Page 3 of Hot to Trot

His hands moved beneath her arms, over her ribs, down her waist and hips to her thighs. Quickly, his hand slid inside her knee and moved down to her calves. It was quick, methodical, and professional. No reason for any match to be struck. Nevertheless, Scarlet felt strange. It had been a long time since someone had touched her inner thigh. She hadn't felt even a nudge of sexual interest since John and her split. The cop’s clinical touch made her want to get in her car and drive hard in the opposite direction. Made her want to hide her emotions. Protect herself. Pretend she felt nothing.

"Turn toward me, please."

He'd taken off his sunglasses and it was as if a mask had been removed. He was damn gorgeous in a Robert Redford/Clint Eastwood way, all chiseled jaw and pretty eyes. His gaze searched hers, presumably for signs she'd been swigging cough syrup. But the perusal didn't feel accusatory. It felt raw. Asthough he was peering inside her soul. Inside to where her self doubt hid among her insecurities.

She pushed her sweaty bangs back and pretended she was on set.

Now Veronica portrays impatience. She needs to get rid of the cop. She can't allow the cop to see who she really is.

But it didn't work.

His green eyes were clear and searching. They unnerved, and she wanted to escape.

"See? I haven't been drinking anything other than a Diet Coke." She looked down at the sunglasses she held. She should put them on. Protection from his all-knowing eyes.

"I'll be the judge of that," he said, sliding his hand under her chin and tipping her face so her gaze was forced to meet his. His touch bothered her. He must have felt something weird, too, because he jerked his hand away as a frisson of unease crept into his eyes.

He wasn't supposed to touch her outside of the initial frisk. She knew that. Or she thought she knew it. But it had seriously felt...sexy. Almost like a caress.

Veronica will not react to the cop's touch. She must retain control. Even if she wishes to slide her hands up his shoulders, even if she wishes to taste the mouth of the man who could tame her, who could-

Please. Who got hot and bothered by a cop on the side of the road in some backwater town?

She had to be suffering from heatstroke. Or low blood sugar. Anything to explain her reaction to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Jackass.

Just give her the damn ticket so she could head toward Aunt Frances's bed-and-breakfast. Away from whatever strange thing had reared its head inside her. She'd driven too long without sleep and had to be partially delirious from road tripping.

"Okay, I've seen enough drunks to tell you're clean. Wait here." Officer Hinton spun on one motorcycle boot and stalked toward his cruiser. She was accustomed to following direction. Just not that of a pompous cop, so she sidled toward the open door of her car and sank onto the leather seat she'd abandoned moments before. She jabbed her sunglasses on her nose and tapped her fingernails against the steering wheel in an impatient manner.

She heard him approach. Heard the crunch of gravel beneath the boots. Heard the sound of a ticket being torn from the pad he'd carried.

"Here you go. Please note the ticket must be paid by the date on the bottom. There is also a court date listed if you wish to contest the citation."

He handed it to her. No flourish. Matter-of-fact.

"Slow down and be safe."

Bite me.

She took the ticket, slammed the door, and cranked the engine of the secondhand-but-still gorgeous convertible BMW.She also tugged the seat belt across her chest and clicked it. She didn't need another ticket, thank you very much. But the devil inside her wouldn't allow her to slink away like a meek mouse. No, the devil inside her bade her to crumple the ticket and toss it onto the floorboard.

The devil inside her usually won.

She flashed a blinding smile at Officer Adam Hinton as she pitched the wadded ticket toward the fast-food sack that held gum wrappers and gas receipts, along with the remains of her noon meal. "Thanks for the welcome home."

He blinked. He hadn't put on his mirrored glasses. "Home? Wait-"

He looked at his notepad. "Summer Rose?"

She saw the dawning.

"You're Rayne's sister. But your stage name is Scarlet. The actress from the vampire show." His gaze swept her, taking her in. She wasn't wearing heavy makeup. No dramatic kohl-rimmed eyes or overly plumped red lips. No catsuit. No bra that pushed her boobs so high she could prop her chin on them. She looked very little like the vampire queen who ran the fictional Collins town. And very much like a regular twenty-six year-old.

"Wow. Your powers of deduction are better than I thought. You had my name right there and everything. A real brainiac." She gestured to the clipboard in his hand. She was being a smart-ass but didn't care. She was pissed at him for embarrassing her with the whole DUI test and for making her react to his touch. Pathetic. And that made her mad.

Because he had no right to make her feel anything.

She wasn't ready to embrace any frisson of whatever that was. Not ready to welcome that small pique of interest. Not ready to move past the ache she clung to deep, deep down in her heart. She was dead to love.

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