The lifted hot-pink Chevy with black flames painted on the truck bed rounded the corner a block ahead, and Scott’s heart actually thumped a little harder on the next beat. Like a freaking Pavlovian dog.

He was thoroughly and completely screwed.

He’d actually accepted that some time ago. But every once in a while, the realization rose up and hit him right between the eyes. Or right in the chest.

Peyton Wells had him wrapped around her little finger. And she knew it.

He should hate it, he knew. Being enamored with a troublemaker wasn’t a great thing for a cop to be. But this wasn’t just any troublemaker. This was Peyton. And frankly, he’d been done from the moment she’d told him to kiss her lily-white ass—which he had already been a little obsessed with—two years ago.

Besides, most of her troublemaking was B.S.

Scott pulled into the parking lot of the Stop, the gas station/convenience store/pizza place/ice cream shop on Main and First. He parked his patrol car and headed inside.

A minute later, from behind his back, he heard, “He must not know.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

He turned from the coffee dispenser and his half-full cup to see two of his best friends, Kyle Ames and Derek Wright, watching him from next to the chip display. They’d clearly meant for him to overhear them, based on the huge grins they were wearing.

Those were let’s-give-him-hell grins.

“What are you two talkin’ about?”

“You just must not have heard the news,” Kyle said.

It wasn’t uncommon for the town doctor and the main bartender at the only bar in town to know things before Scott did. He might be one of only two cops, but when it came to town gossip, the bar was second only to the Bang and Blow, the hair and nail salon. The third best place in town to get news would be Dottie’s Diner. But Kyle’s medical clinic waiting room worked too. As far as secrets in this town—well, there weren’t any.

“Why do you assume I don’t know whatever this is?” he asked, topping off his cup and grabbing four little creamer tubs from the bowl on top of the microwave.

“Because you’re in a good mood,” Kyle said.

“How do you know?” Scott asked.

“You’re whistling and smiling and putting vanilla creamer in your coffee.”

Scott tossed the empty creamer tubs into the trash. “Vanilla creamer means a good mood?” Scott asked, amused. “I didn’t realize you’d been paying such close attention to me. That’s kind of sweet.” He took a sip and watched Kyle roll his eyes.

Derek looked from one to the other. “Seriously? He uses vanilla when he’s in a good mood?”

“I use vanilla when the hazelnut is out,” Scott said. He leaned back on the counter behind him. “What?” he asked when he caught the look Derek was giving him.

“Seems like you should be a black coffee kind of guy,” Derek said.

Scott cocked an eyebrow. “You have an issue with how I take my coffee?”

Derek seemed to be thinking about that. “Maybe.”

Scott gave a short bark of laughter. “Why?”

“Just seems less tough—our town cop drinking coffee with flavored creamer,” Derek said with a shrug. “I might feel less safe now.”

“You should feel less safe now,” Scott agreed. “Disparaging my coffee means a slower response time when you hit 9-1-1.” He sipped again.

“You would never do that,” Derek said.

Of course not. “Why don’t you just shut up about my coffee and you don’t have to find out?” Scott asked.

“Lauren Bennett drinks hazelnut in her coffee,” Kyle said to Derek. “And I think she could kick your ass. With heels on.”

Scott nodded. “That’s a good point. I wouldn’t base toughness on creamer preference.”

Derek glanced around, as if making sure no girls had overheard him. He located the security camera over the ATM and said loudly, “I apologize. That was a stupid thing to say.”

Kyle and Scott laughed.

“So what is this big news that I don’t know?” Scott asked. Hell, he had time. Until his radio squawked, he didn’t have anywhere specific to be. If Kyle didn’t have patients waiting and Derek didn’t have to be at the bar, it was fine with him if they shot the shit for a while.

“Peyton’s fancy girls’ weekend,” Kyle said, suddenly looking very smug and nearly giddy with being able to tell what he knew.

Scott frowned. Peyton had a girls’ weekend almost every weekend. The girl simply didn’t know how to stay home. Of course, he suspected that she pretty much hated being alone. She usually had someone to lay low with—her half-sister Hope, her friend Heather, her friend Tess, her friend Lucy, her friend Brooke. Peyton had a lot of friends. Nearly every woman her age—and even a few several years older—were drawn to her fun, what-the-hell attitude and her penchant for turning anything into a party.

Then again, Hope, Tess and Brooke all had their guys now and probably liked to stay in a lot more—without Peyton—than before. That left Heather.

But at least it was a girls’ weekend. The ones that involved guys meant Scott had to buy more Rolaids. And beer.

“And her blind date,” Derek added.

And Rolaids and beer it was. Fuck.

Peyton didn’t want a relationship with Scott. She didn’t want a relationship with anyone. She did, however, want sex with Scott. And since he wasn’t putting out—in a gut-wrenching, dick-torturing effort to show her that he was willing to wait for more—she went out with other guys.

Not as much as she had when he’d first moved back to town. But also more than never.

Scott took another swallow of coffee and tried to decide how to react to this. Kyle and Derek knew how he felt about her, so it wasn’t like it would shock them if he reacted badly. Like throwing hot coffee across the Stop, for instance. But since he, Kyle and Derek weren’t the only people in the shop, that would also get spread around town like dried-up leaves in the wind, and there was no need for the good people of Sapphire Falls to think their cop had anger issues.

Because he didn’t. He had frustration issues.

He had Peyton issues.

“How do you know this?” he asked Kyle.

“She and Heather were in here just a few minutes ago. They were stocking up on road-trip food and talking about it,” Kyle said.

“Road-trip food?” Scott asked.

Derek grinned. “That’s probably the best part of the story.”

Scott straightened. “Tell. It.” He used his best don’t-fuck-with-me voice. Of course, the three people it did not work on were these two, and the woman they were discussing.

“Girls’ weekend is in—”

“Oh, let me tell it,” Kyle interrupted. “You get ready to catch the brain tissue that comes exploding out of his head.”

“No fucking way,” Derek said. “You’re the doctor, you do the brain tissue clean up.”

“But I think—”

Scott threw his cup into the wastebasket as he stalked up to the counter. “Gus, where are Peyton and Heather heading?” he asked the eighty-something, best hot-fudge-sundae maker in town behind the counter.

“Baltimore,” the older man said.

Scott started to turn to his friends to point out how easy that had been when the word actually fully sank in. He twisted back to Gus. “Baltimore?”

Gus nodded.

“Is there a Baltimore, Nebraska, that I don’t know about?” Scott asked, already feeling the pounding between his eyes. Peyton caused the blood to pound in his skull as easily as she caused the pounding of blood behind his zipper.

“Nope,” Gus said simply. “Maryland.”

Scott really did appreciate a man who got to the fucking point. Even if he really hated the fucking point he was getting to.

“Why?” he asked. But this was directed at his friends.

“Wedding. Friend of Heather’s needed a date. And then his friend needed a date,” Kyle reported dutifully.

“They’ll be back Sunday,” Derek supplied.

Scott turned and headed for the parking lot. His hand hit the door harder than necessary, but he didn’t slow. He yanked his car door open and got behind the wheel. Then he turned on his sirens and headed for the highway.

It wasn’t exactly an abuse of power to go after Peyton with his lights on. He knew for a fact she’d be speeding. Peyton Wells didn’t do anything slow or by the book.

Baltimore? She was going to Baltimore? On a blind date? For the weekend? What the ever-living hell?

Of course, he couldn’t stop her. He wasn’t her dad—not that her actual dad had much say in the things she did—or her boyfriend. And not that he’d try to tell her what to do if he was her boyfriend. Though she sure as fuck wouldn’t be going on a blind date.

But Peyton had never been on a plane. She didn’t know her way around a big city like Baltimore. And the last time she’d gone somewhere with Heather, they’d ended up in a Vegas police station being questioned about a jewel theft.

He pressed the pedal harder.

Of course, Peyton hadn’t been involved in the jewel theft, but she’d been flirting with the thief all night and he’d used her as a cover. And if she hadn’t thrown Scott’s name at the cops in Vegas as a character witness, and they hadn’t called him, Scott might have never known about all of that. But she had given his name, and he had immediately gotten on a plane to Vegas. Or as immediate as anyone could get on a plane from Sapphire Falls. Unless you were in local millionaire Levi Spencer’s inner circle, you had to drive to Omaha, get through security and wait the obligatory hour plus to board a plane.

Scott inched the speedometer up a little further. She’d been on the highway for about fifteen minutes, unless they’d stopped somewhere else after the gas station before hitting the road. It would take him a little bit to get to her. Still, it was a long way to Omaha. He’d catch her before she got there.

He radioed Ed, the other cop in Sapphire Falls, and let him know he was taking care of a personal matter and that Ed would have to cover things for a while.

Finally, Scott saw the rear end of that hot-pink trunk that always made his heart stutter. It happened again, but this time because that truck really was heading in the direction of the airport…where Peyton would be flying out to be some other guy’s date for the weekend. A blind date. Someone she didn’t even know. In a city hundreds of miles away. And Scott didn’t really want to go to Baltimore when she called to say she was in trouble. He would, of course, but he didn’t want to.

As Peyton’s brake lights flashed, he knew she’d be pissed he was pulling her over. But he didn’t care. He’d clocked her at sixty-five on the fifty-five-mile-per-hour highway, for one thing. And for another—what the hell?

* * *

“Well, of course.” Peyton scowled at the rearview mirror where red and blue lights flashed.

“Were you speeding?” asked Heather, her best friend and the reason for this last-minute trip to the airport.

“I wasn’t going fast enough apparently,” Peyton muttered as she made sure to signal—because Scott would give her hell for that too—and pulled onto the side of the road. Yeah, she knew exactly who was behind her. In spite of being outside of his jurisdiction. He’d give her some explanation about how, as a police officer, everywhere was his jurisdiction if someone was breaking the law.

“What?” Heather asked. “What’s going on?”

“You can’t get new shoelaces in Sapphire Falls without everyone knowing what color they are,” Peyton said. “You really think you and I are heading to Baltimore without anyone knowing?” And, as the town cop, Scott was always only about five minutes away from knowing all of her business.

The last man she wanted to see at the moment appeared at the driver’s side window.

Good lord, the man was gorgeous. And his ticked-off, you’re-pushing-me face always made her tingle. He was most definitely wearing that now.

Peyton rolled down her window and made sure to sigh heavily. She hadn’t actually expected him to chase her down, but she wasn’t exactly shocked either.

“Miss Wells, I need to have a word with you.”

Oh yeah, and then there was the deep, firm voice. She was sure there was some complicated psychological reason why Scott using that tone gave her goose bumps, but all she knew for sure was that it most definitely did.

“I’m sorry, Officer Hansen,” Peyton said, “but we’re on our way to the airport. Don’t want to miss our flight.”

“So I hear.” Scott reached for the door handle, pulled it open, and gestured for Peyton to get out.

“You know that I could turn you in for abuse of power,” Peyton said, but she slid off the seat to the ground.

“I’ll give you my supervisor’s number after we talk,” Scott told her, slamming the door behind her.

Yeah, Scott didn’t have a supervisor. Well, maybe the mayor. But that was TJ Bennett. Peyton’s brother-in-law. And no way would he take her side over Scott’s. TJ was a great guy. He really cared about her and would always have her back. But he also thought Scott was “good for her”. Which meant he appreciated and encouraged Scott’s always-there-for-her-no-matter-what thing.

Always there for her no matter what. Well, Scott was definitely that. And after twenty years of being more or less left alone—even more than she wanted to be—she thought it was probably normal to oscillate between loving it and getting the heebie-jeebies when it reminded her of her father’s unwavering-devotion-to-the-point-of-crazy to her mother.

Scott escorted Peyton to the back of her truck with his big, hot hand around her upper arm.

She worked on hanging on to her annoyance. He was so damned bossy. She wasn’t used to being bossed. She was shocked that she liked it. Sometimes.

He stopped in the space between the front of his car and the back of her truck. He planted his hands on his hips and Peyton took a second, as she always did, to appreciate the view.

He was so hot in that uniform. She didn’t know if it was the badge or the gun or just the way the whole thing fit… Yes, she did. She’d known cops before Scott. She knew firefighters and guys in the military too. And while she admired them, she didn’t find any of them hot the way she found Scott Hansen hot. And that had been before he’d pulled his handcuffs out on St. Patrick’s Day.

“Knock it off,” he told her firmly.

She put her hands on her hips too. “Really? I can’t look at you now?”

“Could you put just a tiny bit of contrition in your expression at least?” he asked, with the very familiar you’re-trying-my-patience-Peyton tone in his voice.

“Now there’s a Scrabble-winning word,” she said dryly. “What am I supposed to be feeling contrite about?”

“Speeding?”

“You didn’t pull me over because I was speeding. That’s your excuse for pulling me over. But only because it won’t read well on your report that you pulled me over because you think I should have told you about Baltimore but didn’t.”

She could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“Baltimore? Really?”

“Heather needs me.”

“And there’s a blind date?”

She watched him closely. Ah. This was partly about the trip. Her last trip out of town had ended with Scott coming to her rescue. But this was also about the other guy.

“There’s a blind date,” she confirmed. Would he tell her not to go? It wouldn’t change her plans, but it really might cure her of some of her Scott fever she was suffering from. She was not going to hang out with a guy who thought he could be jealous and controlling. “A friend of a friend,” she added. “A wedding. Last-minute change of plans on that end. Heather doing him a favor and I’m doing her a favor.”

“Do you have your mace?”

She widened her eyes. “My mace? We’re going to a wedding.”

He handed over a canister of mace he must have been holding all this time. Peyton fought a little grin. It wasn’t exactly funny. Scott absolutely meant for her to mace first and ask questions later. But she couldn’t help but appreciate that he gave her mace instead of a lecture.

“The big city is different than Sapphire Falls. Even than Vegas,” he said.

Okay, so they weren’t skipping the lecture entirely. “I know. I’ll be with Heather and her friends the whole time. She’s from there.”

“Just be aware of your surroundings. And keep your purse close. And the mace in hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

For a second his eyes narrowed, and she knew he was trying to figure out if she was being serious or if she was messing with him. She knew he liked when she let him boss her around. But she’d been clear about the fact that that would be a bedroom-only kind of situation.

“What’s the guy’s name?”

“What guy?”

His frown deepened. “The one with the wedding.”

“Oh, Greg. His friend is Seth.”

“Last name?” he asked.

“Anderson.”

“Is that Greg or Seth?”

“Greg.”

“What’s Seth’s last name?”

She thought. Did she know this answer? She wasn’t so sure she did. “Not sure.”

“What does Greg do?”

“Lawyer.”

“What firm?”

“No idea.”

Scott sighed. “And Seth?”

“Oh, he’s a cop,” she said with a smile. That would have to make him happy.

Scott scowled. “He’s a cop?”

“Yeah.” Okay, so he didn’t look happy.

“I need his last name.”

“I don’t know it.”

Scott gave a low growl and Peyton felt her good places tingle. She loved that growly thing.

“Have Heather text it to me.”

“So you can check up on him?” Peyton asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t even blink.

“Why?”

“So I know where to start the investigation if you end up dead.”

Wow. Okay. “Fine.”

Scott took a breath through his nose and then let it out. He even unclenched his jaw. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re smart. You’ll be with people Heather knows. Just…put my number into your phone as ICE.”

Oh, crap. She bit her bottom lip. “ICE?” she asked, playing dumb.

“In Case of Emergency. Then, if anything happens, they’ll call me first.”

“Okay, I’ll do that.”

“Do it now.”

“I’ll do it as soon as I’m in the truck.”

“Peyton, do it now.”

He reached for her—or rather, her back pocket, where she always tucked her phone. She carried a purse, but it was a big bag with only one center pocket, and she was always digging around to find things. He’d lectured her about that before, claiming that while she was rummaging in her bag, someone could come up and grab her. She knew he was being overprotective and she hadn’t changed bags, but she had taken to putting her phone in her pocket.

Scott’s fingers slid into her back pocket and pulled her phone out, while she tried to pretend to be annoyed…instead of on the verge of sighing. She loved his hands on her and loved when he got close enough she could smell him. “Hey,” she protested. Kind of.

He swiped his thumb over the screen and pulled up her contacts. “Nice password,” he muttered. “Maybe you should do something other than your birthday?”

“How’s some strange guy in a dark alley in Baltimore gonna know my birthday?” she asked. And loving that Scott did know her birthday. And then trying not to love that quite so much. So what? He knew her birthday. He probably just remembered from those few months when he’d busted up parties before she’d turned twenty-one.

Scott scowled at her. “Maybe from the driver’s license in the purse he stole from you first or that he pulls off of your shoulder while he has you at gunpoint?”

Well…shit.

“You already have an ICE in here,” he said a moment later.

“Yeah, I know.” She crossed her arms.

“Hope?” he asked, but then he must have opened it, because he lifted his head. “Me?”

Yeah, so he was already her ICE. Big deal. She sighed. “Hope’s got TJ, and is going to have the baby. She doesn’t need anyone else putting her down as her contact person.”

Scott cleared his throat, but Peyton couldn’t look at him directly. Fuck, she really would have preferred to have him find that out when she was unconscious in a ditch somewhere or something.

But yes, Scott was her emergency contact in her phone. And on her employment paperwork at the bakery. Not that she thought anything bad was going to happen there, but there had been a blank line that needed a name and phone number.

He’d given her his personal cell number the first time he’d been called to intervene in a “Peyton issue” as David Stuart, the high school principal, had referred to the situation. She’d been twenty and drunk off her ass and had punched Jeff Little in the face in the high school parking lot after a football game because he’d called her friend Jen a slut. Scott had been the one to pull her off of Jeff. When he’d dropped her off at home, he’d told her to call him anytime she needed something.

So, as she’d done with everything interesting at that age, she’d tested it out. Or rather, she’d tested Scott. Over and over. Of course she had. No one had ever said to call anytime, and actually meant it, in her life. Her friends said they’d be there for her, but their parents sometimes had something to say about that. She’d had teachers say she could depend on them, but her English teacher with a husband and four kids wasn’t going to get out of bed at three a.m. and come untangle whatever Peyton had gotten into.

She knew that. She knew that everyone else had families and things to do that had nothing to do with Peyton, and that she shouldn’t interrupt or mess up. Hell, her own parents had things they didn’t want her to interrupt or mess up.

But Scott—he didn’t have a wife and kids, he lived to work, hell, he got paid to come bail her out. She’d figured she was making his job in quiet little Sapphire Falls interesting. She was doing him a favor. And yeah, okay, it had felt nice to have someone show up again and again and again.

Sure, some of the time he was pissed at her, and sure, a few times he’d taken her down to the jail and made her sit in a cell until she’d calmed down. But he was always there. No matter what she’d done, what time it was, where she was, or who she was with.

And now, a few years, some insight, and a bit of maturity later, and she was torn between the soft, warm, fuzzy feelings that still gave her…and regretting all of it. Because this pattern was exactly the reason why they couldn’t be more than what they were right now—two people who wanted to tear each other’s clothes off, who got off on challenging each other, who could make the other fume or laugh with only a few carefully chosen words. And who could never be more than that. The pattern was set. The habit was established. The imbalance was deeply ingrained. Scott gave. And Peyton took.

And even as she recognized, and hated, that she was a taker, she couldn’t quite break herself of it entirely with Scott. Because if she did, they wouldn’t have anything at all. And she wasn’t quite mature and insightful enough to let him go completely.

At least not yet.

So she kept writing his name and number down and just prayed no one would ever need to use them so he wouldn’t find out.

Well, now he knew.

Suddenly he stepped forward and grabbed her by the wrist, jerking her forward.

She knew what he was doing. He was testing her self-defense moves. That he’d taught her. He did this stupid thing periodically. She grabbed his thumb and pulled back on it, stepping close. “Don’t make me knee you in the balls or head butt you,” she said.

“But that’s what you would do,” he said firmly.

“Yes.” Damn right she’d knee a guy in the balls if he grabbed her like that. Except Scott.

“Don’t forget it,” he said.

“I won’t.” They were practically nose to nose.

“And don’t forget to let me know when you get there. And when you’re home.”

“Okay.” She stared into his deep green eyes, swirling with emotions.

Damn, this guy. He was something. When she was trying to have a good time, he was a real pain. But when she was alone at night, or feeling unwanted or unsure, she thought of Scott and how much he seemed to like her in spite of all the shit she’d done. The hard time she’d given him. The stupid decisions she’d made. Her pathetic attempts to get her dad’s attention with her stunts.

Scott still claimed to want her—not for sex, but for more. Whatever that entailed.

“And just—” His voice was low and gruff. “—don’t forget this either.”

He cupped the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. A kiss. The kind she’d been craving since St. Patrick’s Day.

He kissed her, lips only, like he was drinking her in. Then he deepened it, his tongue stroking hot and bold against hers. Then he pulled her fully up against his body, his fingers tightening in her hair, the kiss taking on an urgency.

Finally he pulled back, his eyes dark.

Her entire body hummed with want and an aching need that she knew could only be relieved by this man. The one who wouldn’t touch her breast if she begged him. Unless she went to the movies with him and let him tell everyone she was his girlfriend.

Peyton covered her face with her hands and gave a loud, “Argh!”

“And slow the hell down the rest of the way to Omaha,” he said, stepping back, seemingly unaffected by her frustration.

She took a deep breath and held out her hand. He put her phone in it and she tucked it into her back pocket. Then she turned and headed for her truck.

“I want to know when you get there,” he called after her.

She lifted a hand in acknowledgement but didn’t look back. Because then he’d see that she was still feeling that kiss.

“I mean it, Peyton.”

She waved again.

“And no jail cells this trip, okay?” He paused. “And no handcuffs.”

She almost laughed at that. Scott knew she had a thing about his handcuffs. So Seth being a cop was getting to him.

Good.