flecks of gold and green. They looked like the faux granite on his kitchen counter. Mesmerizingly gorgeous. Of course, he couldn't see them from where he stood, but he remembered from earlier. "You're being nice to me."

He shrugged. "Not really, but I sense you need someone to give you a break today."

“Really? This from the guy who gave me not one but two tickets a mere-" she glanced at the red leather watch on her arm "-forty minutes ago?”

He glanced through the glass in the oval door. The parlor looked to be a crush of people, talking with their hands, sipping punch. It looked uncomfortable. He moved toward Scarlet. "Again, just doing-"

“-your job. Yeah, got it," she muttered, not moving from her spot on the swing.

"So, are you in time-out or something?"

At that, she laughed. It sounded like tinkling bells and his groin tightened. “Something like that."

He gestured toward the rocker in front of the swing. "Mind if I sit?"

"It's a free country."

"Not really, if you think about it," he replied, sinking into the flowered cushion of the rocker. "We have some freedoms, sure. But we are also bound by the law.”

She jerked her gaze to his. "You're a strange bird.”

“I think I'd rather you call me anything else but strange.” Those words escaped before he could catch them, exposing his Achilles heel. Hadn’t he'd heard nothing but the same from his own mother every day of his life? Along with his father. And nanny. And tutors. The list went go on and on.

A strange little duck.

She lifted her eyebrows and a shoulder, like she understood. Maybe she did. Again, something twitched inside him. Not necessarily the earlier desire, but something. He needed to get himself off the porch, shake a few hands with the locals, and choke down some wedding cake. He didn't need to tempt himself with the woman in front of him.

Yet, he didn't move.

"So just to be clear, strange is not code for ….” She rolled her hand over in a plea for him to answer.

“Are you asking if I'm …gay?"

“Are you gay?”

“No, and for the record, I don’t think that strange is code for gay.”

“Of course not,” she said, with a smile. “My roommate’s gay and he’s not strange. Well, actually, he’s a little strange. Strange isn’t bad. I like strange.”

“Do you?” He asked, cracking a smile that felt creaky. Unused. He probably needed an oil can.

For a moment they sat, measuring each other. It was a far different vibe from the one they'd engaged in earlier.

“Yeah.” She set the swing in motion, scuffing one heel against the painted boards. She stared off into the distance at a stop sign at the end of the street. Or maybe it was the Weeks's old Chrysler parked in their driveway. He couldn't tell.

“So you have a roommate? Is this in LA? Or…?”

“Manhattan. And he’s the best roommate a girl can have. He cooks things like reductions and flambé, cleans with vinegar, and knows what sweater goes with my newest wedges. I should probably marry him."

She smiled again, shifting her attention to him. It felt good having her regard. He wanted to stay there, under her gaze, under her spell.

"My roommate is Stefan Horton.”

He searched the recesses of his mind. No clue. "Stefan Horton?"

"He plays Karakas on Deep Shadows."

''Oh." Adam had never watched the campy drama, though plenty of people around town had buzzed about it since the day it debuted. Everyone knew the demonically sexy queen of the vampires was played by Frances's niece, who happened to be Chef Rayne Rose's younger sister. The Oak Stand Gazette had done a feature piece on Scarlet and had even netted a telephone interview. He'd perused the interview one night while sitting on the outskirts of town, waiting for the roughnecks at Cooley's bar to get rowdy the way they did every ladies' night. He'd remembered her publicity shot. The alabaster breasts threatening to topple out of the black spandex. Those red, red lips and haunting eyes.

"You don't watch, I take it?"

He shook his head. "The existential angst that underpins the soap opera doesn't fit my ideal viewing parameters."

"Big words. And it's not a soap opera," she said, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. Though her skin was remarkably fair, she was not freckled. Her shoulders were smooth and faintly golden from the sun, as if awaiting his touch.

He wanted to touch her. Slide his lips down to where her neck met-

Nope. Not going there.

“Everyone seems to enjoy it. I don’t watch a lot of television, so…”

She nodded. “You’re not from here.”

It was a question. "No. I'm originally from Houston."

"You don't sound like you're from Houston."

He leaned forward and clasped his hands. He was accustomed to questions. Everyone in Oak Stand wanted to know who your mama and daddy were. And where you attended church. But he hated answering questions about his past. "I went to prep school on the East Coast. They force Texas twang out, much like I'm sure you did when you trained as an actress. You don't sound Texan."

"I'm not a Texan. I'm from everywhere." The mood shifted. No more lightness. Something darker had awakened in her. For a moment she didn't speak, seemed caught in her thoughts. Then she looked at him. "You know, I have some wicked fantasies about prep-school boys in stuffy oxford shirts and sweater cardigans. About getting them out of those khaki pants."

It was off-kilter. Almost sarcastic. She was vamping him, deflecting. He knew it but even so his blood heated, making him forget who he was. Her gaze narrowed to a smolder and her pink tongue appeared at the corner of her plump lips, throwing gun powder onto the fire.

He couldn't stop himself. He dragged his gaze over her fantasy of a body. The tank top was tight and outlined exactly what he wanted to see. Even her blue-green nail polish looked provocative. He knew it was wrong. He knew he'd poured his own fuel onto the fire that blazed between them. "I had some pretty wicked fantasies myself. The best one involved a smart-mouthed redhead with long legs and big-"

"Are you flirting with me?"

Her words were like ice water, dousing the flickering flames within him. What in the hell had he been thinking playing with her like that?

"Are you flirting with me?" he countered with a deadpan expression. “You brought up taking off khaki pants.”

He found his cool. No need to let her know how much he wanted to handcuff her in a very unprofessional way. No need to let her see the weakness he held when it came to women like her.

She leaped to her feet. "Nope.”

She walked toward the front door, not bothering to glance back at him.

His body bade him to follow her, to find out how it would feel to have her perfect white teeth nipping his earlobe, to have her abundant flesh filling his hands. To discover the way she'd feel beneath him, on top of him, around him.

But Adam didn't move. He was no slave to desire. Not anymore. So instead of watching Scarlet, he focused on a moth fluttering above some flowering bushes ringing the porch.

Brother, you've lost your mind. Don't forget who you are in this town. You are the law. And you are currently on duty. No indulging in witty repartee with a bold tart of a woman who broke the law less than an hour ago. Get a grip.

He rose and straightened, donning his resolve and doffing his uniform hat.

Then he traced Scarlet's steps into the inn.

The parlor was crowded, so he didn't see where Scarlet headed. A few familiar faces met his gaze. The hardware store owner shook his hand, the mayor slapped his back, and he was certain Betty Monk copped a feel of his butt. It was either her or Grace Lewis. And neither of those ladies had seen their natural hair color in thirty years.

"Adam,” the bride said, pulling her dress hem from under the heavy foot of Bubba Malone. "I'm so glad you made the reception. Have you had a piece of cake yet?"

Leave it to Rayne to try and feed him the minute he stepped inside. He shook his head. "Not yet. Sorry I had to miss the ceremony, but someone had to keep thieves and murderers from crashing the wedding."

Along with sexy sisters on a mission to destroy wedded bliss.

But he didn't add that fact.

Bubba shoved the last of his cake into his mouth and mumbled, "I'd a liked to see 'em try to crash that wedding. Heads would have rolled, by God."

Rayne laughed. "It's too bad you didn't pull my baby sister over. She almost made it in time to cause even more of a sensation than she did."

"Actually-" Adam said, only to close his mouth when Bubba made the kill slash across his own throat.

"Actually what?" Rayne said, her brow furrowed.

He stared at Rayne for a moment, not sure how to get out of admitting he'd ticketed her sister and did what she'd suggested - held Scarlet up long enough to keep her from crashing the ceremony. He could almost visualize Scarlet blazing into the church and stalking up the aisle with her vibrant hair flaming around her. Rayne was pretty with an angelic face framed by wild red corkscrew curls. But she was nothing compared to the siren who had bent over the back of her car and dared him to frisk her. No comparison whatsoever.

"Nothing," Adam said, looking at Bubba, who looked alarmed. Scarlet's antics must be a touchy subject.

"Oh." Rayne spun around and her hair nearly landed in Bubba's punch glass. "My sister is around here somewhere. I'd like you to meet her. You might want to go ahead and introduce yourself. If she stays any longer than a day or two, you’ll run into her. She draws trouble like roadkill draws flies." Rayne laughed as if she'd cracked a joke, but there was an edge in her voice.

As if he didn't know.

As if Scarlet's naughtiness wasn’t exactly what drew him to her. That and her playground of a body. His mouth watered.

"She done slipped out the back. Or maybe up the stairs," Bubba said, rotating his large head like a periscope. "All I know is she ain't feeling herself or she'd be down here regalin' us."

Rayne sighed. "'True. She's hurt. And angry."

"You know, Hinton, I've been thinking of taking up law enforcement. You got room on that huge force for a man of my statue?"

Bubba's intent was obvious to Adam. He wanted to change the subject. For what reason, Adam hadn't a clue. And he wasn't sure about Bubba being a statue. "l might indeed."

Bubba actually brightened at his words. "Heck, I may take you up on it. Jack's pretty sweet on me, but he may let me try my hand at knockin' heads and cuffin' drunks."

Jack Darby, Bubba's boss and a local rancher, evidently heard his words. "I'm not that damn sweet on you. Go ahead, though they better get a tent maker busy on sewing a uniform for you."

Adam moved along as the two men jokingly sparred about Bubba's chances at fitting in a police cruiser. Might not be a bad idea to recruit the big man as a reserve officer. The police force had been shorthanded ever since Sherwood McCann married and moved to Mesquite. Bubba Malone was an established member of the town. Everyone knew the easygoing, loyal-as-a-hound redneck. He'd be a good man to have when the chips were down.

The crowd didn't lighten as he neared the back of the house. Left and right, people nodded at him or threw a wave of acknowledgment as he approached the porch. But he didn't fool himself. People were friendly to him for good reason. Being Police Chief of Oak Stand may have been a lateral move for him, but it was top dog as far as law enforcement was concerned for the people of the community.

They didn't trust him yet. Didn't know him long enough to call him one of their own. But they respected him. For the moment that was all he needed. One day he hoped to feel at home in Oak Stand, but until then, he did his best to be the man he expected himself to be. Focused, progressive, and fair.

And he knew his weakness for women like Scarlet would chip away at any respectability he'd built within the hardworking, traditional values community. He needed to stay away from her and those like her. He needed to make a date with the mayor's daughter, the perfectly respectable one who had recently moved home to teach kindergarten at Oak Stand Elementary. What was her name? He couldn't remember.

The back lawn was as crowded as the house, and he briefly thought about grabbing a piece of cake and returning to the vacant front porch. But there would be no sexy redhead to keep him company. He couldn't help scanning the crowd for her, even though seconds before he'd told himself to forget about her.

He didn't find Scarlet, but he did find the irascible city councilman, Harvey Primm.

Unfortunately.

"Hinton, we need to talk about this upcoming hoopla at the library. We need a plan for how to handle the riffraff that's going to show up."

"Not today, Harvey. Come by my office and we'll talk about it."

"You know they're planning a protest, don't you? Gosh dang liberals. As if we don’t have bigger things to worry about in this country. Misguided fools, the whole pack of them." The councilman shook his head, disgust plainly etched across his weathered brow.

Harvey Primm served on the city council as he had for the past twenty-odd years. He was a self-proclaimed pillar of the community. Once a tire salesman, he now worked from home, producing a questionable piece of journalism called the Howard County Examiner, which unleashed gossip about his neighbors. Ironically, he also served as a deacon in a nondenominational church on the outskirts of Oak Stand. Adam found the man to be overbearing, insufferable, and a little cracked. Supposedly, Harvey had grown increasingly obsessed with stopping evil in all forms ever since his wife had been killed by a drunk driver several years before. Harvey's feverish climb onto his soapbox had him extolling his views on everything from prohibiting the sale of alcohol to this newest cause-the removal of a children's book containing witchcraft from the county library. Adam tired of the man shadowing his doorstep nearly once a week.

"I'm aware, but this is neither the time nor the place. Come by and we'll talk," Adam said, trying to slide past Harvey.

The man's hand clamped down on his arm. “There’s no better time than the present. The library board voted. It's done and all the protestors in the state of Texas can't stop us from removing that filth from the shelves of our library. Away from the hands of our innocent children."

Adam removed Harvey's hand. "Mr. Primm, if you wish to discuss potential problems that might arise as a result of the library board's vote, stop by my office."

With that, Adam turned and plowed through a small crowd of people, many of whom likely overheard the exchange if their silence was any indication.

Harvey didn't follow him, but Adam could feel the hard stare of the man burrowing into his back. A prickle of unease crept up his spine. Harvey, who had wholeheartedly supported Adam's hire as the new police chief, was turning out to be trouble. Adam supposed the man thought a younger appointment would be easier to control.

Guess he hadn't done his research.

Adam was definitely by the book, but he also wasn't a man to be pushed around by the whims of an egotistical, conspiracy theorist who liked the soap box more than he liked the pew.

A flash of red caught his eye.

But it wasn't Scarlet. It was Betty Monk wearing a lavish red sequined dress paired with matching cowboy boots. Not quite fitting with the homespun, earthy decor of the reception. How he knew it was that was beyond him. Must have been something he picked up from the decorating magazine Roz had left in the john at the station.

Time to shake Brent Hamilton's hand, then get out of Dodge. Go to the station. File a report. Drink a cup of Roz Lane's bitter coffee. Forget about buxom beauties and how splendid they looked in black leather and red lipstick.

Betty raised her painted-on eyebrows and started barreling toward Adam.

He slid to the right, ducking behind a cluster of occupied tables. He didn't want to hear about how no one picked up after their dogs when they walked through the downtown park. Nor could he tolerate her incessant touching. She flirted as if she were a twenty-year-old. And seemed absolutely convinced he was into her.

To hell with shaking Brent's hand. Adam would grab cake and head for the hills.

He was a good cop, but he wasn't a saint.