“There isn’t any bail,” she said, raising her voice.
Harold Patterson gasped. “You mean you’re holding her without bail?”
“No, I mean there’s no bail because there aren’t any charges. Miss Doris didn’t file charges against Melody, and Melody didn’t file charges against Miss Doris.”
“Then why is Miss Doris still in jail?”
“She isn’t. She’s at home.”
The barber turned red in the face. He was so upset he seemed incapable of seeing reason. He began shouting, “No, she isn’t! No one saw her leave the jail! You’ve still got her in there and—”
Miss Virginia Rose said crisply, “Don’t be a child, Harold.” She gave Bo a stern look. “Chief, be square with us. Is that truly what happened?”
It was all Bo could do to keep a big smile from breaking out. God, these people were great; she blessed the day she’d landed here. As seriously as possible she said, “It is indeed. Jesse took Miss Doris home about half an hour ago, maybe a little more. Emily had posted on Facebook that she was picking up Miss Doris for her court date, and Kalie is Facebook friends with Emily, so Jesse knew Miss Doris wouldn’t have her car.”
That convoluted explanation evidently made perfect sense to everyone because smiles broke out. She heard several “Thank yous,” and “Sorry to disturb you,” and a “See, I told you everything would be all right.” Then, mission accomplished, the firefly crowd moved back across the street and began dispersing to their own cars and residences.
Bo stood on the sidewalk for a minute or so, watching them, then went back inside the police station.
Tricks was sitting there with a big doggy smile on her face, as happy as ever. Morgan was crouched on the floor, his arms around Tricks. He was laughing, his shoulders shaking, as he fought to muffle the sound by burying his face against Tricks’s plush fur. Her heart gave another of those little bumps, and the hairs on her arms lifted in alarm. She didn’t want to feel anything for him other than concern over his situation; anything more personal was too dangerous.
Bo pushed emotion away and said, “You better not get snot on my dog.”
He lifted his red face from Tricks’s fur and managed to gasp, “Free Doris!” before succumbing again, collapsing on his ass on the floor and holding his stomach.
She liked his laugh, deep and rolling. “Wasn’t that great?” she asked, beaming. “All of it. And I got a picture.” Then she began laughing too because she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
He rose lithely to his feet, snatched her into his arms, and whirled her around in a circle. She was astonished by the ease with which he lifted her, but she couldn’t stop laughing as she clutched at his shoulders. “Put me down! What if someone comes in?”
He snorted. “What if they do? After what I just saw? There’s no one in this town who would even blink an eye.” He smiled down at her, blue eyes still glinting with laughter.
She looked up, so close she could see the emerging beard on his strong jaw, the striations, both light and dark, in his eyes that made the blue so brilliant. The muscles in his shoulders bunched under her palms as he set her down.
“You have a good heart, Chief,” he said and kissed her forehead.
She could handle a forehead kiss, she thought; it was friendly without being sexual. Not that she wanted to be friends with him, but still—
Then he blew that out of the water by gripping her head with both hands, tilting her face up, and covering her mouth with his.
CHAPTER 16
IT WAS LIKE BEFORE—THE HOT TASTE OF HIM, THE thrill of recognition, the instant hunger. But it was different, too, because neither of them was riding the knife edge of anger. There was a slowness to the way their mouths clung together, a laziness to the dip and stroke of his tongue. Did laughter give a different, lighter taste to his mouth? Did it to hers? He wasn’t holding her head now; instead his hands were gripping her waist, the heat of his palms burning the softness of her skin as he brought her body close against him.
He nipped at her bottom lip, licked the tiny sting, moved his mouth down to her throat. Her head fell back, as if the touch of his mouth turned her neck to rubber, and holding it upright was too much effort. She didn’t even try; she couldn’t deny the thrill, the hot chase of lightning from his mouth to her nipples and down between her legs.
She’d been turned on before. She knew the allure of sex, the heat and pleasure of it. But even during her marriage she’d always felt somehow distant from the act, as if her mind couldn’t quite engage with her body. This was different. This was scary. Not only was her mind right there, but she felt as if her body had the upper hand, as if touching him somehow made her mental gears shift into neutral. This was more than pleasure; she didn’t want to have just the experience, she wanted to have him, to feel him on her, inside her. That wasn’t sex, that was need, and need was a completely different animal. She didn’t want to need anyone.
And yet . . . she did. Him, for reasons she couldn’t pin down. Chemistry, maybe. Propinquity, probably. And he liked her dog.
His erection was a thick ridge against her stomach, inviting her to lift herself up, wind her legs around his waist, and let him do whatever he wanted.
Alarm clanged in her brain, but distantly. They were standing in the middle of the police station. He wasn’t mostly naked, the way he had been before when he’d kissed her. They weren’t being driven by raw emotion; she wasn’t in danger of giving in to the subtle surge of need rising through her body—not here, anyway. She was aware of the alarm; that was all, just as she was aware of his thick hair beneath her palm. But—when she had moved her hand from his shoulder to the back of his head? His hair was cool on the surface, warm at his skull, so soft her fingers curled in it. She was aware of his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, she could feel the thumping of his heart.