Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire

Miranda could relate to that because she’d never wanted to do anything except follow in her dad and brothers’ footsteps. You might even say she was driven to it.

“Should I strap on my six-shooters?” Vance asked as he followed her down the hall. “How much gunplay can I expect while patrolling with you?”

“You can leave your guns at home,” she told him as she led the way out the front door. “I’ll be the only one packing hardware on the night shift—” Her voice dried up when Vance snagged her arm and turned her to face him on the front porch.

“One request,” he murmured, staring somberly at her.

The feel of his lean fingers on her forearm was as gentle as a caress. She tried very hard not to respond to his touch. It was like trying not to breathe.

Damn, he was so easy on the eye, so big and brawny and totally male. The scent of his cologne threatened to lure her closer, but she stuck to her guns and kept her distance.

“What’s your one request?” To her dismay, her voice wobbled in helpless reaction to his devastating presence.

“Don’t scare me to death the way you did while we were separating cattle.”

His husky voice caused gooseflesh to pebble her skin, but Miranda willfully ignored the reaction and flashed a smile. “Not to worry, cowboy. I can guarantee that won’t happen.”

His shoulders sagged slightly. “Good. I didn’t like knowing you were hurt this morning but were too proud to admit it. I’m pretty sure I’ll like you a whole lot better without any bullet holes in you, so no daring heroics for my benefit, okay? I’ve already recognized the fact that you’re no lightweight, despite what I said in a snit of temper.”

His roundabout compliment and the teasing hint of concern flattered Miranda.

“You aren’t afraid to take risks and you don’t mind getting your hands dirty with hard work,” he added as his dark gaze skimmed over her face. “You don’t hover on the perimeters of life—you dive in headfirst. I respect those qualities and I can relate to them. But I still don’t like seeing you hurt.”

She was so flattered and pleased that she very nearly caved in and pressed an impulsive kiss to that sexy mouth that had driven her crazy each time she ventured close enough to appraise the shape and texture of it.

“For the record,” she murmured unsteadily, “I don’t hate you and I’m not out to get you.”

When he smiled rakishly her heart slammed against her ribs—and stuck there momentarily. “Maybe I’d like it better if you were out to get me,” he said in an ultrasexy voice as he inched closer.

He was practically standing on top of her, crowding her space, surrounding her with that magnetic male aura and staring at her mouth as if he wanted to devour her. She wondered how it would feel to have those sinewy arms wrapped around her and give into this fierce, illogical attraction that was growing by leaps and bounds.

Just one taste and touch. What could it hurt? You could like it too much, came the voice of caution. And that would be dangerous. This, she reminded herself, isn’t the kind of danger you’re equipped to handle so back off.

Swallowing hard, Miranda retreated from temptation. She pivoted to scuttle down the steps on legs that suddenly felt like cooked noodles. “We better get going,” she chirped. “I’m a stickler for punctuality.”

“Figured as much,” Vance said as he followed her to the squad car.

Miranda didn’t try to engage in conversation during the drive, just let silence reign supreme. She just kept sneaking peeks to study Vance’s profile in the dash lights. Of course, she’d been guilty of sneaking peeks at him every chance she got during the day. She was too aware of him, too aware of her attraction to him.

Now that she’d come to like him he was even more difficult to resist. But she had to resist that playful charm. She predicted he could be a heartbreaker if a woman began to care too much. Quint Ryder might have been a former ladies’ man of the family, but now that he was out of circulation she suspected Vance held the title and she didn’t doubt for a minute that he could live up to the family reputation.

When Miranda pulled up in front of Stephanie’s Palace, Vance stared questioningly at her. “Why are we stopping here? Checking for a liquor license or something?”

“Nope. This is where you get out, cowboy,” she said.

He frowned suspiciously. “Now look, Calamity Jane, you upheld your end of the deal today and I sure as hell intend to uphold mine. I’m not about to lounge around at dinner while you’re wolfing down a stale sandwich from Hoot ’N’ Holler and patrolling the streets.”

“Get out, Vance. I’m giving an order, just like the ones you gave me at your ranch. I obeyed them to the best of my abilities. I expect the same consideration from you. Now go!”

He opened his mouth to protest then clamped his jaw shut. “Okay, fine. But if you don’t come back in an hour so I can take my tour of duty I’m gonna be spitting mad. Got it?”

Miranda nodded. “Got it. Now beat it. I’m going to check the alleys to ensure the other downtown businesses are secured for the night.”

The instant he stepped from the car she whizzed off, before his guilty conscience could nip at him again and he tried to climb back inside. As for Miranda, she desperately needed some breathing space—some downtime away from the kind of temptation she’d never faced…until she ran headlong into Vance Ryder.

5

WHEN MIRANDA DROVE OFF, Vance stood by the curb until she disappeared from sight. Well, hell, he’d pretty much put her, and himself, through the paces during the day and now she was letting him off easy by allowing him to enjoy a leisurely meal. He’d have Steph dish up one of her fancy gourmet dinners-to-go and take it to Randi when she picked him up.

With that plan in mind, Vance entered the ritzy restaurant then stumbled backward in disbelief when dozens of people—his cousins included—bounded from their chairs to yell, “Surprise! Happy birthday!”

Vance stood there like a thunderstruck idiot while his friends, neighbors and family converged to shake his hand and pat him on the back.

Several minutes later, Vance cornered his cousins. “I thought you said you were throwing me a small family party this weekend,” he reminded them.

“We still are,” Wade replied. “This was Randi’s idea. She set it up.”

Vance’s jaw dropped open and his eyes popped like boiled eggs. “She did? When?”

“She called Steph at noon to make the arrangements,” Quint reported.

“Then she called Laura at school and asked her to make the phone invitations during her planning hour,” Wade added. “She also paid for the cake the chef prepared in your honor and bought the dinner you’re about to eat.”

Vance was floored—and that was putting it mildly. Randi had gone to all this expense and effort for him? He was stunned that she even remembered that he mentioned his birthday during their heated debate in Tate’s office.

Why had she done this? Hell, she couldn’t even be here to reap the benefits of a superb meal and fancy cake. And furthermore, he suspected she had no intention of swinging by to pick him up this evening. She intended for him to party until the restaurant closed at ten.

Feeling like a jerk for working her like a field hand all day, while she secretly set up this wingding, Vance put on his happy face and enjoyed the celebration in his honor. But it didn’t set well, knowing she’d outdone him. Plus, he knew she’d taken a pay cut for the shorter shifts she’d be working this week. She’d spent hard-earned money on him.

Well, he wouldn’t be so hard on her tomorrow, he promised himself as he settled in for a mouth-watering feast. Man, this was something. No one besides family had ever gone to so much effort to recognize his birthday. He wouldn’t forget her thoughtful gesture, either.

MIRANDA TRUDGED TO HER cracker-box apartment after her five-hour shift on patrol. Sitting for long hours in the squad car—after straining muscles during ranch chores—made her body stiffen like cured plaster. Every tendon and joint screamed in complaint until she half-collapsed in her recliner.

Ah, well, it was worth it to know she’d surprised Vance and compensated in some small way for getting them into this mess with the chief. No doubt, Vance had hooked up with one of the women attending the party and was celebrating his birth by practicing procreation.

The thought stung more than it should have. She and Vance had nothing going—except her itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny one-sided infatuation that was so inappropriate that it didn’t bear thinking about.

The abrupt rap at the door brought Miranda upright in her chair. “Who’s there?” she called cautiously.

“The birthday boy. Open up.”

Miranda wasn’t sure she wanted to open up—physically or emotionally—at the moment. She was too tired. But neither did she have the heart to ignore Vance on his birthday.

Wincing, she hobbled to the door to find Vance holding two foam boxes.

“A late dinner and a slice of birthday cake.” He invited himself inside then surveyed her apartment approvingly. “This is where Steph lived until she hooked up with Cousin Q. You’ve fixed it up nice.”

Miranda blinked. “This is where you strung all the colored lights and removed all the furniture, save the bed?”

“Yup,” he said as he walked over to set the containers on the small drop-leaf table. “Deep down, Quint appreciated the prank. He and Steph didn’t show their faces in public for three days. Good thing I stocked the kitchen with enough food to tide them over during their lovefest.”

“Considerate of you, joker,” she said, lips twitching.

“That’d be me. Considerate, helpful and cheerful.” He motioned her to the table. “Come take a load off. Bet you didn’t bother with supper, did you, Ms. Super-Duper Cop?”

When Miranda shook her head he sighed then said, “That figures. Now sit down and eat. I’ll fix you a drink.”

Miranda sank tiredly into the chair and lifted the lid of the box. The appetizing aroma made her mouth water and her empty stomach growl in anticipation.

Vance thrust a fork and glass of ice water at her. “No booze in the fridge,” he observed. “You a teetotaler?”

Miranda nodded, her attention fixed on the fabulous food.

“Great, Patti Perfect, you have no flaws or vices whatsoever, I suppose?” he asked as he straddled the vacant chair backward and draped his arms across the back.

“Overachiever,” she mumbled between delicious bites.

“Already pegged you as that,” he replied with a smile and a wink. “You’ve got the face of an angel and the heart of a lion. Anything else I should know about you since we’ll be partners on my ranch and on your police beat?”

“Single-minded dedication,” she admitted before she wet her whistle. “Strong sense of fair play and strict attention to rules and regulations.” She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Usually. You’re the exception. I suffered momentary lapses of sanity during our first few confrontations and now we’re both paying for it. Sorry about that.”

“You’re forgiven,” he said with a chuckle. “What else? What about scandalous affairs with married men that put you on this straight and narrow path to pursue this honorable quest for perfection?”

“None of your beeswax, buster,” she said darkly.

“What about a boyfriend waiting in the big city to slide a ring on your finger after you’ve landed a job alongside your dad and brothers?” he quizzed her.

She arched a brow at that. “I didn’t realize you were an expert at investigation and interrogation.”

When he grinned she inwardly groaned at the radioactive impact this man had on her. He was pure hell on her defenses.

“Turnabout is fair play, I always say. My cousins told me that you grilled them for information about me today.”

Miranda took offense. “I most certainly did not! They spilled their guts with no encouragement from me. They talked and I listened.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Answer the question.”

“No, there’s no man waiting in the wings or anywhere else for that matter. I’ve focused entirely on my career.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I figure that a girl raised by a family of cops will turn out one of two ways. Either she’ll run wild in rebellious defiance or she’ll try to live up to her family’s noble calling and become the personification of excellence.” He stared her straight in the eye. “You’d be the do-it-right rule-follower, correct?”

“What is this? Your countrified version of the Spanish Inquisition?” she asked huffily. “Look, I’m tired and I can’t deal with you when I’m not at my best. You require too much energy and mental attention. Can we call it a night?”

He smiled at her defensive tone. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing you. But there’s just one more thing, Calamity Jane.”

Her breath clogged in her throat when he made her mouth the focus of his profound concentration. Oh, God, she couldn’t deal with the sensuality that radiated off him in tidal waves, especially when she was weary and vulnerable. She might slip off this righteous pedestal her family designed for her. It would be so easy to fall—for him.

Miranda fidgeted nervously when his eyes, like hypnotic obsidian flames, bore down on her from beneath that thick fringe of long lashes. “You aren’t going to do something stupid, like kiss me, are you?” she asked, her voice wavering with the internal conflict of wanting and not wanting.

“Darlin’,” he said with a killer smile, “stupidity became my middle name when I met you. I haven’t been the same since.”

And then he was hoisting her from her chair and wrapping those sinewy arms around her like a warm cocoon. The instant her body came into full contact with his muscular length her hormones leaped into full-scale riot—and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. He just kept staring at her with those eyes that were as dark and shiny as the devil’s own temptation. Apparently he was waiting for her to pitch a fit if she didn’t want to be kissed. The choice, it seemed, was hers to make.

She really should object, should push him back into his own space. Or better yet, give him the benefit of her self-defense techniques by breaking his hold. But like an idiot she just focused her curious attention on that tempting mouth and wondered if he’d give her a hit-and-run kiss or suck her into the vortex of sensuality that went by the name of Vance Ryder.

Hit-and-run would’ve been much easier on her senses, she decided after his mouth slanted over hers in gentle possession. But in less than a heartbeat the tenderness melted beneath an eruption of desire that Miranda had tried to pretend didn’t exist between them. But there it was, right in her face, burning in the pit of her stomach, channeling in all directions at once, making her crave the forbidden.

Suddenly she was arching into him and he was pressing her hips against his as his tongue delved deeper to taste her completely. The world wobbled on its axis and her brain short-circuited. Sensation after fiery sensation blazed through her weary body, regenerating energy and heat that fed on themselves until the intensity of it set her aflame. Wow! Kissing Vance was like being caught in a thermonuclear blast!

She was kissing him back with frantic desperation, clawing at the pearl snaps on his Western shirt, needing to explore the hard muscled wall of his chest. In response, he tugged the hem of her shirt from her slacks and skimmed his hands over her waist—without breaking the fervent kiss.

Someone moaned in helpless surrender. She prayed that it wasn’t her. She’d never caved in like this before, never wanted to gobble a man alive the way she wanted to feast her hands and lips on Vance.

Before she realized it she was sitting in the empty foam box of food and wearing his birthday cake on her butt. But it didn’t matter because his skillful hands were gliding up her rib cage and skimming across her bra to arouse her nipples to hard, aching peaks. And then he dragged his mouth from hers and dipped his head to suckle her through the flimsy fabric of her bra. The nearly intolerable burning sensations got even worse.

He raised his head and said, “Damn, woman, I knew you set me off, but not quite like this.”

He delivered another lip-blistering kiss as he wedged his hips between her legs and pressed closer. He was hard as stone and she was hot and aching and craving the intimate contact like a hopeless addict. Sweet mercy! Who was this woman who was climbing all over this gorgeous hunk of cowboy and begging for more? This turbocharged male was gunning down her usual inhibitions like crumbling clay pigeons at a trap shoot. She’d been the farthest thing from a pushover—until Vance Ryder invaded her world and introduced her to combustible desire.

Miranda couldn’t breathe without inhaling the scent of him, couldn’t think past the web of pleasure he weaved around her like a sorcerer’s spell. Her head fell back as his hot, moist lips glided down the column of her neck and his roaming hands slid upward to cup her breasts. She gasped when she felt his mouth against one bare nipple then the other. He flicked at her with his tongue and she whimpered in aroused torment.

The room spun in dizzying circles as his lips scorched a fiery path up her throat and over her flushed cheeks to reclaim her mouth. His kiss was so demanding and possessive that she felt as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her—just like this morning, only a zillion times worse. When he pressed his hips precisely into the cradle of her thighs she arched helplessly against him. Then she kissed him as if there was no tomorrow—and he was her last request.

Miranda was shocked by the intense feelings of wild desperation and desire that hammered at her. Shocked but powerless to defend against sensations of overwhelming need that rocked her. Then, when she felt so completely out of control that she was on the verge of screaming: Take me—now—because I can’t stand not knowing what it would be like to be swept away by you, he lifted his head and stepped away.

Vance gasped for air and willed his shaky legs not to fold up beneath him. He stared at the enticing sight of her partially bared body and felt another blast of unholy desire rip through him. She’d braced her elbows on the table where he’d deposited her. Her long shapely legs were still spread to accommodate him when he’d eased himself against her because not being as close as he could get—even while fully clothed—had not been an acceptable option.

Holy kamoley! he thought as he stared into her wide green eyes and watched her breasts heave in attempt to draw breath. Nothing had ever hit Vance this hard so fast and just kept coming at him like bullets spitting from a howitzer. Damn, there was nothing leisurely or casual about his desire for Randi and the intensity of these feelings shocked him.

As birthday kisses went, this one took the cake. Literally. Thanks to him, she was sitting in it.

Dazed by his wild, instantaneous reaction to her, burning from this obsessive need to have her, right here, right now, Vance stumbled back a step. He told himself to breathe, to clear his head and not to look at her for another second or he’d lose control all over again.

He wheeled around and stared at the door while his body throbbed with unappeased desire. “Thanks for throwing me the party,” he croaked. “That was…uh…mighty…uh…nice of you.” He cleared his throat. “See ya tomorrow.”

And then he was outta there. Running for his life, to be more accurate. He was afraid to stand still too long for fear the unleashed emotions she incited would overtake him and send him racing back inside her apartment to finish what he never should have started.

Damnation, he’d known she was intensely passionate about her job, but he hadn’t expected to be dragged into that turbulent undercurrent of emotion he’d tapped into. She’d set him on fire and he was very much afraid that he couldn’t run fast enough, or far enough, to douse the flames of wanting her that were burning in his wake.

Vance inhaled a bracing breath of cool evening air. He desperately needed to find a place to cool off—pronto.

FILLED WITH PURPOSE the next day, Vance climbed from his truck to approach his cousins who were waiting for him at Quint’s ranch. “You gotta help me out,” he said without preamble.

“With what?” Wade asked as he draped his arms over the corral fence behind him.

“I want one of you to haul Randi around in your pickup while we’re repairing fences this morning.”

Quint’s lips pursed in amusement. “Why’s that? Does it have something to do with the fact that you borrowed my truck to swing by her apartment last night after the party?”

“Did something happen we should know about?” Wade razzed him.

Something had definitely happened and it had kept Vance tossing, turning and breaking out in a cold sweat all night.

“Did she give you a birthday kiss that was too hot for you to handle? Could it be that the joker’s wild about the gorgeous cop and he’s running scared?” Quint quizzed him unmercifully.

“Oh, shut up,” Vance said with a scowl.

His cousins erupted in gales of laughter, made smacking noises with their lips, and then cackled again. Muttering under his breath, Vance wheeled toward the barn to gather barbwire and fence posts. By the time Randi showed up for work Vance intended to be ready to leave. He couldn’t take much more of his cousins’ teasing.

And they called him the joker of the family? Well, there was nothing amusing about the intimate images of Randi that he’d been seeing the whole livelong night. She’d had the starring role in his hottest fantasies.

He’d gone to his cousins in desperate need of help and they’d tormented him unmercifully.

What he needed was a day away from temptation and it looked as if he wouldn’t get it. He’d have to sit on his hands to keep them off her, he decided grimly. Today was going to be the ultimate test of restraint and he’d better pass it. How? He had no idea. After last night wanting her had become a constant thing, a gnawing craving that wouldn’t go away.

“It’s gonna be one hell of a day,” Vance growled as he tossed the fencing tools and supplies in the clunker truck.

BRIGHT AND EARLY IN THE MORNING, Miranda approached her uncle’s home. “Uncle Tate, I need a favor,” she announced when Tate opened the door and motioned her inside.

“What’s up, kiddo?” he asked curiously. “I have to be at headquarters in a few minutes, so make it snappy.”

Miranda glanced around the tidy, compact home and hesitated in making brief eye contact. “I request some other form of reprimand for my involvement…I mean my unprofessional behavior for ticketing Vance and tossing him in jail.”

Tate smiled as he appraised her rigid, military stance. She tried to relax but just couldn’t get it done.

“Some assignments aren’t to our liking, you know. Difficult as this might be, it’s good exercise in self-restraint.”

“Yes, sir, I understand, but I can’t have Vance in the squad car with me or ride with him in his pickup while commuting from one set of ranch duties to the next.”

“Too close for comfort?” he asked perceptively.

He didn’t know the half of it! Miranda could feel the heat streaming into her cheeks when flashbacks of her reckless behavior last night leaped out at her.

Tate rocked back on his heels and clasped his hands behind his back. “As luck would have it, Vance will only be riding shotgun with you for one more night.”

She nearly collapsed at his booted feet in relief. Thank you, God! “Thank you, chief, I—”

“—because I’m making arrangements for a code 5 to investigate the possibility of drug trafficking,” he explained.

“A stakeout?” she tweeted. “With Vance?”

Tate nodded. “You’ll be keeping surveillance in a house that sits across the street from the suspected drop-off and pickup site. We believe we have an upstart drug ring trying to take root and we want to nip it in the bud. So far we’ve only noted activity at night, which will work out perfectly since you’re helping Vance during the day and you’ll both be available to keep surveillance at night.”