“I know, Caitlyn Rogue, how very innocent you are next to me and what I know I’ll end up taking from you. You’re not a woman who will let a man fuck her for the emotionless pleasure of it. You’re not a woman who could ever give what I need easily.

And you’re not a woman a man can walk away from without regrets. You’re too young for those regrets. And I’m too damned old to want to see them strapped on you. Think about that. Remember that. Because the next time you invite me to your bed, you just might find more there than you expected.”

If he expected her to take veiled threats and innuendo as an excuse, then he’d better be thinking on that one again.

She tossed him an angry little snarl as she jerked out of his arms.

“What, Zeke, do you like to get frisky with your handcuffs?” she snapped, turning on him and nearly bursting into flames at the look on his face. “Do you like to play the big, bad sheriff when you fuck your women?”

His lips quirked with an edge of amusement that she simply didn’t appreciate. Almost a smile as those predatory brown eyes roved over the loosened front of the leather vest.

“Me getting frisky with the handcuffs would be the least of your problems,” he growled back at her, and she almost believed him.

She pretended to shiver. “Should I whimper and beg for mercy?”

“Probably.” There was a grunt of laughter. “One thing is for damned sure, you’d end up spanked. Does that smart mouth of yours ever stop?”

“Only when I’m kissing cowardly sheriffs with more excuses than handcuffs.” She smiled tightly. “Go home, Zeke. I’m tired of playing with you tonight. I tell you what, the next time I’m in the mood for a little slap and tickle I’ll give you a call. Seems that’s all you’re willing to put out at any given time.”

Oh, she was pissed. She glared back at him, seeing the amusement, the careful watchfulness he displayed. He thought he could walk into her home and just play the big, bad dominant lover throwing out his little warnings? Who the hell was he this week? The dom from hell? Bullshit. She’d heard how the sheriff liked to fuck for years.

All night. Hard and heavy. He was like a stallion ready to mount and ride at any given time, one widow had drawled drunkenly during a pity party of epic proportions when her studly sheriff had stopped coming to her bed. Rogue was tired of hearing the damned tales from women drowning their sorrows in her whisky.

“Smart-ass.” His voice lowered, deepened. “That one was free, sweetheart; keep it up and I’ll start running a tab for you. And I do collect.”

She pretended to shiver. “I’m shaking in my shoes.”

He looked at the shoes on the floor, then back at her feet before his lips tightened and he gave his head a hard shake.

“I’m getting the hell out of here,” he told her. “If I hear anything about the twins, I’ll let you know.”

“Just send one of your little deputies,” she ordered furiously. “I’ve decided I don’t like playing with you after all, Zeke. I think it’s time for me to consider other potential buddies.”

He stopped.

Zeke could feel the blood exploding in his head at her angry little threat, and the fact that she just might be serious. Was she serious? He stared into her eyes, keeping his eyes narrowed as he gauged her expression.

Yep, she just might be serious.

“I wouldn’t jump into anything if I were you,” he warned her. He tried to keep the warning light, but he failed miserably. He knew what he sounded like. Like a man warning his woman back from a boundary she was getting ready to cross.

He couldn’t have her, but he’d be damned if he was going to stand aside and watch some other bastard take her now that he’d had a taste of her.

That thought froze him as effectively as Rogue’s warning had. Hell, he was losing his fucking mind.

“Fuck it,” he suddenly snarled. “None of my damned business.”

“None of your damned business,” she agreed, evidently angrier now than she was to begin with.

Zeke watched the flush that mounted her cheeks, the glitter of battle in her violet eyes and almost, just almost wondered at the dominant spark that seemed to trigger a cascade of lust in his gut.

Damn her. She wasn’t supposed to challenge him. Get pissed, yeah. Challenge him?

Hell no. It was the one thing he’d fought to keep from happening over the years. Rogue challenging him wasn’t something either of them wanted to test right now. Not while the taste of her lips lingered against his, while he could still feel the slick, silken juices from her pussy against his fingertips.

“Be careful, little girl,” he told her gently. “Challenging a big dog is a hell of a lot different than those little Chihuahuas you run with sometimes. They bark at the wind and tuck their tails between their asses and run when I growl back. Remember that.

And you better consider that there’s a reason for it. I’m not a lapdog you can curl up with, pet and stroke a few times, and consider it a done deal. You’re a baby next to me, Rogue. It’s not the years between us that hold me back; it’s the fact that you and I both know there’s things about me you don’t want to tempt. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so damned determined to push me.”

Her brow jerked up. A perfect little sarcastic arch.

“I’ll be sure to have nightmares tonight,” she drawled. “Lock up when you leave, Sheriff. I’ve had enough of the deep, dark warnings and dominant male bullshit. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for more.”

She sauntered past him, and he let her go. He had to force his fingers not to curl into fists to hold back the urge to reach out for her. He had to force himself not to follow her when the bedroom door closed.

Hell, he had to force himself to leave her apartment. To stride across the room, turn the lock on her door, and step outside before pulling it shut behind him. Forcing himself down the stairs and through the bar was even harder.

Because he knew what she was doing. She wasn’t in a damned bubble bath. He felt her gaze the minute he stepped from the bar. She was up there watching him, the same as he had watched her enter the bar countless times. And he wondered if she was remembering the dark promise of that kiss they had shared, because he knew he sure as hell wouldn’t be forgetting it.

The kiss itself was a challenge. He should have known the minute she began battling for his taste, pressing for more, for a deeper caress, a harder taste, that he was in deep trouble where that woman was concerned.

He should have known Rogue wouldn’t listen to a warning, that she wouldn’t see reason. She was young, impulsive, wild as the wind. Too young. Son of a bitch. He jerked his truck door open and lifted himself into the seat before slamming it closed. He wanted to ram his fists into something; he wanted to howl at the fucking moon, race back inside and show her how a man hungered, how a man took his woman, and exactly how a man expected a response.

She had no business playing games with him. No damned business pushing his buttons and leaving him with a dick so damned hard that if he did manage to get it to relax, then the bastard was still tender, still ready for action. He hadn’t been this damned ready for sex in more years than he wanted to count.

The woman worked his cock quicker than old man Parsons swore Viagra worked his.

This was a damned mess, and he was beginning to lose not just his control but also his common sense.

She was, quite simply, too damned young for what he hungered for.

FOUR

Rogue woke the next morning with a headache.Gremlins from hell were digging into her brain with dull little pick-axes right behind her eyeballs. She’d known when she lay down to sleep the night before that rest wouldn’t follow her into that dark void of unconsciousness. Dreams had instead. The same dreams that had tormented her for years.

Those damned pictures. That fateful night that had begun the emergence of the woman she hadn’t known resided inside her.

David and Amy Kerring. They had been strangers in town, but Caitlyn Rogue Walker hadn’t exactly been well known in her father’s bar. She hadn’t told anyone her relationship; she liked to watch, to listen, with no one knowing who she was. That night, David and Amy had been friendly. Rogue hadn’t particularly liked them, but damn, she had been so dumb. She had turned her back on them only moments, but it was long enough for them to spike her drink.

The next thing she had known she had woken in a strange bed, half dressed, reasonably certain she hadn’t been raped, but she had known something had happened.

Nadine Grace and Dayle Mackay had happened. They had been there, and her nightmares proved it. Nadine had giggled and laughed like a schoolgirl as Dayle Mackay snapped the pictures that had been used to humiliate her ever since.

Never let them see you sweat, bleed, or cry, her grandmother had once told her. Rogue had kept her head high, but it hadn’t been easy. Staring Zeke Mayes in the eye after those pictures hit the Internet had been even harder.

Now, today, four years later, she found that bravado was second nature, pissing people off came easily, and pretending to be the wild, vivacious Rogue was like a second skin now. Unfortunately, the illusion was only skin-deep. The wild, sexually aware, teasing, motorcycle-riding hellion was just that, a game, a joke on the county and the people that had turned on her. Beneath the skin Caitlyn still lurked, waiting, watching, and fantasizing about a man she couldn’t have.

So what did she do after the best kiss of her life? Did she have incredibly erotic dreams of getting him out of uniform and devouring his hot, hard body? Of course not; she had nightmares.

And she also had a job outside of lounging around the bar. She’d skipped out on Janey the night before, but she couldn’t skip out today or tomorrow. The lunch-crowd days were murder, and the bookkeeping at the end of the day looked like something a cyclone had blown in if Rogue didn’t get a hand on it quickly.

Not that Janey couldn’t handle the paperwork; it was just that Rogue was better at it and she knew it. And she hated having to figure out Janey’s system when she called demanding help. It was a hell of a lot easier when it was Rogue’s system.

April was being especially nice when she stepped out the back door of the bar that afternoon. The early afternoon sunlight was pouring down and warming the mountains with unseasonably heated days. Perfect days for the motorcycle ride to the restaurant.

The nights were colder, though, and far less hospitable, but endurable.

She missed the nights Zeke had picked her up after he went off duty at night. The sheriff’s four-by-four Tahoe had been toasty warm and smelled of Zeke. That rich, dark male scent mixed with a hint of aftershave.

Straddling the Harley, Rogue gave herself a mental shake, turned on the ignition, and kicked back the stand before pulling out of the back lot of the bar and heading toward Somerset.

The Bar was only a few miles out of town, but the drive to the Mackay restaurant was nearly a half hour. By the time she pulled into the back lot there the chill wind had sliced through her leather riding chaps and heavy jacket. Her face felt frozen, and she wasn’t looking forward to the ride home that night.

Damn, if she kept this up, she was going to have to pull that ugly sedan out of the garage where she kept it stored and start driving it again. Wouldn’t that just leave her reputation as the bad-girl biker in the dust. Her dignity, too, because that sedan was damned ugly.

Kicking the stand in place, she pulled the key from the ignition, tucked it into her front pocket, and dismounted in one smooth move before pulling the small leather backpack she carried from a saddlebag.

Janey was in the office as Rogue strode in. The other woman was sitting nice and cozy and warm in her lover’s arms where he sat in the large leather chair behind the desk.

“Chief of police caught lazing on the job,” Rogue reported tongue-in-cheek. “Sources close to the owner of the Mackay Restaurant and Café report that said chief definitely knows how to make use of a leather office chair. Pictures below.”