Superb and Sexy (Sky High Air Book 3) Read online

  By the time Nick moved the squad car to the shoulder, and started up the chugging, shuddering VW bus to move it, too, he’d recovered from most of his surprise.

  Okay, maybe not most, but a lot. Some, at least. And then he stepped out of the ancient bus and turned around to look at Grace, leaning against a tree trunk on the riverbank, her dark curls blowing around her face and her eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, a sucker punch of shock hit him in the gut all over again.

  Grace Lamb was the last person he ever expected to see in Wrightsville apart from her obligatory Christmas visit to her dad. But here she was, live and in living color, the epitome of trouble on two legs.

  Two legs, he realized, that had somehow gotten a lot longer in the years since he’d seen her last. Long, slim legs in faded jeans, with ridiculous bright pink boots on her feet.

  He caught himself with a cough. Grace was his best friend Tommy’s little sister. She didn’t have…legs. Well, yeah, of course she had legs, but not…legs. Not like that, anyway. That had definitely changed sometime in the past couple of years.

  Running a stop sign and smacking into a police car, though, that was the Grace he had always known.

  “Impulsive” was her middle name. Along with “reckless,” “fearless,” and, well, “distracted by whatever shiny new thing came along.” Which wasn’t a single word, but whatever. It was still the truth.

  Grace had once set her backyard on fire when she tried to start the grill to make lunch for her father. Another time she’d decided to try ice fishing on the pond, only to sink into the water once she started cutting through the pond’s frozen skin. She’d tried to go blond, but she’d used household bleach on her dark curls, nearly choking herself on the fumes in the process.

  And that was all before she was eleven.

  The girl was a walking disaster and always had been. Except she wasn’t a girl anymore, and judging by the suitcases and boxes he could see through the VW’s windows, she planned to be back in town for a while. Which was just frigging weird, because the one thing that Grace had always been was restless, most of all to get out of Wrightsville.

  “Billy will be down any minute,” he said as he walked back to her.

  She tilted her head, looking up at him quizzically. “Billy?”

  “Down at the precinct,” Nick explained, settling his hips against the hood of the cruiser and crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t write up my own report, since I was involved.”

  “There’s going to be a report?” She took off her sunglasses and turned horrified brown eyes on him. “It’s just a little fender bender! Hardly worth mentioning, really. I can pay for the damage and no one even has to know…” She trailed off when he stared her down, arms still folded over his chest, immovable.

  Leave it to Grace. Yeah, he’d taken care of the Great Microwave Disaster of 1988, and the time she’d lost the two Pomerians she was dog sitting, but this was a little different. It was an official police vehicle, not his own battered Jeep, and Grace, well…he shook his head. As far as he could tell, she had never really learned to anticipate consequences.

  Like wearing jeans that looked molded to her hips, and a white blouse that didn’t completely hide the outline of a lacy bra.

  Not that he was looking. Definitely not. He swallowed back a growl of arousal, and turned toward the VW, gesturing vaguely. “What is all that, Grace? What are you doing here?”

  He’d forgotten how blinding her smile could be, and it surprised him all over again. He was still blinking at the brilliance of it when she said, “Coming home, of course.”

  His eyebrows nearly shot off the top of his head. “You’re…moving back here? To Wrightsville?”

  “You don’t have to say it like I just announced I’m having an alien love child and going on the talk-show circuit.” She frowned, the light in her eyes turning to smoke the way it always did when she was mad at him. Boy, was that look familiar.

  “Doesn’t Robert work in New York?” he asked, glancing at the old bus again. And why on earth was Grace driving that thing? He didn’t know Robert well, or really at all, but he did know he wasn’t the vintage hippie chic type. “Commuting to Bucks County is an awful long trip.”

  “Robert won’t be commuting.” It was Grace’s turn to fold her arms in front of her, but Nick was surprised to realize she didn’t look upset. Instead, she was calm, almost peaceful. “Robert is moving to Chicago, to work for The Museum of Contemporary Art.”

  If his eyes widened any further, they’d probably roll out of his head, Nick realized with a start. “And you’re…?”

  “Not,” she said simply, and gave him another smile. The sun gleamed on her hair. “I’m starting over, Nick. I’m getting a divorce, and I’m going to figure out a career, and I’m going to do it right here in Wrightsville.”

  Just when he’d convinced himself Wrightsville was getting a little boring, Nick contemplated as he restrained a groan, Grace back in town, at loose ends, looking for work and maybe romance?

  They were all doomed.

  Some authors know that

  WHEN HE WAS BAD,

  he was better than ever.

  Check out the new anthology from

  Shelly Laurenston and Cynthia Eden,

  out this month from Brava.

  Here’s a sneak peek at Shelly’s story,

  “Miss Congeniality”…

  The doorbell rang and Irene didn’t move. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she wouldn’t answer the door. She dealt with enough people during the day, so she’d be damned if her nights were filled with the idiots as well.

  The doorbell went off again, followed by knocking. Irene didn’t even flinch. In a few more minutes she would shut out everything but the work in front of her, a skill she’d developed over the years. Sometimes Jackie would literally have to shake her or punch her in the head to get her attention.

  But Irene hadn’t slipped into that “zone” yet and she could easily hear someone sniffing at her door. She looked up from her paperwork as Van Holtz snarled from the other side, “I know you’re in there, Conridge. I can smell you.”

  Eeew.

  “Go away,” she called back. “I’m busy.”

  The knocking turned to outright banging. “Open this goddamn door!”

  Annoyed but resigned the man wouldn’t leave, Irene put her paperwork on the couch and walked across the room. She pulled open the door and ignored the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach at seeing the man standing there in a dark gray sweater, jeans, and sneakers. She knew few men who made casual wear look anything but.

  “What?”

  She watched as his eyes moved over her, from the droopy sweatsocks on her feet, past the worn cotton shorts and the paint-splattered T-shirt that spoke of a horrid experience trying to paint the hallway the previous year, straight up to her hastily created ponytail. He swallowed and muttered, “Goddamnit,” before pushing his way into her house.

  “We need to talk,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Why?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “I said why do we need to talk? As far as I’m concerned there’s nothing that needs to be said.”

  “I need to kiss you.”

  Now Irene frowned. “Why?”

  “Must you always ask why?”

  “When people come to me with things that don’t make sense…yes.”

  “Just let me kiss you and then I’ll leave.”

  “Do you know how many germs are in the human mouth? I’d be better off kissing an open sewer grate.”

  Why did she have to make this so difficult? He hated being here. Hated having to come here at all. Yet he had something to prove and goddamnit, he’d prove it or die trying.

  But how dare she look so goddamn cute! He’d never known this Irene Conridge existed. He’d only seen her in those boxy business suits or a gown that he’d bet money she never picked out for herself. On occasion he’d even seen her in jeans but, even then,