Page 3 of All You Want
“Official business, Miss King. This here’s a police station.”
“Then I’ll just pack up my goodies and leave.” I huff. It’s a well-known fact that playing hard to get works with unresponsive men.
He rubs his flat and no doubt hard belly and sniffs the tangy aroma. I know he’s weakening, but he’s going to act like he doesn’t care.
“Fresh bread in the car,” I say with a sing-song voice. “It’s crusty oatmeal bread and so yummy with hand-churned butter.”
“I’ll get it, Miss King,” Shane says.
I shoot him a glare. “What’s my name?”
“Tami,” Todd sighs, beating Shane to the punch. “And thanks for bringing food. I’ve been too busy to eat lunch.”
“I’ll get it, Tami.” Shane walks out of the station and opens the hatch of my vintage sportscar, leaving Todd and me with our gazes locked.
It’s moments like this, left alone and in close proximity, that I ought to take advantage of. I move closer, blocked only by my large breasts, and tilt my face up. My lips wet, and I make a Dolly Parton bow-shaped pucker.
He appears to move closer, looking at me steadily with those deep-brown eyes. His lips part slightly, and I float upward toward him. He turns his head and—
“Hey, Tami!” a rough male voice calls from one of the holding cells. “Tell that lousy sheriff he caught the wrong crook.”
Todd snaps back like his neck is made of bungee cords. His demeanor changes immediately, hardening and ready for the challenge.
“You caught a crook today?” I tell my heart to be still and quash any appearance of being disappointed at the near-kiss. “That’s awesome! On what charge?”
Thinking positive and a boatload of flattery works on all but the most recalcitrant male.
“Breaking and entering, resisting arrest, not carrying identification, and vagrancy,” Todd says. “Says he’s a haunted house consultant.”
I plop the ladle back into the crock pot and charge the holding cell. “You arrested the world-famous ghost hunter, Evan Graves?”
“He did,” Evan says. “I’m completely innocent.”
“Then why were you climbing up the second-floor balcony and jimmying a window?” Todd says. “Tami, he was breaking into your hotel.”
“I was preparing it for one of the ghostly events,” Evan says. “Tami, tell him to let me out.”
I flash Todd an overly appreciative glance and simper, “My, my, I’m ever so grateful you’re keeping Hallowed Haunts safe, but Mr. Graves works for me. I hired him to architect the entertainment systems.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Todd glares at the ghost hunter who’s wearing a fedora, a canvas vest full of pockets over a shirt with flap pockets on the sleeves, and cargo pants—yep, full of bulging pockets.
“I consider it my job to test the security of the site,” Evan says. “You passed.”
“That’s right, he passed.” I touch Todd’s forearm. “Now, if you’ll let Evan out, we can mosey out over to the hotel and get it all set up. Wouldn’t it be cool if you dress as an old-time sheriff? I’d feel so much safer with you around.”
“You expecting trouble?” His eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms.
“Not at all. It’s going to be fun, but some of the guests will have scares and ghostly encounters. I’m planning a dance in the ballroom among the spirits, and it’ll be fun for you to do some undercover work.”
His eyebrows rise momentarily, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind. But they come to a grinding halt when Shane comes back with the loaves of bread.
The professional demeanor snaps back onto Todd’s face. It’s that alpha male thing—not weakening in front of a subordinate. I understand.
He unlocks the holding cell to let Evan out. He sends him to Shane to process the exit paperwork, and thanks me for the food.
“I’m sorry, Tami.” He shrugs and looks anywhere but at my face. “Fill out the event form, and I’ll see what I can do. I’m going to have to be on duty and not dressed up old-fashioned and carrying a six-shooter.”
My cheeks burn, but I have to keep my cool. I saunter by him, pick up the event form from Shane, grab my gigantic purse from the chair, and whoosh out the station door.
