Jamie grinned. "You didn't answer my questions."

"And I'm not going to. I don't owe you any explanations. What we had was a wild fling...a couple of wild flings."

After releasing her breast, Jamie eased back, putting some s.p.a.ce between their bodies. "No problem. Just thought I'd give you first dibs before I call Jazzy. I figured you'd be easier. Jazzy always puts up such a fuss before she gives in."

"If she's half as smart as I think she is, she won't give in to you this time," Cindy told him. "You know she's dated Jacob Butler several times since he came back to Cherokee Pointe."

"Jacob Butler? The old witch woman's grandson? I thought he joined the army or something. When did he come home?"

"Last year. He's the new sheriff and all the women have a thing for him, even Jazzy."

"He's not her type. Jazzy likes her men rich-like me. She wouldn't seriously waste her time on a quarter-breed with nothing more than a county sheriff's salary."

"People change," Cindy said. "You've been gone three years this time. Jazzy's grown older and wiser. Besides, like I told you, she hasn't been pining away for you any more than I have."

Jamie laughed. The sound rippled through Cindy in sensual waves. Everything about Jamie Upton reeked with s.e.x appeal. He was prettier than any man had a right to be, with his wavy brown hair and hypnotic hazel eyes. He wasn't a big man, but every inch of his five-foot-ten-inch frame was honed to sleek, muscular perfection. He was handsome, rich, and could be charming when it suited him. And he knew how to please a woman in bed-if it suited him.

"I need to get back to the others," Cindy said. "Jerry Lee's going to wonder what's taking me so long in the ladies' room."

Jamie stepped aside. Cindy released a relieved sigh, then hurried up the hall, walking only a bit faster than her usual pace. Even though her flight-or-fight instinct urged her to run, she didn't. She wouldn't give Jamie the satisfaction of knowing how desperately she wanted to get away before she succ.u.mbed to her wicked desire for him. Until she'd had her first fling with him, she hadn't understood why Jazzy Talbot repeatedly made a fool of herself over the man. But she understood now. There was something irresistible about the black-hearted b.a.s.t.a.r.d. But she doubted Jamie had ever loved anyone in his entire life-anyone other than himself, that is.

When Cindy reached the huge front parlor, she paused, licked her lips, smoothed her hands down either side of her clinging silk dress, and squared her shoulders. Back into the fray, she thought. Forcing a false smile, she entered the room where the Uptons were entertaining a variety of local society. Although the dinner party had been planned weeks ago, before Jamie's return, the event had turned into a welcome home for the Uptons' only grandchild. Miss Reba had quickly added a dozen more to the guest list, including Jerry Lee and Cindy, and changed the sit-down dinner into a buffet.

When she entered the room, Jerry Lee didn't even notice her; he was deep in conversation with Big Jim Upton, the patriarch of the Upton family. Jerry Lee's daddy had been friends with Big Jim, who had used his influence and wealth to help get Jerry Lee elected mayor of Cherokee Pointe for two terms, the second of which had just begun.

Big Jim stood six-four and probably tipped the scales at close to three hundred pounds. He possessed a shock of thick white hair and sported a dapper white mustache. The Upton family owned Upton Farms, which still provided dairy products to most of northeastern Tennessee. They were semi-old money. Four generations of wealth. And each Upton son had married cla.s.s, making each successive generation a bit more refined than the previous one. But something had gone wrong with the only heir. Jamie Upton might be well-bred, but he was a worthless, heartless son of a b.i.t.c.h.

"Cindy, there you are," Reba Upton called. "Come here, dear, and meet the Stowes."

Cindy forced a smile and went directly toward Miss Reba, Big Jim's pet.i.te blond wife. Her unlined face and sleek, slender body belied the fact that she was seventy years old. A visit to a skilled surgeon every six years or so kept the old biddy's face as smooth as a baby's b.u.t.t, and daily workouts with her own personal trainer kept her body in shape.

Reba laced her arm through Cindy's, her mauve lips spread wide in a hostess smile. "Cindy, this is Reverend and Mrs. Stowe. They're new in Cherokee Pointe. The reverend has been a.s.signed to the Congregational Church." Reba patted Cindy's hand. "And this dear girl is our mayor's wife, Cindy Todd."

The minister, a tall, slender man with thinning brown hair and washed-out blue eyes nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Todd. It would be an honor to have you and the mayor attend services with us this Sunday."

Mrs. Stowe, though dressed conservatively in a simple beige linen dress, eluded an aura of s.e.xiness-maybe it was the long, straight, platinum blond hair or the huge brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. She stood at her husband's side, quiet and obedient, a bored expression on her face.

Cindy turned her attention to Mr. Stowe. "We certainly appreciate the invitation, but Jerry Lee and I are staunch Baptists."

Before the minister could reply, Reba tugged on Cindy's arm and said to the Stowes, "Y'all will excuse us, won't you? I see Dr. and Mrs. MacNair over there all alone. I'll just take Cindy over to meet them. Do mix and mingle. Enjoy yourselves. So glad y'all could come tonight."

Reba rushed Cindy away, and when they were out of earshot of the Stowes, she said, "They're the oddest people, don't you think? She's years younger than he is. I'd say no more than thirty, if that. And she acts as if she's deaf and dumb. The woman hasn't said a word since they arrived."

"Maybe she's shy," Cindy said.

"Shy? I doubt it."

Reba led Cindy toward a young couple standing off by themselves in the crowded room. The man had a stocky build, ruddy complexion, and a receding hairline, although he was probably in his early thirties. His wife was as tall as he, around five-nine, and was as willowy thin as he was stout. Although not really pretty, the strawberry blonde had a pleasant face. Cindy liked her instantly.

"h.e.l.lo, there," Reba called to the secluded twosome. Reaching them, she said to Cindy, "You must meet these lovely people. This is Dr. Galvin MacNair and Mrs. MacNair." Reba stared at the wife. "What is your given name, dear?"

"Nina," the young woman replied, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Galvin has taken over Dr. Webster's practice at the clinic," Reba said. "He's fresh from his residency in-where was it now? What city?"

"Bowling Green," Galvin replied.

Cindy chatted with the MacNairs for several minutes after Reba moved on to charm more of her guests. She liked the young couple, the wife more than the husband, who seemed oddly quiet. She even made a date with Nina MacNair for lunch at the country club on Thursday.

Checking her watch, Cindy noted that it was nearly nine. She'd promised Dillon she would find a way to meet him tonight, even if only for an hour. When she'd made that promise she thought she would be able to fake a headache and stay home from the party, but Jerry Lee had seen through her ploy immediately.

"Get yourself dressed and be ready to go to the Uptons in twenty minutes," Jerry Lee had told her, his round face red with rage. "If you aren't ready by then, I'll dress you myself-after I prove to you once again who's the boss around here."

Jerry Lee could be violent if pushed, and on several occasions he'd gotten rough with her. He'd never broken any of her bones, but he'd left her bruised and sore at least half a dozen times in the past four years. She thought about leaving him, dreamed of some other man whisking her away, but no one had come along to rescue her. Not until now. Not until Dillon. They'd been sleeping together for a month, ever since she'd joined the little theater group. He had moved to Cherokee Pointe late last summer after being hired by the city to oversee the local theater that produced plays to draw in the tourist trade.

What would Jerry Lee do if she went to him now and told him she had a splitting headache and needed to go home? He wouldn't want to leave the party. Whenever either the Uptons or MacKinnons threw a party, Jerry Lee Todd was one of the first to arrive and the last to leave. Her dear husband knew how to suck up better than anyone she'd ever known. He was a brownnoser par excellence.

As she strolled out into the foyer, seeking relief from the incessant chatter that had reached a deafening roar in the parlor, Cindy noticed Dr. MacNair and his wife accepting their coats from the maid. They were leaving early.

Before she realized what she was doing, Cindy rushed toward Nina MacNair. "Would y'all mind giving me a lift into town? I have a dreadful headache and I don't want to bother Jerry Lee. He loves these parties so."

"Yes, certainly." Nina reached out and patted Cindy's arm. "We'd be happy to drop you off at your house. And if you'd like, Galvin can give you something for your headache."

"Oh no, really, that won't be necessary. I have something at home I can take." She turned to the maid. "Would you get my coat, please? And once I'm gone, tell Mr. Todd that I wasn't feeling well and caught a ride home with Dr. and Mrs. MacNair."

"Yes, ma'am," the maid said and hurried to get Cindy's coat.

Half an hour later, Cindy stood outside Dillon's apartment. She'd walked there in the freezing rain, the three blocks from her house on Chestnut Street to the two-story apartment building on Baker's Lane. Drenched to the skin and out of breath from running up the stairs to the second floor, she punched the doorbell repeatedly. She had an hour at most. An hour to find comfort and caring before she'd have to rush home and feign sleep when Jerry Lee returned from the Uptons. With luck the party would go on until at least eleven, even if this was a Monday night.

Dillon threw open the door and surveyed her from head to toe. "My G.o.d, sugar, come on in and get out of those wet clothes."

Dillon wasn't a handsome man, but there was an inexplicable s.e.xiness about him. He stood about six-one. Curly dark hair tumbled about his broad shoulders. And when he did nothing more than grin at her, her p.u.s.s.y moistened.

Smiling, she moved past him and into his cluttered living room. Many creative people were known for being messy and disorganized. Dillon was certainly both. Newspapers and magazines lay strewn about, an empty cup rested on the edge of the coffee table, and two pairs of sneakers and dirty socks lay discarded on either end of the sofa.

"You're earlier than I thought," Dillon said as he helped her off with her damp coat. "Did Jerry Lee go to sleep early tonight?"

Cindy ran her hands up and down her arms in an effort to warm herself. "We had to go to that party at the Uptons'."

"So that's why you're wearing such a fancy dress-why you look exceptionally pretty tonight."

"Oh, G.o.d, don't lie to me," she told him. "I look like a drowned rat and we both know it."

"You're beautiful, even soaking wet and with your makeup smudged." He ran the back of his hand across her cheek. "Why don't you go in the bedroom and strip off all those wet things."

She grabbed his hand. "Come with me. I don't have long. I don't know for sure what time he'll get home tonight."

Dillon turned her hand over and kissed the center of her palm. "You go ahead and I'll be right there. I'll pour us a couple of drinks. Some Jack Daniels should warm you up pretty quick."

She didn't want the whiskey; she wanted him. But she did as he'd requested and scurried off to his bedroom, which was as cluttered as the living room. Clothes were strewn hither and yon. A laundry basket filled with what she a.s.sumed were washed but not folded towels and underwear perched atop the chest of drawers in the corner. An unmade bed lay before her, the comforter sloping halfway onto the carpeted floor. She doubted the sheets had been changed in weeks, but she didn't care. She'd rather share a dirty bed with Dillon than sleep on satin sheets with Jerry Lee.

Hurriedly she stripped off her dress, then kicked off her shoes and removed her pantyhose and bra. She was in the process of sliding her panties down her legs when Dillon came into the bedroom. She let the black bikini panties drop around her ankles as she faced him.

He stared at her appreciatively for several minutes. Heat rose up from within her as her body clenched and unclenched. She knew she looked all right naked. She wasn't that old. Thirty-three. Never having gone through childbirth, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were small but perky, her stomach flat, and by exercising like a maniac she'd been able to keep the cellulite at bay and her muscles toned.

Dillon came across the room toward her, his movements lazy and deliberate, like a dancer in slow motion. He held out a half-filled tumbler. Her gaze met his, the two joining together for endless moments. After lifting one foot and then the other, she kicked her panties aside and took the gla.s.s of whiskey from him.

"Not knowing when your hubby will get home, you're taking a terrible risk coming here this way." Sipping on the liquor, he eyed her over the rim of his gla.s.s.

Why had he reminded her? Didn't he want her here? Had he decided having an affair with the mayor's wife was too dangerous?

"Being with you is worth the risk." With shaky hands she lifted the tumbler and tasted the whiskey. A hot blaze zipped down her throat and hit her belly like a ball of fire. She coughed a couple of times, but never took her eyes off him. "I thought you felt the same way."

Dillon gulped a couple of swigs from the gla.s.s, blew out a warm breath, and set the tumbler aside. Before she knew what was happening, he reached out and grabbed her. She gasped when her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed against his bulky knit sweater.

"I'll show you how I feel." He took the gla.s.s from her and set it alongside his atop a discarded pair of jeans on the chest at the foot of the bed.

Her heartbeat accelerated the moment his hands cupped her hips and pressed her against his erection. With frenzied motions, she ran her hands up under his sweater to touch his sleek chest. Together they quickly divested him of his clothing, all the while kissing and touching. Moments later, he tossed her onto the bed and took her without any real foreplay. He rammed himself up inside and began pumping her like mad. Luckily she was already dripping wet and pulsating with need. They went at it like a couple of animals and both came within a few minutes.

Later-five minutes or ten, Cindy wasn't sure-she eased out of his arms and off the bed. She went to the bathroom, cleaned herself, and came back into the bedroom to gather her clothes. Dillon scooted up in the bed, leaned his back against the headboard and watched her perform a reverse striptease.

Her clothes were damp and clammy, but it couldn't be helped. She didn't dare stay long enough for them to dry.

"Dillon?"

"Hmm?"

"If I leave Jerry Lee, will you...would you be here for me?"

Dillon stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. "You've told me yourself that he'd never let you leave him. That he'd kill you first."

"Not if I had someone to protect me."

"Is that what you want? You want me to protect you from your husband?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I want. I want someone who cares enough about me to take me away from Jerry Lee and keep me safe."

"Sugar, I'm not sure I'm that man. I care about you, but-"

"But not that much."

Before she embarra.s.sed herself even more, Cindy ran from the room. She picked up her coat off the sofa in the living room, slipped into it, and rushed out into the hallway. Taking several deep breaths, she forced herself not to scream; but she could do nothing to prevent the tears from cascading down her cheeks.

When she walked out onto the sidewalk, she realized it was snowing to beat the band. Heavy snow, so thick she couldn't see ten feet away. G.o.d, she'd freeze to death before she made it home on foot.

Suddenly she saw the headlights of a vehicle creeping down the street. Maybe she could hitch a ride. In a town this small there was a good chance she'd know whoever was driving.

The vehicle slowed and then stopped. The pa.s.senger door swung open.

"Cindy, is that you?" he asked.

She sighed with relief. "Yes, it's me."

"What are you doing out on foot on a night like this?"

"Visiting a friend," she replied. "Hey, would you mind giving me a ride home?"

"I don't mind at all," he said. "As a matter of fact, it would be my pleasure."

Chapter 3.

Jacob sat in a booth at the back of the empty room in the restaurant part of Jasmine Talbot's two businesses on Loden Street. Jasmine's was a nice family restaurant that catered to locals and tourists alike. Jazzy's Joint, in the adjoining building at the end of the street, was an old-fashioned bar/juke joint. Appealing to vastly different clienteles, the establishments had separate entrances and thick, double brick walls separating the two. When he was off duty, sometimes he'd mosey on over to the wilder side, but tonight, he wasn't looking for excitement. Just a decent meal and some time to collect his thoughts.

He was facing his first murder case since being elected sheriff of Cherokee County, and it wasn't just an ordinary killing-a gunshot wound or a stabbing. The victim hadn't been involved in drugs, a domestic quarrel, or a revenge scheme. Susie Richards had been barely seventeen years old. A good kid from a good family, according to everything he'd learned about her. A straight-A student, president of the junior cla.s.s at Cherokee Pointe High, and liked by everyone who knew her.

Just as Jacob finished off the last bite of apple pie and shoved the plate aside, Jazzy appeared beside him, a full pot of fresh coffee in her hand. He glanced up and smiled. She was a sight for sore eyes. A good-looking woman could always improve any bad situation. And Jasmine Talbot was about as good-looking as they came. Tall, long-legged, and big-b.o.o.bed, she was definitely built like the proverbial brick s.h.i.thouse. She had a short, unruly mane of fiery red hair, the color so striking he knew it came out of a bottle, and a pair of cat-green eyes that seemed to possess the ability to look right through a man.

They had dated a few times, shared a few kisses and gropes, but hadn't crossed over the line from friends to s.e.x partners. And he was glad. They genuinely liked each other, but the s.e.xual chemistry just wasn't right between them. If they had screwed around, it would have been harder to remain buddies.

"More coffee?" Jazzy asked, but before he could reply she filled his cup, placed the pot on the table and sat down on the other side of the booth directly across from him.

"Thanks." He lifted the cup to his lips.

"It's decaf," she told him.

He frowned. "I don't drink decaf."

"You do tonight. I figure you're pretty wired already, what with all you've had to handle today. And my guess is that you've been swigging down high-octane coffee all day. The stuff has probably replaced the blood in your veins."

"You know me too well."

"You should go home and get a good night's sleep. You look like h.e.l.l."

He grinned. "That's one of the many things I like about you-your brutal honesty."

"Good thing you've got a place in town," Jazzy said. "That snowstorm Genny predicted has already started. There are probably a couple inches of ice under the three or four inches of snow that's already fallen, and it's only ten-thirty."

Jacob nodded. "I doubt I'll sleep much tonight."

"Yeah, I don't suppose I would either after getting a good look at Susie Richards." Jazzy turned over a clean empty cup on the table and poured herself some coffee. "Rumors are flying like crazy around town. I know you can't tell me anything much, but...you can't put off making another statement to the press much longer. Brian MacKinnon's going to make a big deal out of this murder. It'll be headline news in the Cherokee Pointe Herald for weeks, especially if you don't nab the killer soon. He'd like nothing better than to find reasons to put you in a bad light."

"Brian's a p.r.i.c.k." Jacob grunted. "He's another one who thinks money can buy him anything he wants." He looked Jazzy square in the eyes.