Craving Heat Read online

  “That’s one way to put it,” she said. “Have you met Reid?”

  “No.”

  “He’s…entertaining.”

  Grif snorted. “Annoying is more like it.”

  The sheriff’s face split into a smile that bunched her cheeks and lit her eyes and…whoa…suddenly this buttoned-up sheriff sparked of dangerously female. And not the in your face, sultry female. This was all wholesome country girl with a subtle undercurrent of heat. And sex.

  “Just make sure you get there fifteen minutes early to warm up,” she said. “He doesn’t like wasting workout time on warm-ups.”

  Grif cleared his throat. “If you’re on time,” he said in a gruff voice, clearly imitating his brother, “you’re late.”

  The sheriff pushed out of her chair. “You sound just like him. Which terrifies me on several levels. Gentlemen, thank you for keeping me informed.” She turned to Jay. “Great meeting you. Please update me on any further threats or odd occurrences, no matter how silly it seems. We’re a small town with limited resources. I’d rather get ahead of it.”

  “Understood. And thank you.”

  “Of course. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here.”

  Oh, he might need something…

  He met her gaze for a few seconds, letting her know he was interested, but he’d keep it light. He wouldn’t be that guy. The aggressive knuckle-dragger. He understood the trappings of being a professional athlete. Temptations, when it came to women, were constant. His looks didn’t hurt. He’d been touted as everything from roguishly sexy to blond-haired farm boy. None of which he was, but it helped feed his bank account, so why not?

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “You’re welcome. Grif, I’ll talk to you later about the parking space.”

  “Great fun,” Grif muttered.

  Jay waited for the office door to close, then met his agent’s eye. Enough with the distractions. He needed a job. “Who were the calls from?”

  “Dallas, LA, and Portland.”

  Crap. Cross-country moves, all of them. LA wouldn’t be horrible. Good ownership, good coaching. A young team that could use his experience.

  Grif rolled his bottom lip out. “It’s early, though. I know you’d like to stay on the East Coast.”

  “I would, but if the situation is right, I’ll suck it up for a few years.”

  Because, realistically, that’s all he had left in football. He’d hoped to finish those years in New York, with the one and only team he’d ever played for.

  This mess, his nosediving career, he hadn’t anticipated. Released by the Knights and so far two of his sponsors had dumped him, with possibly a third about to.

  “I got a call,” he said, “from Will Burns.”

  Grif eyed him. A call from the executive director of the domestic abuse charity Jayson represented might not, at this particular time, be a good thing.

  Celebrate Hope, the nation’s largest advocate for abuse victims, not to mention his sister’s employer, currently had a spokesman who had attacked a teammate. Not a stellar example of a nonviolent, compassionate individual.

  For the first time, Jayson Tucker was a liability. Absolute poison.

  Grif sat back. “What’d he say?”

  “He wanted to set up a meeting. Since I’m only three hours away, I’m heading down there tomorrow afternoon.”

  “That’s a good sign. If he wants to meet in person, maybe they’re still on board.”

  “You, my dedicated agent, are delusional. They should have jettisoned me Sunday night.”

  The weight of it surrounded him. After everything he’d been through, he’d managed to blow the one sponsorship gig that gave him the most satisfaction.

  “Tuck, you’ve been with them a long time. You do good—great—work for them. And they like you. Go to the meeting. Make nice. Maybe they’ll hold on for the ride.”

  “Would you?”

  In lieu of an answer, his agent blew out a breath. “See what they say. Do you want me to go?”

  “No. Let’s keep it informal. Bringing my agent sets a tone.”

  “I agree.”

  “And, by the way, Paskins called last night.”

  “Really? That fucker. All communication should be going through me. In case we decide to sue their ass for some contract violation I’ve yet to come up with.”

  Good old Grif. Always ready for battle. “Relax. He was doing a temperature check.” He flashed the magazine-cover smile. “He knows we might sue them for some reason you’ve yet to come up with.”

  “Don’t count that out.”

  “Never. He gave me the whole song and dance about his untenable position. They can’t support violence in the locker room, yada, yada.” Jay twisted his mouth. “It’s all too damned bad. Paskins and I were friends. At least I thought so. Drew was always a douche, but Paskins helped me.”

  The man’s lack of support stung. Badly. Being the major shareholder, he wielded a big stick. If he’d wanted to keep Jay, to try and understand the situation, they’d have found a way. Instead, his so-called friend and mentor hadn’t even bothered to pick up the phone and ask Jay for his side of the story.

  “Well,” Grif said, “he said his piece. Any other calls from them, send to me. For now, let’s get you up to the training center. You can settle in and meet my mother. She’s excited to have the sexiest man alive over for dinner.”

  3

  At 6:05, in the darkness that came with an October dawn, Maggie made her way up the long mountain road to Tupelo Hill, a sprawling twenty thousand acres containing her aunt’s Victorian plus the training center where Reid, her beloved cousin, would do his best to make her puke.

  He would fail.

  Always did.

  As a former Green Beret, Reid understood what it meant to push the human body. He’d broken many determined men with his body-blasting workouts, but not her. Never. Even if she’d come close to losing her breakfast a couple of times, she’d refused to give in.

  The ring of her phone blared through her Explorer’s Bluetooth—no doubt who this was. She hit the button. “I know. I’m late.”

  On time means you’re late. When it came to the schedule, her taskmaster wanted her warming up at 5:50. Torture began at six sharp.

  Well, not today.

  Today, the wasted fourteen-year-old son of one of Steele Ridge’s town council members had decided to pass out in the middle of the high school football field.

  At 3:00 a.m.

  To say the situation needed to be handled delicately would be an understatement. Maggie had received the call from her panicked deputy, who’d seen the kid stumbling around and decided to follow him. Maggie dragged her butt out of bed, had her deputy help load the errant teenager into her vehicle, and then drove him home. Where his father had the pleasure of carrying his son to bed with a promise from Maggie to keep the situation on the downlow.

  Small-town politics. A never-ending cycle.

  And she was good at it. 1-800-Call-Mag. That was her. Fixer of all messes.

  “You’re late.” Reid, of course, repeated what she’d already stated.

  “I’m turning in now. I was up at three o’clock dealing with a situation.”

  Reid let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed you’re here. Good for you.”

  “See you in two.”

  Yes. She was here. Ready to work because breaking a sweat every day, pushing her body to its unholy limits, kept her from going insane. Kept her from wondering what police work outside of Steele Ridge—outside of drunk teenagers and squabbles over parking spaces—might look like.

  Thanks to the Steele boys, she’d had her share of unusual cases in the past couple of years and as much as she bitched and moaned, she’d loved it. Loved digging in and feeling…what? Useful. More than a babysitter? Something.

  She roared up the drive, swung into the small visitor lot in front of the training center. Her headlights smacked against the glass front of the building wher
e Reid stood waiting in his usual attire of track pants and a zip-up pullover that wasn’t exactly tight, but hugged his torso enough to indicate the muscles beneath.

  In short, Reid was a badass. In addition to his physicality, he had the fuck with me and die attitude Maggie craved. When it came to describing a woman, the terms ambitious and bitch were often interchangeable. Learning to navigate the duties of her job meant avoiding tripping into bitch territory. Had a man been in this job, no one would question his authority. Her? If she raised her voice, folks murmured about it being that time of the month.

  And yet, they wanted her to keep them safe.

  Go figure.

  She shut off the engine and hopped out, her mind already advancing to the warm-up. Spidermans and inchworms. Karaokes and shuffles. She enjoyed the routine of it, those few minutes of being alone, the quiet morning air that let her breathe and be in the moment.

  And maybe, if she got really lucky, she’d get a bonus of seeing the hot jock who’d shown up to take temporary refuge at Tupelo Hill.

  The sheriff in her detested the headaches that came with a celebrity visit. The hadn’t been touched in months female? Well, she couldn’t resist staring. A lot. Ripped, ripped, and more ripped. That was Jayson Tucker. She’d be an idiot not to notice it, even through his shirt. Pair his body with a face teetering on the glorious edge of movie star handsome and the close-cropped beard she wanted to touch and Maggie would have to be blind—and stupid—not to appreciate him.

  “Hey,” Reid said.

  He held the door open, led her through the lobby and down the hallway to the back door. Outside, massive floodlights illuminated the obstacle course her insane cousin had designed and built. He, of course, owned the family record, something he reminded everyone of on a regular basis. The course record was held by some SWAT guy from LA who’d been here training with his unit. As far as family? Reid had the record. And Maggie, only two seconds behind, wanted it.

  Today, given her fatigue, probably wouldn’t be the day she’d achieve her goal. That much, she’d accept.

  “You wanna skip the course today? Just do cardio and weights?”

  “Heck no. I may suck, but let’s run it. Practice makes perfect.”

  “Attagirl. Get warmed up.”

  An hour later, her body sufficiently warm from her workout, Mags stood at the obstacle course starting line.

  If she had to be here, she might as well bust it out. Even if the jock hadn’t yet given her a glimpse of him.

  She peered downrange, focusing on the log mounted a few feet in the air. With one good leap, she’d vault over that, sprint to the low wall, and then reach the insanity of a twenty-foot vertical ladder jutting straight up. She’d navigate each rung to the top, coming down the other side and dropping the last six feet. All without breaking her neck.

  Those were easy compared to that damned high wall. In Maggie’s mind, ten feet shouldn’t be that high. Unless you were trying to climb over it. Which she was. And stunk at.

  If she intended on shattering Reid’s record, she had to improve her time getting over the wall.

  It’ll come.

  Reid held up his stopwatch. “You ready?”

  “Yep.”

  “Go!”

  * * *

  Jay walked from the main house toward the training center, spotted the floodlights—who could miss those?—out back, and detoured through the grass to the rear of the building.

  Reid sat on a picnic table off to the right, his gaze on something in his hand. Stopwatch.

  Out on the course, a woman in snug tights and a long-sleeved fitted shirt swung across monkey bars, her body moving with the fluid motion of an athlete.

  Damn. That was hot. Understanding the nuances of the body, Jay appreciated the stamina it took to complete an obstacle course and the woman on the bars attacked it.

  She rounded the turn, her ponytail flying and…wait. Is that…?

  “Three tenths behind!” Reid bellowed.

  “Fuck you!” the woman yelled back.

  Yeah. Definitely Hot Sheriff Maggie. Jay burst out laughing. Had to love a girl with gumption.

  Reid glanced back at him. “Superstar. You’re early.”

  “I wanted to warm up before we got to it.”

  This brought a smile to Reid’s face and Jay said a silent thanks to Maggie.

  “Good. Give me Spidermans and inchworms. I’ll be with you in twenty. Finishing up with Mags.”

  On the course, Maggie dropped and army-crawled under a bed of barbed wire. “She’s good, huh?”

  “Hell, yes. She might wind up breaking my record, which’ll piss me off, but she deserves it. She’s working her ass off.”

  He checked his stopwatch. “Damn, she’s fast on the crawl. She’s got a full half second on me there.”

  After clearing the wire, Maggie popped to her feet, her long legs moving with the speed of a sprinter to the finish line. Wow, she could move. She slowed to a walk, then bent low for a second before straightening up and realizing she had an additional set of eyes on her.

  “Hi.” She huffed out a breath that made her chest—and very nice tits—rise and fall.

  Hey, he was a guy and she was a woman dressed in skintight clothing. Sue him.

  Jay pointed to the course. “You look great out there.”

  “Thanks, but not my best work. I was slow today.”

  “Only by two tenths,” Reid added. “You made up time on the crawl.”

  She looked back over the course and waved a hand. “It’s that damned wall. I can’t get over it fast enough.”

  “You’re tired today. You’ll get it. Go in and cool down. Then roll out and you’re done. I’m gonna see how I can torture the superstar here.” Reid faced him with a vicious grin. “I’m still waiting on those Spidermans. Do it while I get coffee.”

  Spidermans. Right. The big man lumbered off toward the main building, leaving Jay still staring at Maggie and in no rush to warm up.

  She scooped a towel from the table and quickly ran it over her face and neck. Nothing about her movements could be considered sexual, but Jay’s body warmed up before he’d even hit the ground for those Spidermans.

  “Any updates for me?” Maggie asked.

  The only update he had was the one about possibly seeing her naked. Something he’d keep to himself, thank you very much. At least for a little while, until he could convince her he was a decent guy. He wouldn’t be staying, but maybe, while he was here, the sheriff wouldn’t mind handcuffing him.

  “Updates?”

  She laughed. “How soon they forget. Threats, worrisome e-mails, anything I should be aware of?”

  Oh. That. “No. I’ll have my security people call you if you want.”

  “That’d be great. Then I don’t have to bug you.”

  He smiled. “Bug me anytime.”

  She tossed the towel over her shoulder. “No offense, Mr. Sexiest Man Alive, you can lay off the charm. I’m not a groupie. I’m doing my job.”

  Alrighty then. After the last few days, he shouldn’t be shocked that the hot sheriff had shut him down faster than a good defensive back about to sack him. “I thought I was being nice. And, really, if I were laying on the charm, I’d do it a lot better than that, but, hey, message received. Sheriff.” He jerked a thumb. “I gotta warm up.”

  Shit. Now he sounded pissy. To her, he must look like a douchebag who got pissed when a woman shot him down. Which, yeah, it sucked because what little of her he knew, he liked, but said pissiness wasn’t about her rejection. This was about him and his inability to control a single damned thing in his life.

  Like figuring out how to get Maggie to go to dinner with him. Idiot.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That sounded crappy. I’m uh…” How to explain it? Would she even care? “I should go.”

  He started for the building, more than ready to work off his bad mood.

  “Jayson?”

  He stopped walking, but didn’t turn.

&n
bsp; “I was rude,” she said. “I had a long night. Not that it excuses bad behavior, but I’m tired and…Well, I’m sorry, too.”

  Jay angled back. Maggie stood, hands on hips and shaking her head.

  “Hey,” he said, “it’s all right. I’m no better. Call it flirting gone bad on my part. My brain is short-circuiting on me just in time for a meeting where one of my sponsors will dump me.”

  Hell. Why would he say that? Way to impress a girl.

  Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”

  “It happens when you lose your temper and torch your career.”

  “It’s one incident. It shouldn’t define you.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

  “Still, to be in the middle of it has to be stressful.”

  Did he even know what he felt anymore? For years, he’d been dealing with fame, hysterical fans, the lack of privacy, all of which he’d welcomed because it came with chasing his dream. This was his life. One he was damned grateful for.

  His silence prompted Maggie to twist her lips. A sure sign that someone, a woman usually, was about to ask him about his feelings. Please, God, no. One thing he didn’t need was to talk.

  “I see you showed up early for your workout,” she said.

  He let out a relieved breath. This woman. Too good. She’d read his signals and backed off. “I did. Thanks for the tip, Sheriff.”

  “You’re welcome. Call me Maggie. I’m not a stickler on the title.”

  It wasn’t an invitation to bump uglies, but it was forward motion. “Sounds good. Maggie.”

  “Superstar!” Reid hollered from the building. “You warming up or making time with my cousin?”

  He met Maggie’s gaze for a long few seconds. “Well,” he said, “I’m not warming up.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Reid said. “Get your ass in here!”

  * * *

  The Celebrate Hope headquarters, just over the South Carolina border, was everything a charity’s corporate office should be. Small, low-key, and budget friendly with commercial-grade carpeting and furniture the staff generally put together themselves. Even the reception area, a place the Knights had gone all out with, had been kept to the basics. Where the Knights splurged on marble floors, high-end leather seating, and original Warhols, Celebrate Hope got by with four metal-framed chairs, an L-shaped desk for the office assistant, and inspirational posters. The whole setup probably ran them under five hundred bucks. The board did everything right when it came to keeping administrative costs to a minimum.