Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Her Perfect Proposal

Her Perfect Proposal
Lynne Marshall


WRITING HER OWN HAPPY ENDING?Journalist Lilly Matsuda just writes headlines; she doesn't make them. That is, until she runs afoul of Gunnar Norling while on assignment in the tiny town of Heartlandia. The handsome policeman intrigues more than Lily's investigative senses…but she isn't going to let Gunnar's mega-watt smile or smoldering good looks melt her heart.Gunnar isn't a fan of people snooping around Heartlandia. He's been sworn to secrecy about the town's mysterious past, and he refuses to compromise that for anyone…even beautiful Lilly, who's hot on its trail. Besides, she's not going to stick around forever, and Gunner refuses to let his heart get trampled on–unless Lilly decides to put love first!







Oh, man, he’d pegged her so completely wrong.

Her tough, big-city woman persona was nothing but a shield for a vulnerable girl, and Gunnar’s desire to protect and serve had never been stronger.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He hugged her tight, wishing he could take back the last hour, trying desperately to make things better. Hell-bent on being the opposite of his father, he’d acted nothing short of a bully tonight, apparently just like Lilly’s father. It would never happen again. Ever. “I’m sorry, Chitcha, please forgive me.”

The soldier-like tension in her body relaxed. She leaned into his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have been following you. I wasn’t even that interested.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Agreed. You absolutely shouldn’t have been following me. So no more games, okay?”

“No more games.” She looked up.

“No more snooping?”

“No more secrets?”

“Touché,” he said, just before capturing her mouth for a long and tender kiss as they stood under the light of the perfect half-moon. He was in a sticky situation, being on a committee that Lilly was dying to find out about, and just now promising not to keep secrets. How was he supposed to juggle that double-edged sword and not get injured?


Her Perfect Proposal

Lynne Marshall




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry that she had a serious problem with daydreaming—then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories! A late bloomer, Lynne came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing stories that always include a romance, sometimes medicine, a dose of mirth, or both, but always stories from her heart. She is a Southern California native, a dog lover, a cat admirer, a power walker and an avid reader.


Special thanks to Flo Nicoll who always makes me dig deeper. And to Carly Silver for being a bright light and for being there whenever I need help.


Contents

Cover (#uc4e5481a-261b-5917-a547-1894ba534d2b)

Introduction (#u9f5c1d9d-d569-53cf-a446-206ebb34060e)

Title Page (#ucb0ffc79-9cc1-55e9-8e7d-44f4d392b818)

About the Author (#u55d74e41-1642-5110-a80c-752fcdb6cd1f)

Acknowledgements (#ub7e831df-1601-5c1e-8af8-db6a59606afb)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u920cb0ed-16a2-5c2d-897e-b9ea2a9250b6)

“Is this because I’m an outsider?” said the petite, new and clearly fuming visitor in town. She’d jaywalked Main Street in broad daylight, far, far from the pedestrian crosswalk. As if it was merely a street decoration or a pair of useless lines. Did she really think Gunnar wouldn’t notice?

Dressed as if she belonged in New York City, not Heartlandia, she wore some high-fashion fuchsia tunic, with a belt half the size of her torso, and slinky black leggings. Sure, she was a knockout in that getup, but the lady really needed to learn to blend in, follow the rules, or he’d be writing her citations all day long.

He took his job seriously, and was proud to be a cog in the big wheel that kept his hometown running smoothly. Truth was he’d wanted to be a guardian of Heartlandia since he was twelve years old.

“I won’t dignify that slur with an answer,” Gunnar said, though she was an outsider. He’d never seen the pretty Asian woman before, but that wasn’t the point. She’d jaywalked!

With the often huge influxes of cruise-line guests all disembarking down at the docks, and now with the occasional tour bus added to the mix, he had to keep order for the town’s sake. The tourists rushed to the local stores for sweet deals and to the restaurants for authentic Scandinavian food without having to fly all the way to Sweden or Norway. If he let everyone jaywalk, it could wreak havoc in Heartlandia. The town residents had to come first, and it was up to guys like him to regulate the influx of visitors. Plus, jaywalking was a personal pet peeve. If the city put in crosswalks, people should use them. Period.

He kept writing, though snuck an occasional peek at the exotic lady. Shiny black hair with auburn highlights, which she wore short, her bangs pushed to the side, and with the pointy and wispy hair ends just covering her earlobes and the top of her neck. Interesting.

Most guys he knew preferred long hair on women, but he was open to all styles as long at it complemented the face. The haircut and outfit were something you might see on a runway or in a fashion magazine, but not here. And those sunglasses... She had to be kidding. Did she want to look like a bee?

Even though her eyes were shielded by high-fashion gear, he could sense she stared him down waiting for his answer to her “Is it because I’m an outsider?” question. Not wanting to be rude by ignoring her, he came up with a question of his own.

“Let me ask you this. Were you or were you not jaywalking just now?”

“I’m from San Francisco, everyone jaywalks.” She leaned in to read his name tag. “Sergeant Norling.”

“You with the cruise ship?” It was too early for a new batch of tourists to set foot on the docks, though there was no telling when those buses might pull up.

She huffed and folded her arms. “Nope.”

“Well, you’re in Heartlandia now, Ms....” He stared at his citation pad waiting for her to fill him in. She didn’t. “Name please?” He glanced up.

“Matsuda. Lilly Matsuda. Can’t you cut me some slack?”

“I need your license.” Gunnar stared straight into where he imagined her eyes were, letting her absorb his disappointment at her obvious lack of regard for his professional honor. Something he held near and dear. Honor.

She wouldn’t look away, so he motioned with his fingers for her to hand over the license and continued, “Did you jaywalk?”

She sighed, glanced upward and tapped a tiny patent-leather-ultrahigh-heeled foot.

For the record, he dug platform shoes with spiky heels, and hers looked nothing short of fantastic with the skintight silky legging things she wore. Didn’t matter, though. She was a jaywalker.

“Yes.”

His mouth twitched at the corner, rather than letting her see him smile. The way she’d said yes, turning it into two syllables, the second one all singsongy, sounded like some of the teenagers he mentored at the high school.

She lowered her sunglasses, hitting him dead-on with deliciously almond-shaped, wide-spaced, nearly black eyes. Hers was a pretty face, once he got past the Kabuki killer stare.

He tore off the paper, handed it to her and waited for her response.

Snagging the notice for jaywalking she frowned, then glanced at it, and the discontented expression broke free with a surprisingly nice smile. “Hey, it’s just a warning. Thanks.” She suddenly sounded like his best friend.

“Now that you know the rules, don’t jaywalk again. Ever.” He turned to head back to his squad car, knowing for a fact she watched him go. He’d gotten used to ladies admiring him from all angles. Yup, there was definitely something about a man in a uniform sporting a duty belt, and he knew it. Just before he got inside he turned and flashed his best smile, but instead of saying have a nice day he said, “See you around.”

She had to know exactly what he meant—if she was sticking around this small city, he’d be sure to run into her again, and he’d be watching where she walked.

“Officer Norling?”

The petite Matsuda lady stepped closer, her flashy colorful top nearly blinding him. He gave his practiced magnanimous professional cop smile, the one he hoped to perfect one day when he ran for mayor. “Yes?”

“Know any good places to eat in town? Bars for after hours?”

“Just about any place here on Main Street is good. Lincoln’s Place does a great happy hour.” Was she planning on sticking around? Or better yet, was she trying to pick him up?

“You go there? Eat there? Drink there?”

His bachelor radar clicked up a notch.

She dug into her shoulder bag and brought out a small notepad and pen. “I’m looking for the best local examples of everything Scandinavian.”

What was she doing, writing a book? Maybe she was one of those travel journalists or something. Gunnar stopped dead, hand midway to scalp for a quick scratch. Or maybe she was one of those annoying type A tourists, who had to know it all, find the best this or that, snap a few pictures while never actually stepping inside or buying anything, just so they could impress their friends back home. She looked like the type who’d want to impress her friends.

“Yeah. My favorite lunch joint is the Hartalanda Café. And you can’t beat Lincoln’s Place for great dining. Got a crack new lady pianist named Desi Rask playing on the weekends, too, if you like music.”

She didn’t look satisfied, as if he’d failed in some way at answering her query—the question behind the question. Too bad he hadn’t figured it out. Maybe she was a food reporter for some big magazine or something and wanted some input from a local. “Well, thanks, then,” she said. “See you around.”

See me around? That’s what I said. So is she new in town, planning to stay here, or just here on assignment? His outlook took a quick turn toward optimistic without any specific reason beyond the possibility of Ms. Matsuda sticking around these parts. An exotic woman like her would be a great change from the usual scenery.

But wait. He wasn’t doing that anymore—playing the field. Nope. He’d turned a new page. No more carefree playboy, dating whoever he wanted without ever getting serious. If he wanted to be mayor of Heartlandia one day, he’d need to settle down, show the traditional town he knew how to commit.

Gunnar slipped behind the steering wheel, started the engine and drove off, leaving her standing on the corner looking like a colorful decoy in a Where’s Waldo? book.

* * *

Lilly stood at the corner of Main Street and Heritage, watching the officer drive away, having to admit the man was a knockout. Yowza, had she ever seen greener eyes? Or a police uniform with more laser-sharp ironed creases? This guy took his job seriously, which was part of the appeal, and he’d already cut her some slack on the citation. Hmm, she wondered, slipping her sunglasses back in place. What’s his story?

She’d been in town exactly three days, started her new job yesterday at the newspaper, and was already hatching her plan to buy out the owner, Bjork, and breathe new life into the ailing local rag. She’d taken a huge risk moving here, leaving a solid job—but one without room for advancement—back at the San Francisco Gazette in a last-ditch attempt to finally win her parents’ respect. Somehow, despite all of her efforts to overachieve, she’d yet to live up to their expectations. Why at the age of thirty it still mattered, she hadn’t quite figured out.

In her short time in Heartlandia she’d noticed things from her extended-stay apartment in the Heritage Hotel—things like a nighttime gathering at city hall of an unlikely handful of residents. Oh, she’d done her homework long before she’d moved here all right, because that was what a serious reporter and future newspaper mogul did.

She knew the newspaper was on its last breath, mostly copying and pasting national news stories from the Associated Press, instead of doing the legwork or being innovating and engaging. She recognized an opportunity to start her own kind of newspaper here, for the locals. The kind she’d want to read if she lived in a small town.

Before arriving, she’d gotten the lay of the land, or should she say landia? She snickered. Sometimes she cracked herself up.

She’d spent several months getting her hands on everything she could about Heartlandia. Their city website told a lovely, almost storybook history that didn’t ring completely true. Could everything possibly be that ideal? Nope, she’d seen enough of life, how messy it could get, to know otherwise. Or maybe San Francisco had jaded her?

She’d memorized the city council names and faces, noting they’d appointed a new mayor pro tem, one Gerda Rask. She’d also scoured old newspaper stories and dug up pictures of the locals, including police officers, firemen and businesspersons. The Heartlandia Herald used to focus on those kinds of stories, and there were many to choose from. Not anymore.

She knew more about this town than the average resident, she’d bet, which, if it was true, was kind of sad when she thought about it.

Turn and walk, Matsuda. Don’t let on to that taller version of a Tom Hardy look-alike that you’re watching him drive off. A man that size, with all those muscles, a cop, well, the last thing she wanted to do was get on his bad side.

* * *

Once the light changed, Gunnar drove on with one last glance in his rearview mirror. Lilly hadn’t budged. It made him grin. That one was a firecracker, for sure.

He’d heard old man Bjork had hired a new reporter. It was to save his sorry journalistic butt since running the Heartlandia Herald into the ground with bad reporting and far too many opinion pages—all Bjork’s opinion. He’d also heard the new hire was a big-city outsider and a she. Could the she be her?

Maybe the Herald did need a complete overhaul from an outsider since the newspaper he’d grown up reading was failing. Sales were in the Dumpster, and it bothered him. Over the past few years he’d watched his hometown paper slowly spiral into a useless rag. It just didn’t seem right. A newspaper should be the center of a thriving community, but theirs wasn’t.

Truth was old man Bjork needed help. Who cared what other people thought about world politics? Everyone got enough of that on cable news. Keep it local and engaging. That’s what he would have told the geezer if he’d ever bothered to ask for advice since they worked across the hall from each other, but the guy was too busy running the paper into the ground.

What with the new city college journalism department, why couldn’t they save their own paper? Heartlandia had always stood on its own two metaphorical feet. Always would. Fishermen, factory workers, natives and immigrants, neighbors helping neighbors. The town had remained independent even after most of the textile and fishing plants had closed down.

Only once had the city been threatened from outsiders, smugglers posing as legitimate businessmen. His own father had fallen for it. Once the original fish factory had closed, he’d been out of a job. Gunnar had been ten at the time and had watched his mother take on two part-time jobs to help feed the family. His father’s pride led him to take the job as a night watchman for the new outside company, and he’d turned his head rather than be a whistleblower when suspicious events had taken place. The shame he’d brought on the family by going to jail was what made Gunnar go into law enforcement, as if he needed to make up for his father’s mistakes.

It had taken two years before the chief of police at the time, Jon Abels, had taken back the city. Gunnar had been twelve by then, but he remembered it as if it had just happened, how the police had made a huge sweep of the warehouse down by the docks, arresting the whole lot of them and shutting down the operation. That day Chief Abels had saved the city and became Gunnar’s personal hero.

He drove back to the station in time to check out, change clothes and grab a bite at his favorite diner, the Hartalanda Café—he hadn’t lied to Ms. Matsuda about that—before he hit city hall for another hush-hush Thursday-night meeting of the minds. It had been an honor to be asked, and joining this committee was the first step on a journey he hoped one day to take all the way to the mayor’s office.

Sleepy little Heartlandia’s history lessons had recently taken a most interesting plot twist, and he was only one of eight who knew what was going on. The new information could change the face of his hometown forever, and he didn’t want to see that happen. Not on his watch.

* * *

Gunnar held the door to the conference room for Mayor Gerda Rask. She was the next-door neighbor of his best friend, Kent Larson, and a town matriarch figure who’d agreed to step in temporarily when their prior mayor, Lars Larsson, had a massive heart attack. She’d also been the town piano teacher for as far back as Gunnar could remember, until recently when her granddaughter, Desi, came to town and took over her students.

The city council had assured Mayor Rask she’d just be a figurehead. Poor thing hadn’t known what she was stepping into until after she’d agreed. And for that, Mayor Rask had Gunnar’s deepest sympathy, support and respect. When he became mayor, he’d take over the helm and transform the current weak-mayor concept, where the city council really ran things, to a strong-mayor practice where he’d have total administrative authority. At least that’s how he imagined it. Any man worth his salt needed a dream, and that was his.

The older woman nodded her appreciation, then took her seat at the head of the long dark wooden boardroom table. Next to her was Jarl Madsen, the proprietor at the Maritime Museum. Next to him sat Adamine Olsen, a local businesswoman and president of the Heartlandia Small Business Association, and next to her Leif Andersen, the contractor who’d first discovered the trunk that could change the town’s reputation from ideal to tawdry.

Leif had found the ancient chest while his company was building the city college. Though he was the richest man in town, he chose to be a hands-on guy when it came to construction, continuing to run his company rather than rest on his laurels as the best builder in this part of the state of Oregon. He hadn’t turned in the chest right away—instead he’d sat on the discovery for months. Once curiosity had gotten the best of him and he’d opened it, saw the contents, he knew he had to bring it to the mayor’s attention. After that, Mayor Larsson had his heart attack, Gerda stepped up and this handpicked committee was formed.

Gunnar nodded to his sister, who’d beat him to the meeting. She smiled. “Gun,” she said.

“Elke, what’s shakin’?”

She lifted her brows and sighed, cluing him that what was shaking wasn’t all good. He’d signed on to this panel, like he had to his job, to protect and serve his community. Since his family tree extended back to the very beginning of Heartlandia, and his father had slandered the Norling name, doing his part to preserve the city as it should be was Gunnar’s duty.

So far the buried-chest findings had rocked the committee’s sleepy little world. He’d heard how some places rewrote history, but never expected to participate in the process. He lifted his brows and gazed back at his kid sister.

As the resident historical maven and respected professor at the new city college, Elke’s services had been requested. Her job was to help them decipher the journal notations from the ones dug up in the trunk during construction. Apparently, the journals belonged to a captain, a certain Nathaniel Prince, who was also known as The Prince of Doom and who might have been a pirate. Well, probably was a pirate. The notations in the ship captain’s journal held hints at Heartlandia’s real history, but they looked like cat scratches as far as Gunnar was concerned. Good thing Elke knew her stuff when it came to restoring historical documents and deciphering Old English.

Across from Elke sat the quiet Ben Cobawa, respected for his level head and logical thinking, not to mention for being a damn great fireman. The native-born Chinook descendent balanced out the committee which otherwise consisted entirely of Scandinavians. But what could you expect from a town originally settled by Scandinavian fishermen and their families? Or so he’d always been led to believe.

Cobowa’s Native American perspective would be greatly needed on the committee. They’d be dealing with potential changes to town history, and since his people had played such an important role in the creation of this little piece of heaven originally called Hartalanda back in the early 1700s, they wanted his input.

“Shall we call this meeting to order?” Mayor Rask said.

Gunnar took a slow draw on the provided water. Judging by the concerned expression on his younger sister’s face he knew he should be prepared for a long night.

* * *

Lilly sidled up to the bar at Lincoln’s Place. A strapping young towhead bartender took her order. But weren’t most of the men in Heartlandia strapping and fair?

“I’ll have an appletini.” She almost jokingly added “Sven” but worried she might be right.

The pale-eyed, square-jawed man smiled and nodded. “Coming right up.”

She wasn’t above snooping to get her stories, and she wanted to start off with a bang when she handed in her debut news story, like her father would expect. She’d been casing city hall earlier, had hidden behind the nearby bushes, and lo and behold, there was Sergeant Gunnar Norling slipping out the back door. She’d watched him exit the building along with half a dozen other people including this new Mayor Rask.

She’d combed through old council reports on the town website and noticed a tasty morsel—“A new committee has been formed to study recently discovered historical data.” What was that data, and where had it been found?

The website report went on to mention the list of names. The one thing they all had in common with the exception of one Native American, if her research had served her well, were Scandinavian names that went back all the way to the beginning of Heartlandia, back when it was founded and called Hartalanda. Of course, the Native Americans had been there long before them. Yup, her type A reporter persona had even dug into genealogy archive links proudly posted at the same website.

These people weren’t the city council, but they had been handpicked, each person representing a specific slice of Heartlandia life.

She’d met the handsome and dashing Gunnar Norling today, and the idea of “getting to the bottom” of her story through him had definite appeal. Her parents had trained her well: set a goal and go after it. Don’t let anything come between you and success. Growing up an only child in their multimillion-dollar Victorian home in Pacific Heights, Lilly’s parents had proved through hard work and good luck in business their technique worked. As far as her father was concerned, it was bad enough she’d been born a girl, but for the past five years, since she’d left graduate journalism school, they’d looked to her to stake her claim to fame. So far she hadn’t come close to making them proud, but this new venture might just be the ticket to their respect.

A half hour later, nursing her one and only cocktail, she was deep into conversation with the owner of Lincoln’s Place, a middle-aged African-American man named Cliff. It seemed there was more to Heartlandia than met the eye once you scratched the Scandinavian surface.

“Looks like you get a lot of tourist trade around here,” she said, having studied the bar crowd.

“Thank heaven for the cruise ship business,” Cliff said, with a wide and charming smile. “If it wasn’t for them, I’d never have discovered Heartlandia.”

“Are you saying you cruised here or worked on a cruise ship?”

“Worked on one. Thirteen years.”

“Interesting.” Normally, she’d ask more about that assuming there might be a story buried in the statement, but today she had one goal in mind. She took a sip of her drink to wait the right amount of time before changing the topic. “So where do the locals go? You know, say, like the regular guys, firemen and police officers, for example.” She went for coy, yeah, coy like a snake eyeing a mouse, looking straight forward, glancing to the side. “Where do they hang out after hours?”

He lifted a long, dark brow, rather than answering.

“I’ll level with you, Cliff, I’m the new reporter for the Heartlandia Herald. I’d like to bring the focus of the newspaper back to the people. I’ve got a few different angles I’d like to flesh out, and I thought I’d start with talking to the local working Joes.” Funny how she’d chosen “flesh out,” a phrase that had certain appeal where that Gunnar guy was concerned.

He nodded, obviously still considering her story. And it was a tall tale...mostly. She did have big plans to bring the human interest side back to the paper, but first off, she wanted a knock-your-socks-off debut. Introducing big-city journalist Lilly Matsuda, ta-da!

“There’s a microbrewery down by the river and the railroad tracks. To the best of my knowledge, that’s where the manly types go when they want to let off steam.” He tapped a finger on the bar, smiled. “Here’s a tidbit for you. Rumor has it that in the old days, down by the docks in the seedy side of town, right where that bar is today, an occasional sailor got shanghaied.”

“Really.” The tasty morsel sent a chill up her spine. She had a nose for news, and that bit about shanghaied sailors had definitely grabbed her interest. Though it was an underhanded and vile business, many captains had employed the nasty trick. The practice had been an old technique by nefarious sea captains. First they’d get a man sloppy drunk. Then, once he’d passed out, his men would kidnap the sailor onto the ship and the unsuspecting drunk would be far out at sea when he came to and sobered up. Voilá! They had an extra pair of hands on deck with no ticket home, and they didn’t even have to pay him. With Heartlandia being on the banks of the gorgeous Columbia River, a major water route to the Pacific Ocean, the story could definitely be true.

Wait a second, old Cliffy here was probably just playing her, telling her one of the yarns they told tourists to give them some stories to swap when they got back on ship.

“Yes indeed,” Cliff said, touching the tips of his fingers together and tapping. “Of course, a lot of the stories we share with our tourists have—” he pressed his lips together “—for lack of a better word, let’s say been embellished a bit. No city wants to come off as boring when you’re courting the tourist trade, right? So we throw in those old sailor stories to spice things up.”

She appreciated his coming clean about pirates shanghaiing locals. “I hear you. So you’re saying the shanghaied stuff may or may not be true?”

He tilted his head to the side, not a yes or no. She’d let it lie, take that as a yes and try a different angle.

“Hey, have you noticed any after-hour meetings going on at city hall? Or am I imagining things?”

He cast a you-sure-are-a-nosey-one glance. “Could be. Maybe they’re planning some big tercentennial event. I think the town was established around 1715.”

“Tercentennial?”

“Three hundredth birthday.”

“Ah, makes sense. But why would they keep something like that a big secret?”

“Don’t have a clue, Ms....” He had the look of a man who’d had enough of her nonstop questions—a look she’d often seen on her father’s face when she was a child. Cliff suddenly had other patrons to tend to. Yeah, she knew she occasionally pushed too far. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

“Matsuda. I’m Lilly Matsuda.”

He shook her hand. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you around my establishment often, and I think you’ve got what it takes to make a good reporter. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Nice to meet you, too.”

After Cliff moseyed off, attending to a large table obviously filled with cruise-ship guests on the prowl, she scribbled down: “Microbrewery down by the river near railroad.” She’d look it up later.

She’d been a reporter for eight years, since she was twenty-two and fresh out of college, and had continued part-time while attending grad school. Had worked her way up to her own weekly local scene column in the San Francisco Gazette, but could never make it past the velvet ceiling. She wanted to be the old-school-style reporter following leads, fingers on the pulse of the city, always seeking the unusual stories, and realized she’d never achieve her goal back home, much to her parents’ chagrin.

When the chance to work in Oregon came up, after doing her research and seeing a potential buyout opportunity, she’d grabbed it. Statistics showed that something happened to women around the ages of twenty-eight to thirty. They often reevaluated their lives and made major changes. Some decided to get married, others to have a baby, neither of which appealed to her, and right now, since she was all about change, moving to a small town and buying her own paper had definite appeal.

Lilly finished her drink and prepared for the short walk—no jaywalking, thank you very much, Sergeant Norling—back to her hotel.

Once she bought out Bjork, she could finally develop a reputation as the kind of reporter she’d always dreamed of becoming—the kind that sniffed out stories and made breaking headlines. If all went the way she planned, maybe her dad would smile for once when he told people she was a journalist and not a famous thoracic surgeon like he’d always wanted her to become.

Her gut told her to stick with those discreet meetings going on at city hall, and to seek out a certain fine-looking police officer partaking in them. He may have almost written her a citation, but he might also be her ticket to journalistic stardom.

Tomorrow was Friday night, and she planned to be dressed down and ready for action at that microbrewery. If she got lucky and played things right, she might get the decidedly zip-lipped Gunnar Norling, with those amazingly cut arms and tight buns, to spill the proverbial beans to the town’s newest reporter.


Chapter Two (#u920cb0ed-16a2-5c2d-897e-b9ea2a9250b6)

After a long week of rowdy tourists, teens in need of mentoring, plus last night’s special council meeting, Gunnar needed to blow off some steam. He got off work on Friday, went home and changed into jeans and a T-shirt then headed out for the night. After downing a burger at Olaf’s Microbrewery and Gastro Pub, he ordered a beer, and while he waited he thought about last night’s meeting. Again.

Elke had uncovered a portion of the journals suggesting there might be buried treasure somewhere in the vicinity of Heartlandia, and until she could get through all of the entries, while carrying a full teaching load at the college, they wouldn’t know where to look.

First pirates. Now buried treasure. What next? Was this for real or had they been set up for some kind of reality gotcha show?

“Thanks,” he said to the short and wide Olaf, turning in his empty burger plate in exchange for that brew. The historic old warehouse by the docks had been transformed into a down-to-earth bar, no frills, just a wide-open place guys like Gunnar could go to let off steam, have a decent meal and be themselves. A workingman’s bar, it had mismatched tables and chairs, open rafters with silver air-vent tubing, good speakers that played solid rock music, an assortment of flashing neon signs, posters of beer and burgers, and a few sassy photos of women. Nothing lewd, Olaf’s wife wouldn’t allow that, but definitely provocative shots of ladies, that and work-boot ads galore.

Olaf kept a huge chalkboard he’d snagged from a school auction and filled it with all of his latest microbrews. Tonight Gunnar was sticking with dark beer, the darker, toastier and mellower the malt, the better. He glanced around at the pool tables, card tables and dartboards there for everyone’s entertainment, when they weren’t drinking and talking sports or cars, that is. Very few women ventured into the place. The ones who did usually had one thing on their minds. Most times Gunnar avoided them and other times, well, he didn’t.

Not anymore, though. That was all behind him since he planned to change his bachelor reputation.

He picked up the Dark Roast Special, first on the list on Olaf’s blackboard, and headed back to the dart game where he was currently ruling the day. But not before hearing a lady’s voice carry over the loud music and louder guy conversations in the bar. Somehow that high-toned voice managed to transcend all of the noise and stand out.

“Word has it there’re some secret meetings going on at city hall,” she said. “You know anything about that?”

“Do I look like a politician?” Jarl Madsen, Clayton County’s Maritime Museum manager and fellow member on the hush-hush committee, said to the woman, doing a great job of playing dumb.

Gunnar cocked his head and took a peek to see who was being so nosey. Well, what do you know, if it wasn’t Lilly the jaywalker with the sexy shoes, elbows up to the bar chatting up Jarl. He looked her over. She knew how to dress down, too, wearing tight black, low cut jeans and a black patterned girly top with sparkles and blingy doodads embedded in the material. In that getup she blended right in.

Right.

At least she’d traded her sexy heels for ankle boots, killer boots, too, he had to admit, and from this angle her backside fit the bar stool to perfection. Yeah, he knew it wasn’t polite to stare, so after a few moments, and he’d memorized the view, he looked away. He glanced around the room. Only a handful of other ladies in pairs were in attendance, and this one appeared to be flying solo.

Gutsy.

Or dumb.

But dumb didn’t come to mind when he thought about Lilly Matsuda. She seemed sharp and intelligent, and if he trusted his gut, her being here meant she was on task, not here for a simple night out. The task seemed to be related to the committee meetings.

If he were a nosey guy himself, it would be really easy to wander over to Jarl and insinuate himself into the conversation. But that could be considered horning in on another guy’s territory, even though in his opinion Jarl and Lilly were completely mismatched. His honorable side won out over the curious cop dude within, mainly because he was off duty and loving it. So back to darts he went, ready to win the high score of the night, trying to forget about outlander Lilly at the bar.

A few minutes later he put his heart and soul into the second game with his latest victim, Jake Bager, a paramedic who was seriously low on bull’s-eyes. All three of Jake’s darts had made it into the inner circle, but were an inch or more away from the center.

On his next turn, solely concentrating on the game, Gunnar stepped up and threw one, two and three darts dead into the center of the board, the last one so close it nearly knocked the second one out.

Jake groaned. A person behind him clapped.

“Bravo,” she said.

Gunnar turned to find Lilly with the fashion-model hair smiling, applauding his efforts.

“Well, if it isn’t little miss jaywalker.” Damn, she filled out those jeans in a slim-hipped petite kind of way he rarely saw. He knew that shouldn’t be the first thing he noticed, but as sure as Mother Nature made little green apples, he had. Her mostly bare arms showed the results of gym workouts, not overly done, just nice and tight, and her nearly makeup-less face was as pretty as an ink-wash painting. He knew because he happened to like that Japanese art technique and had several posters in his home to prove it.

“Thanks,” he said, thanking her more for looking nice than for her paying him a compliment. “And what are you doing here?”

She gave a coy smile, even though nothing about her personality that afternoon hinted at coy, lifted her shoulders and dug her hands into her back pockets. He had to admit the move put her perky chest on much better display. He knew he shouldn’t focus on that, either, and tried not to notice for too long, but he was a guy and those dang blingy things on the shirt caught the light just right. He lingered a beat longer than he’d meant to, which seemed to be a pattern where Lilly was concerned.

If she’d noticed, she didn’t let on. Or seem to mind. That was more like the lady he’d met yesterday afternoon.

“Since you went the touristy route when I asked for the bars where locals hang out,” she said, “I had to find out where the action really was from Cliff over at Lincoln’s Place.”

He nodded. Solid fact-checking. She knew how to gather her information. He hoped she was a travel writer and not the new journalist, since that might complicate his resolution to quit playing the field. “You play?” He offered her the three darts he held.

She left her hands in her back pockets. “Not much. I’m better at pool.”

He nodded. “Okay, well, if you’ll excuse me, then,” he said, deciding to stay put and let Lilly explore the joint on her own, “I’ve got to teach my man here, Jake, another lesson on darts.”

Ten minutes later, Lilly was back at the bar chatting up Kirby, the local pet controller and town grump. Her nonstop questions, and choice of conversation partners, both well past middle age, made it obvious she wasn’t here to get picked up. Which, surprisingly, relieved Gunnar.

“And what makes you outsiders think you can just walk into our bar like you belong here?” hairy-eared Kirby said, his voice loud and territorial, carrying all the way to the dartboards.

“The bar sign said Open, nothing about members only.” She didn’t sound the least bit fazed. Yeah, that was more like the lady he’d met yesterday than little miss coy snooping around a few minutes ago.

Even though she seemed to have things under control, Gunnar knew Kirby’s sour attitude mixed with a few beers could sometimes take a turn for ugly and, never really off duty, he hightailed it over to them to keep the peace.

“Kirby, my friend, have a bad day?”

The man with iron-colored hair, in bad need of a barber, grumbled to his beer. “I liked it better when we only let locals in here.”

Olaf noticed the scene and was quick to deliver a new beer to Lilly. “This one’s on the house, miss. I hope you’ll come here often.” He smiled at Lilly first, then passed a dark look toward Kirby, who didn’t even notice. Or, it seemed, care.

Lilly nodded graciously. “Thank you.” She glanced at Gunnar, an appreciative glint in her eyes.

Gunnar turned back to Kirby, patted his back. “Cheer up. Why don’t you try enjoying yourself for a change?”

The codger went back to mumbling into his beer, “If you had to deal with what I do every day...”

Gunnar was about to remind the old fart that he was a cop and had to deal with the tough stuff every day, too, but he cut him some slack. Being a cat lover, he understood it must be hard to deal with stray and homeless pets day in and day out, but that’s what Kirby got paid for. And just like Gunnar’s job, someone had to do it to keep order in their hometown.

He gazed at Lilly, ready to change the subject. “You said you were better at pool than darts. Feel like playing a game?” Mostly he wanted to get her away from Kirby’s constantly foul mood because he had the sneaking suspicion she’d tell him where to stick it if Kirby made one more negative remark. And who knew where that might lead, and like he’d maintained all night, he’d come here to let off steam, not be the twenty-four-hour town guardian.

Her expressive eyes lit up. “Sure.”

“What do you say I put my name in for the next table, and in the meantime, I’ll show you around the bar?”

She got off the bar stool, lifted the toe of her left boot, grinding the spiky heel while she thought. “Sure, why not?”

The circular tour lasted all of three minutes since there wasn’t much to show. He used the time to get a feel for Lilly, pretty sure why she’d showed up here tonight. As he spoke, she studied him and seemed to be doing her own fair share of circling him. At this rate, in a few more minutes they might be dancing. He smiled at her, she smiled back. Seeing a shyer, tongue-tied version of Lilly was surprising, and didn’t ring true with how he’d sized her up yesterday. Maybe she was putting on an act.

Gunnar waved down Olaf’s wife, who worked as a waitress. “We’ll have a couple of beers,” he said to Ingé, then turned back to Lilly. “I’ll get this one, okay?”

She gave an appreciative look and after perusing the blackboard ordered pale ale named after some dog Olaf used to own. She made a dainty gesture of thanks and accompanied it with a sweet smile. Beneath her tough-girl surface, maybe she was a delicate work of art, and he kind of hoped it was true.

There was something about those small but full lips, and her straight, tiny-nostriled nose that spoke of classic Asian beauty, and Gunnar was suddenly a connoisseur. Yeah, Asian beauty, like a living work of art, or just like those ink-washed prints back at his house. He liked it.

He pulled out a chair for her to sit near the pool tables while they waited, then one for him, throwing his leg over and sitting on it backward.

“You said you were from San Francisco, right? What’s it like living there?” he asked, arms stacked and resting along the back rim of the chair.

She crossed her legs and sat like she was in school instead of at a bar. “You remembered.”

“Part of the job.”

“Well, for starters, it was a lot busier than I’m assuming living around here is.” Under different circumstances—not giving her a citation—she was friendly and fairly easy to talk to.

“We’re small all right, but there’s lots going on. I wouldn’t jump to judgment on life being any easier or less interesting here.”

“Okay.” And she seemed reasonable, too.

Their drinks arrived. He took a long draw on his, enjoying the full malt flavor. She sipped the nearly white clear ale. Things went quiet between them as he searched his brain for another question. She took another drink from her mug, and he could tell her mind was working like a computer. Before she could steer the conversation back to business, he jumped in.

“You have any brothers or sisters?”

“I’m an only child.”

“So you’re saying you’re spoiled?”

She gave a glib laugh. “Hardly. There’s a lot of pressure being the only child. When it’s just you and two adults, well, let’s just say sometimes they forget you’re a kid.”

“I guess I can see your point.”

“If my dad had it his way, first I’d have been a boy and then I’d be a thoracic surgeon.”

“I see. So what was your major in college?”

“Liberal arts.”

Gunnar barked a quick laugh. “I bet Daddy liked that.”

She went quiet, stared at her boots, took a sip or two more from her beer. “To this day I hate hospitals. Can’t stand the sight of blood. Probably has to do with a Christmas gift I got when I was eight.” She pressed her lips together and chanced a look in his direction, then quickly away, but not before she noticed Gunnar’s full attention. That must have been enough to encourage her to go on. “I got this package, all beautifully wrapped. I’d asked for a doll and it looked about the right size, so I tore it open and found the ugliest, scariest, clear plastic anatomical ‘Human’ toy with all the vessels showing underneath.” He smiled and shook his head, feeling a little sorry for her, but she’d chosen the entertaining route, not self-pity. It made her tale all the more bittersweet. “If you removed that layer there was another with muscles and tendons, and under that another with the organs.” She glanced up and held Gunnar’s gaze. He sensed honest-to-goodness remorse for an instant, but she kept on like a real trouper. “It had this scary skeleton face with ugly eye sockets.”

Under other circumstances, this might be funny, but Gunnar knew Lilly, under the guise of funny stories, was bearing her soul on this one, and he had the good sense to shut up and listen.

“Anyway—” she looked resigned and took another sip of beer “—all I wanted was a doll with a pretty face and real hair I could comb.” She shrugged it off and pinned him with her beautiful stare. “What about you? You have brothers or sisters?”

“One kid sister named Elke.”

“You close?”

He nodded. “It’s just the two of us now.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Well, that’s how it goes sometimes, right?”

Lilly tipped her head in agreement. “So what made you become a cop?”

He couldn’t blame her for taking her turn at asking questions. But since he was on the hot seat, he went short and to the point—Just the facts, ma’am.

“My dad.”

“Family tradition? Was he a cop, too?”

Gunnar opened his mouth but stalled out. How should he put this? “No.” She’d been flat-out honest with him so he figured he owed her the same. “I guess you could say he was a bad example. Did some time for making really poor choices. Took our good family name and stomped it into the ground.”

She inhaled, widening her eyes in the process. “I see. But look at you—you’re an honest, upright citizen.”

“That I am.”

An old Jon Bon Jovi track blasted in the background, and to change the subject, he thought about asking her to dance, nearly missing when they called out his name for pool. “Oh, hey, our table’s up,” he said, relieved to change the subject. “You ready?”

She passed a smile that seemed to say she was as ready as he was to drop the subject of messed-up families. There was something else in that smile, too, like she might just surprise him tonight, and to be honest, he hoped she would. After that story about her father, he’d decided to go easy on the new girl in town, since it sounded like her childhood had been as rocky as his.


Chapter Three (#u920cb0ed-16a2-5c2d-897e-b9ea2a9250b6)

Lilly followed the hunk with the sympathetic green eyes to the pool table against the back bar wall, the one closest to the bathrooms. What had gotten into her, opening up like that, telling a near stranger about her messed-up family? She could blame it on the beer and his Dudley Do-Right demeanor, but knew it was more than that. It was part of that scary feeling that had started taking hold of her in the past year, that twenty-eight-to-thirty-year-old-lady life-change phenomenon—and the desire to connect with someone in a meaningful way. The thought made her shudder, so she took another sip of beer before glancing up.

Holy Adonis, that man filled out those jeans to perfection. Out of his neatly ironed uniform, he still cut an imposing figure. Extrabroad shoulders, deltoids and biceps deeply defined, enough to make him an ideal anatomy lesson with every muscle clearly on display. Far, far better than that old plastic doll. With those thighs, and upper body strength, he could probably single-handedly push an entire football blocking sled all the way down the field. Or flip a car in an emergency. The guy was scary sturdy.

He’d stepped in when things had gotten sticky with Kirby at the bar, like it was second nature. Gunnar’s family had been through the wringer with his father going to prison. Apparently that had influenced his career choice.

She continued to watch him. There was something sweet and kind about his verdant eyes with crinkles at the edges. He hadn’t let the tough times or stressful job turn him hard. And his friendly smile. Wow, she liked his smile with the etched parentheses around it. That folksy partial grin gave him small-town charm, and the self-deprecating, beneath-the-brow glance he occasionally gave added to that persona, though nothing else about him gave the remote impression of being “small.”

She finished her ale, had really liked the crisp, almost apple taste, and chalked her cue while he racked up the balls in the triangle. She’d played her share of pool in college dorms, enough not to humiliate herself, anyway.

“Eight-ball okay with you?”

She nodded. It was the only game she knew.

“Stripes or solids?” he asked.

“Stripes.”

“Want me to break?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Once Gunnar set everything up, he waved the waitress over and ordered some chips and salsa with extra cheese. She’d eaten a salad for dinner, and the beer was already going to her head, so she wouldn’t sweat the extra calories.

When Ingé brought the food, he joked with her and gave an extra nice tip. Lilly liked friendly and generous guys—guys who maybe wanted to make up for their pasts. A couple of cops, probably subordinates since they referred to Gunnar as “Sergeant,” lined up nearby to watch the game, looking amused. “Go easy on her,” one of them said.

“Don’t worry, miss,” said one of the other men sitting at the bar, who looked big like a construction worker. “He’s a gentleman. Right Gun-man?”

From the way people talked to Gunnar, always smiling when they did, some calling him Gun-man, others Gun, and the way everyone responded to his casual style, she could tell he was liked and respected by his peers. She’d also noticed that Kirby had taken Gunnar’s firm hint, and kept quiet. Adding up all of that, plus the company of the charming police officer, helped her relax and let her usual guard down. This Gunnar was a nice guy. Gee, maybe she’d actually have a good time tonight. Come to think of it, she already was!

“Did I mention he tried to give me a ticket for jaywalking?” She joined in the fun and chided his buddies.

Gunnar laughed. “A warning.”

“Yeah, he’s a stickler sometimes,” said the dart player named Jake.

Could she blame a guy overcompensating for his father’s wrongdoings?

Lilly suddenly wanted to be treated like one of the guys, so she glanced around at the half dozen men taking special interest in her playing pool with Gun-man, and decided to put on a show.

“The next round is on me,” she said as Gunnar stepped back to let her take her shot. The call for more drinks went over well with the small audience, according to the assorted comments.

“Great!”

“Thanks!”

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Gunnar had, once again, set her up with some good and easy shots, if she didn’t blow it from being a bit rusty and all, and she’d gotten the distinct feeling he’d done it on purpose. She leaned forward, and since he had an audience, she waited for him to step in and pull the oldest come-on in the book—to show her how to hold the cue stick and make the shot, meanwhile his hands running over her body for a quick and sneaky feel-up.

But he didn’t. He stayed right where he was and explained the technique from there. He really was Dudley Do-Right.

“Try keeping your shoulder back and your elbow like this.” He demonstrated. “See how my fingers are? Try that. You’ll have more control.”

He never got closer than two feet away.

She knew how to play well enough, but she’d let him school her, make him think he was helping her compete. Clicking back into her reason for being here tonight, she decided to play along for now, forget about her news quest. She did exactly as he’d said and made her shot. In the pocket. Yes!

She smiled at him and he winked. Uh-oh, that wink flew through her like a warm winged butterfly searching for a place to light. Good thing her fresh beer was within reach to give her an out to quickly recoup.

She smiled and made a quick curtsy, then got back to business.

She’d come here with the plan to find Gunnar, pepper him with drinks and get the information she wanted for her first breakout story. But after their surprising conversation, where they’d both shown a bit of their true colors, all she wanted to do was fit in. This was fun. To hell with the story. She could follow up on that later.

The pool game was the center of her attention, well, that and Gunnar and his every sexy move, and she had a nagging desire to impress him. Just like a kid. Eesh. If she could keep her head straight and concentrate on the game, not him, she’d do just fine.

As the game went on, he used his cue as a pointer to suggest where she should stand for which shot and she followed his every lead. As a result she had the best, most competitive game of pool in her life. Who knew how fun it was to play pool in a stinky men’s bar?

Between the beer and chips breaks, and their undeniably steamy looks passing back and forth over the scraped-up, green felt-covered table, the game kept getting extended. Occasionally while changing places they’d brush shoulders, and the simple interaction made her edgy. Man, he knew how to rattle a woman with his laser-sharp gaze, too.

As she watched Gunnar make his shots, he seemed to ooze sexy. Whether it was her beer or his smoldering gaze—he was one hot guy—her knees turned to noodles. But he was also very human, just like her, with “issues” as she always jokingly referred to the pressure from her parents to be the best at everything she did.

Gathering her composure, Lilly called the pocket and sank the eight ball. More surprised than anyone, she put down the cue and jumped with hands high above her head. “Yay! I did it. I beat you.”

Gunnar smiled, took a step closer and, being anything but a poor sport, patted her shoulder in congratulations. “Good job, Ms. Jaywalker.”

“Thanks.” Every thought flew out of her mind when he touched her. Having him close scrambled her brain, twisting her thoughts into knots. She needed a moment to recover.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said, edging away from his overwhelming space invasion. This seemed far more intimidating than when his easygoing charm had gotten her to let her guard down and spill about her past.

While in the bathroom she gathered her composure and remembered why she’d come to the bar tonight, then returned to the game with new intent. But the first thing she saw was Gunnar. He leaned his hips against the pool table, long legs outstretched, ankles crossed, arms folded, talking casually to Jake. Could he give a better display of his biceps? Man, it was going to take a lot of effort to concentrate on the next game. And, uh-oh, there was another beer waiting for her.

“I always buy the winner a drink,” he said, seeing her surprised glance when she got closer.

“Thanks.” How could she refuse? Even though she rarely exceeded her two-drink limit, she’d take a sip or two just to be nice.

He’d already set things up for the next game. She broke, and watching the balls scatter to all corners of the table, she mentally chanted her personal promise for tonight’s bar visit. It was time to get back on task, if nothing more than to get her mind off Gunnar.

“So, I’ve heard some mumblings around town about secret meetings going on over at city hall.” She stopped midplay, stood up and gave him a perfected wide-eyed, play-it-dumb glance. “You know anything about them?”

He scratched the side of his mouth. His tell? “Can’t say for sure I’ve heard about any secret meetings on the beat. What else have you heard?”

Liar. She’d seen him with her own eyes going into that building from her room at the Heritage, and later leaving, from the bushes where she’d staked out last night. Though she supposed the officer wasn’t brazenly lying, saying he couldn’t say “for sure,” and using a technicality, “not hearing anything on the beat,” but he was definitely fudging. And he’d turned the tables on her asking what she’d heard. Lilly could feel in her journalistic bones there was a big story behind those meetings and her proof was his inability to admit to or deny them. Which only made her more curious about the after-hours comings and goings over at city hall.

What had she heard, he’d asked? She shook her head, again taking the dense tack. “Just that things are going on and it may be important to Heartlandia.”

He touched her arm. The spot went hot. “Tell you what, if I hear anything from anyone in town about those meetings, you’ll be the first to know.” Again, he’d set up his phrase to keep it from being a bona fide lie.

Without warning, he leaned across the table for something that was behind her, and because she didn’t budge, on his way back he brushed her cheek with his shoulder. “Chalk,” he said, showing her the prize. Was this a ploy to throw her off track?

From this proximity she looked into his baby greens and, oh-baby-baby. Their eyes locked up close and personal and she thought someone had poured warm honey over her head. Good move, Gun-man, I’ve forgotten my own name. Close enough to smell his sharp lime-and-pine aftershave, she turned toward his face at the exact moment he’d shifted closer to her, and their lips nearly touched. What if she bridged the gap and snuck a quick kiss just for the heck of it? She’d bet her first paycheck there’d be a tingly spark when she made contact.

Their eyes met for an instant, and she didn’t even need to make contact to get that zingy feeling again.

You’re on the job, remember? She let the moment pass, but was quite sure she’d made her almost-intentions known, and there it was, she’d gotten to him. His eyes went darker, and she sensed a surge in his body heat. He probably wondered the same thing about that potential kiss.

Don’t overanalyze everything.

“Okay,” she said, acting as if she almost kissed guys on the run all the time, taking the proffered chalk. “Then I start.” After she chalked up her cue, and before she made her shot, she sipped more beer as euphoria merged with lust and tiptoed up her spine. Wow. She rolled her shoulders and willed her concentration back, then made her next shot.

She needed to pace herself with the beer or, the way her mind was buzzing all around from the nearness of Gunnar, she might get into trouble. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was only eleven.

Midway through the game, she made a decent shot but, feeling a little tipsy, lost her balance. She leaned against Gunnar since he was close by, and since he felt so darn nice, she put her head on his chest for a second. He wrapped a hand around her waist but immediately let go once she was back on her own two feet.

Do not make a fool of yourself.It’s dishonorable to act foolish. Her father’s mantra drilled through her thoughts. Concentrate on the game. Win!

The game progressed. They spontaneously bumped hips after his next good shot and high-fived on hers, but he cheated. He pulled his arm in just enough so her chest touched his when their palms met. Dirty trick, but zing-oh-zing! She liked touching his chest with her breasts.

So Officer Dudley Do-Right played dirty with a few beers under his belt. But she’d also noticed he’d forgotten about his last beer. She needed to do the same, to stay on her toes, but unfortunately his sex appeal was throwing her too far off balance for that.

He won the game, and came around the table grinning to collect a winner’s high five. She had an overwhelming urge to forget the victory slap and surprise him with a full-on mouth kiss, but fortunately came to her senses before she acted on it.

As their palms slapped together, and he didn’t pull his dirty trick a second time, their eyes met and held for several beats, the pool game all but forgotten. After lowering their now-interlocked fingers, neither of them moved, instead they stood staring at each other.

“Come on, come on, come on, you gonna play another game or stand there drooling on each other?” One of the guys impatiently waiting for a pool table broke the magical moment, which—considering Lilly’s continuous urge to kiss Gunnar—could have gotten out of hand at any given second.

Gunnar cleared his throat, gestured for her to take the first shot then racked the balls. Thank goodness he was a gentleman because right about now she couldn’t begin to remember what it was like to be a lady. Sorry, Mom. She must be out of her mind to think about making out with a practical stranger in a bar on her first Friday night in town. Yet it was foremost in her mind and completely doable if she deemed it. Wasn’t that what Daddy had always taught her? Set a goal. Go for it. Let nothing get in the way.

Between her and Gunnar’s lips?

“Okay, okay,” he said to the impatient guy, sounding diplomatic as all hell. “The last game.” But he nailed her with a heated look—it melted into her center and spread like warm fingers stroking her hips.

“Let’s do it,” she said, breathless, thinking she could be up for almost anything tonight as long as it included Gunnar Norling. “Can we get another round here?”

Olaf’s wife was passing by but Gunnar intercepted and ordered a couple of waters and coffee instead.

Okay, she got his point, but that was taking his job too far. Was the guy ever off duty?

Truth was Lilly had no intention of drinking another drop of beer anyway—she knew her boundaries—but she needed Gunnar to get a little looser-lipped. Not that his lips and everything else about him weren’t doing a great job already. But maybe next time when she brought up the meetings, if he had another beer, he’d at least admit to taking part in them. That would be a start. Then she could begin to slowly and meticulously strip him down to the truth.

She leaned on her pool cue as the journalistic euphemism morphed into pure, unadulterated sex thoughts with Gunnar stripped down and standing buck naked at the center of them. Almost losing her balance and falling off the stick, she swallowed and looked at her shoes, hoping he hadn’t seen it, or couldn’t read her mind, or notice her tell—burning, red-hot ears.

He scratched the corner of his mouth.

Before the water and coffee came she reached for her beer, but soon realized Gunnar had moved hers far out of reach. Was he worried about her? Heck, she was a big girl, could handle her liquor. If his gesture hadn’t seemed so darn sweet and protective, she might have flashed her feminist membership card, ripped into him about being a chauvinist and suggested he mind his own business.

Instead, she took her sexual frustration and went all competitive. In the heat of the faster-paced game, they touched a lot, whether intentional or not, she couldn’t tell and definitely didn’t mind, but each and every time it kept her nerve endings on alert and craving more.

In between pool shots, she tried to dial things back a notch by bringing up old family pets. She told him her favorite pet story from when she was a kid. Her favorite pet was a Chihuahua from a puppy mill store that won her over with the offering of a tiny paw. She’d named it Chitcha, then explained that was Japanese for tiny and her grandmother still called her Chitcha to this very day. She liked how he repeated the name, Chitcha, as if memorizing the word.

His favorite pet turned out to be a stray cat named Smelly, whom he’d found while he walked home from school one day. The homeless cat was half-dead and hosting a dozen abscesses. According to Gunnar, that red tabby lived fifteen years with his family.

Knowing he was the kind of guy to rescue a stray cat made her go all gooey inside.

They played on, and she enjoyed getting to know a bit more about this man who, despite a couple of close calls, continued to act the gentleman—except for the high-five incident, which would really be unforgiveable if she hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he apparently had.

Good thing he’d ordered the coffee because the drinking had definitely caught up to her. The bar had taken on the appearance of golden-warm tones, fuzzy around the edges and a little distant, and Gunnar looked like the sexiest man on earth—probably was.

Something about Gunnar made her edgy, though, like he was the kind of guy a girl could fall really hard for. Most men his age would already be married if they wanted to be. Her journalistic intuition told her he wasn’t the committing kind. Nah, he was too charming and smooth around ladies, well, around this lady anyway, proving he’d had a lot of experience. Which would be par for the course in Lilly’s world, since none of her boyfriends ever had the least bit of interest in commitment.

Nope. This guy could be trouble.

The best way to deal with Gunnar would be professionally, journalist to cop. She had to break him down, and after this game she’d make her move. She’d invite him somewhere closer to her hotel for coffee and quiet conversation. This time, instead of relying on a pool hall and beer, she’d use more of her hard-earned journalistic prowess and throw in a few more naturally acquired wily ways to get him to open up.

Charm didn’t come second nature to her, like it did with him, but she could pull it off if she had to. For the sake of her story.

He won the game and since she was still feeling pretty darn good from her last beer, and was in close enough proximity, she decided to give him another high five. In order to do that, she had to move toward him. Shifting from where she stood to Gunnar felt the way slow-motion photography looked, with streaks of light trailing the object. Boy, she should have eaten more of the chips and salsa. She stopped, shook her head and regained her balance.

“Whoa, hold on there, Chitcha.” He steadied her with hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

Amused, she chose to think he’d called her the nickname her grandmother had given her, not her dog’s name. “I think I’m a little tipsy.”

She moved gingerly toward him, and he drew her close, wrapping around her like a warm rugged blanket. “I better give you a ride home. Is that okay?”

She’d never felt such strength in her life. Solid. Like a rock.

“But you’ve been drinking, too.”

“Two beers,” he said. “Didn’t even finish the last one. I’m fine.”

She dared to glance into his eyes again, and could tell he was perfectly okay. The biggest question was did she trust herself enough to let him take her home without falling all over him? One more glance into those dreamy green eyes and she made up her mind.

“Okay.”

“I’ll get my motorcycle.”

* * *

She gulped as if he’d just suggested jumping off the bridge as he led her outside the bar.

The former warehouse covered in weathered wood with a rusted aluminum roof stood stark against the night sky and sat in the center of the crowded asphalt parking lot. The Columbia River rushed by behind the bar giving a calming effect after the noise from Olaf’s. Lilly’s car was a sporty red sedan and Gunnar’s motorcycle was two aisles down. He led her to the bike.

“I can call a cab,” she said, panic brewing in her dark eyes.

“I’m a safe rider. You’ll be fine.” He handed her his helmet.

Her decision to put it on seemed more about saving face.

Gunnar liked how Lilly threw her leg and spiky-booted foot over the pillion seat of his motorcycle. He twisted around and helped her fasten the helmet. She’d clearly never taken a ride on a bike before, so he decided to take the back route from the docks through residential streets. Whenever he leaned into turning a corner, her hands tightened around his middle, and it felt good. Beyond good. Going far slower than usual, never over thirty-five for her sake, they crossed the railroad tracks, a small houseboat cul-de-sac section of the harbor, and Fisherman’s Park with its distinct fishy smell, then rode past the town library, grammar school and finally drove down Main Street to the Heritage Hotel.

Regretting the end of the ride with Chitcha nearly strapped to his back, he parked in front.

“Thanks,” she said over his shoulder the moment he stopped.

He waited while she got off the back of the motorcycle, then shut off the engine and parked, leaning it on the kickstand.

“So, thanks for bringing me here.” Again with the thanks business. “Guess I’ll see you around.” She seemed nervous and flighty compared to earlier, and as she headed for the rotating door he pulled her back and pointed to the helmet she’d forgotten to take off.

“Oh. Sorry,” she said, flush-faced, removing it and handing it to him.

Her hair stuck out every which way, and it made her look even cuter. He didn’t want to humiliate her, so he held back his grin, only letting one side of his mouth hitch upward the tiniest bit. He tried his best to make eye contact, but hers darted around as if planning a major escape.

What had happened to the bravado lady at the bar, the one who he could have sworn almost kissed him after one particularly successful shot?

Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, he backed off. He may be knocked out by the feisty Asian beauty, but the last thing he’d ever do was push himself on her. Or any lady. Hell, if history repeated itself, women always returned to Gunnar. He’d wait for her to come to her senses and make the next move, even though he wasn’t supposed to be doing that anymore.

“Okay,” he said. “So I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Sure thing.” Her expression turned all earnest and he braced for something awkward to happen, like an apology, but something much better than that came next.

Lilly went up on tiptoes, hands balanced on his shoulders, and bussed his cheek—his reward for being a gentleman. He thought he’d been kissed by a butterfly and liked the way tiny eyelash-type flutters marked the spot. It surprised him.

She must have picked up on that “something more” reflex she’d caused, because he stole a glance into her eyes and an open book of responses filled him in on the rest of the story. She was interested. Very interested.

So was he, and he was damn sure she could figure that out. For a few breathy moments they stayed staring under the light of the street lamp, trying to read each other. He could still detect her fresh and flowery perfume, and resisted taking a deep inhale.

Having spent the better part of the evening in Lilly’s company, he’d already understood she liked to take the lead with questions, pool and drinking. If he read her right, and he liked to think that being a policeman had taught him how to read people, she’d prefer to make the next move. So he waited, counting out a few more breaths while taking a little excursion around her intelligent and thoughtful eyes...and getting lost. Her creamy skin contrasted the dark, straight hair and meticulously shaped eyebrows. And those eyes...

She wrapped her hands around his neck and drew him close. Her fingers cool on his skin, and with a twinkling glint in her night-like eyes, she carefully touched her mouth to his and kissed him as if she meant it. Her small but well-padded lips, soft and smooth, fit over his in petite perfection.

Beyond pleasantly surprised, he inhaled, catching that fresh scent again, found her waist and tightened his grip. The kiss felt right on-target and he liked that. Boy, oh boy, did he like it. His stout and her pale ale complimented each other perfectly as their tongues managed a quick touch here and there before going for more exploration.

Not stopping there, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs stroking those creamy cheeks, and he kissed her lips, the delicate skin beneath her eyes, her neck, cheeks and ear. He brushed her jaw with his beard stubble, sending shock waves along his skin, driving his reaction inward and starting a slow burn. Not wanting to overpower her, since the kiss had been her idea, he let up the slightest bit, but pulled her body closer. She settled into his embrace, curled up and stayed there for several long tantalizing moments, basking as he planted more soft-lipped kisses on the top of her head, along her hair, the shell of her ear.

She let him kiss wherever he wanted, so he went back to her mouth.

It didn’t feel like a first kiss. Nope. This felt more like a kiss that had been waiting a long time to be born and today was the day the right two people made it happen.

She tilted her head upward and their lips met again. Could she read his thoughts?

Things were working out just fine. He really liked his theory about the kiss taking on a life of its own, so he just went along with the sexy thrill...

Until she stopped kissing him.

“I’m sorry I got tipsy and that you had to give me a ride home.”

He’d been so swept up in the moment he hadn’t realized she’d been multitasking, kissing and thinking. And she’d finally gotten into her apology.

“You are? Because I’m really liking how things’ve turned out.”

She gave a gentle-lipped smile, her arms edging away from his neck. “The fresh air’s helped a lot. Oh, and thank you for not taking advantage of me.”

“Would never do that.” He wanted to make it clear he wasn’t anything close to smarmy if that was what she thought. He wasn’t that guy, not like his father, who’d say one thing then do another, and never would be.

Her gaze shifted from his chest to his eyes and registered some kind of sincerity. “I’m very grateful for that.” They stared at each other for a couple more beats of his pulse, which was definitely thumping stronger than usual.

“I don’t know what kind of guys they raise in your neck of the woods, but we’re a mostly honorable bunch here.”

“Good to know. Like I said, sorry for getting tipsy back there.”

He liked looking at her pointy chin and long, smooth throat, and it made it hard for him to read the moment. Was she cooling off? “Don’t worry about anything. You were fine.”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about me.”

“I haven’t and wouldn’t.”

“Thanks.”

“But maybe stay out of bars for a while.” He thought a little teasing might loosen her up again. “Keep your nose clean. Stay under the radar.” He disengaged his hands from her small hips and used one to demonstrate flying under the radar.

“Hey, I’m an adult, remember?” She’d taken it good-naturedly. “And I didn’t exactly make a fool out of myself.”

“In the bar or just now?”

She nailed him with a disapproving stare. “I’m an emancipated woman and I kiss whomever I want, wherever I want.”

“Got it. In fact, you can do it again if you want.”

He’d done his job, made her laugh against her will. “Let’s make the next one a rain check, okay? I’m all kissed out for tonight.”

All kissed out? They’d just gotten started. Maybe she wasn’t as turned on as he’d hoped.

At least she’d said “the next one.” Yeah, that was the spirit. “Definitely.” He went along with the distancing process because he sensed she needed it, and underplayed his honest-to-goodness disappointment. Anything to make her comfortable with the fact she’d laid a pretty spectacular kiss on him right there in front of the Heritage Hotel entrance, yet didn’t want to take things any further. “Your reputation’s safe with me.”

“My reputation is just fine, thank you very much.”

Usually, after a kiss like that, the ladies invited him in, and even though she’d just asked for a rain check on the next one, she’d gotten her feathers ruffled over his playful comment, and it puzzled him. Maybe that’s all he could expect from a lady who was supposed to be a thoracic surgeon but hated the sight of blood.

Gunnar had a strong hunch getting invited into her hotel room wasn’t going to happen with Lilly the jaywalking journalist anytime soon. He wanted to let her know it was okay. He was fine with taking things slow. Especially if he could look forward to more spectacular kisses like that.

“Write some good stories for the newspaper, and no one will remember your pool-hall days.” Her head shot up. “You didn’t think I knew that, did you?”

Those pretty brown eyes lit up. “How did you know?”

Of course he knew she was a reporter. Hell, with all those questions about hush-hush meetings he’d have to be a damn fool not to figure it out. The lady wanted to know the secret so she could blab it all over the newspaper before the committee decided how best to handle things.

Well, she wouldn’t find out from him, that was for sure, no matter how great she kissed.

“For one thing, the newspaper is right across the hall from the police department and Bjork has a big mouth. For another, you’re the nosiest lady I’ve ever met. I put two and two together.”

As if she’d been outed, she went brazen-faced. “The thing is, I want to make a big impression with a breaking story. I feel like I’m on the scent of something.”

She was, and it was his obligation to stop her.

“Stop trying so hard. Take some time to get a feel for Heartlandia first. You’ll figure out some angle. It may not be a big splashy lead story, but you’ll find a way to capture your audience. Maybe even the heart of the town.” He could think of a few ways she’d already captured his attention, but he was starting to sound like a big boring town guardian and needed to back off.

She nodded infinitesimally. “You’re probably right. I try too hard.” For an instant she changed into a self-doubter, but before his eyes, she switched back to the overconfident woman from the first day he’d met her. “Well, thanks again for the ride. I’ll catch a cab to my car in the morning. See you around.”

All business. Any possibility of her kissing him again had been taken off the table, which probably meant there wouldn’t be an offer to come inside, either. Funny how he had to keep reminding himself it wasn’t going to happen.

Okay. He could deal with that. But she’d knocked him off balance enough to hesitate asking for her phone number, and he didn’t want to ruin the memory of that perfect kiss if she didn’t give her number to him. So, out of character, he let things lie and took a step toward the curb and his bike.

One thing he’d already learned—Lilly liked to be the leader.

Problem was so did he. But not today.

“Don’t be a stranger. I work right across the hall from you,” he said, doing his best to forget the mind-boggling kiss and sound nonchalant.

She nodded. “Okay. Good night. I had fun.” With that she headed for the entrance, waved goodbye and disappeared into the revolving door.

He started the bike and revved the engine. Forgetting his new resolve to quit playing the field, he’d wait for her to make the next move.

And if history repeated itself, the ladies always did.


Chapter Four (#ulink_b46df36b-2978-5f0c-b24f-746d74068c8f)

Saturday afternoon Lilly had a long talk with herself. Evidently her ethics regarding getting the story at all costs were in the tank. She never wanted to be caught in such a vulnerable position as getting tipsy in a strange bar, or having to accept a ride home on a motorcycle with a man she barely knew, again. But good thing Gunnar had been there like she’d planned.

He was a law-enforcement officer and from what she’d observed, a well-respected guy. A guy making up for the sins of his father? Maybe. Most important, he was a gentleman.

The problem was she’d lost focus on her plans drinking those beers. She’d shared far too much with Gunnar about her personal life. Did he really need to know about what a disappointment she’d been to her parents? And, as far as she was concerned—and she was sure her mother would agree with her—she’d nearly made a fool out of herself telling him the Christmas doll story, then followed that up with getting a little tipsy. What must he think?

It wouldn’t happen again. Couldn’t.

But she had to admit, she’d had a great time hanging out with Gunnar, and she’d surprised herself initiating the kiss, which had been more than she’d ever expected. Wow. That’s why it couldn’t happen again. She couldn’t let Gunnar get in the way of her plans. So Sunday afternoon, when she’d absentmindedly picked up her cell phone to search for his phone number, she’d stopped. What was she thinking?

On Monday, she put her best foot forward with her new boss, Mr. Bjork. She’d come to work with a gazillion ideas, each of which he’d nixed until she’d brought up doing a human interest story about the local animal controller, Kirby Nylund. Carl Bjork’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. Perhaps he had a soft spot for pets?

Bjork also put her on assignment regarding the local firemen and a slew of recent Dumpster fires around town and along the railroad tracks. Now she felt like part of the reporting team.

Unfortunately, the police department was just across the hall, and both the newspaper and PD offices were on either side of the lobby, their front walls being all glass, making it difficult to avoid Gunnar. Once or twice that morning she’d already seen him enter the building in all of that law-enforcement-officer splendor, filling out the perfectly ironed uniform, and sporting the low-slung duty belt, shiny badge and cop sunglasses. Totally out of character, after gawking at him she’d ducked down at her desk, below the chair-rail cubical partition in order not to be seen, and in the process had garnered more than a few odd looks from Bjork and his skeleton newspaper staff. What was it about Gunnar that caused her to repeatedly make a fool out of herself?

Until she figured out how best to handle the big friendly—and sexy—cop, she’d avoid him like a bad story. Since Gunnar might be the source of her future news flash, Lilly couldn’t risk getting personally involved with him, compromising the story.

But no matter how busy she’d kept herself over the past few days, bits and pieces from their fun night together—she really had to admit the bar had been the most fun she’d had in years—haunted her quiet moments. She remembered touching his face and kissing him, surprised how tender his lips were, and thinking wow, just wow, this guy was something else. He might look big and tough, but he kissed like she was the most delicate creature on earth. Then she remembered that big ol’ red flag popping into her brain... Careful, Lilly, this one could be a heartbreaker for sure.

With all her big-city ways, she might give the impression of sophistication and world wisdom, but in reality she’d spent so much time and energy pursuing her studies and job, not to mention trying to please her parents, that she’d yet to figure out how to make time for relationships. Whatever “relationship” meant.

She’d dated a few men here and there, but nothing came close to being serious. Who had time?

Anyway, Lilly Matsuda had far more important things to do than get all infatuated with a bossy cop.

Just before lunch, grateful to hit the beat, she grabbed the strap of her purse, thrust her trusty notepad and mini recorder inside, and set out, taking the back exit to avoid the big Swedish sergeant with eyes the color of pine trees.

She’d learned well from her demanding parents that nothing must stand in the way of your goal, and Gunnar Norling was not her goal, no matter how appealing he was.

* * *

Even though Lilly lived in a hotel, it was an extended stay and she had a small kitchen with a half refrigerator, hot plate and a microwave. Just like in college. Since she’d run out of breakfast cereal and a few feminine items, Tuesday night she stopped in at the local market chain, the only place in town that didn’t carry a Scandinavian name. She pushed her cart toward aisle ten. Having just grabbed the special hair gel she’d run out of that morning, she now loaded up on the items she needed for that time of the month. After that she’d buy some fruit and cereal, oh, and she couldn’t forget the milk.

Just before leaving the aisle, something caught her eye. Condoms.

A certain handsome face came to mind. Gunnar.

Hmm...what if?

He’s not your goal. Remember.

Another thought overrode the first.

She was a modern girl. Shouldn’t she be prepared if the occasion ever arrived? Looking at the small box of extra fancy condoms, “ribbed with heating lubrication,” on impulse, she picked them up, read the back cover, then tossed them into her cart and moved on.

Rounding the corner, focused on the task of groceries, she nearly ran into another shopping cart. “Oh, sorry!”

Lilly glanced up to see Gunnar holding a couple of packages of deodorant, one in each hand, as if making the biggest decision of his life, and looking as surprised as she must have running into him.

“Hey,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.” He’d made his choice and put one brand back on the shelf.

“I needed a few things.” She couldn’t help herself, and looked into his cart loaded with food items and paper products. The guy obviously lived on his own, judging by the contents of his cart, not one feminine thing to be found.

“So how’ve you been?” He looked honestly interested.

“Very well, thank you. How about you?” Hide the condoms! How was she supposed to do that without being obvious?

“Not bad. Breaking into that new job?”

“Yes,” she said, edging from behind the cart to alongside it, then standing in front of it altogether. Unfortunately, this put her in much closer proximity to him. Close enough to see those green, green eyes. “Bjork’s teaching me the ropes and sending me out on assignments.”

“Good. Good.” The guy looked as if he wanted to settle in and have a real conversation, his expression inquisitive and his brows mildly furrowed, yet he held back. And she held her breath, preoccupied with the condoms and him not noticing them. Were they destined to discuss the weather?

“Anything new or exciting going on in the police department?” She broke the lingering moment of silence and as she spoke leaned against the front of the cart, surreptitiously moving her other hand behind her, searching around, hoping to make contact with the naughty little box. But the cart was too deep. The condoms were out of her reach. Whatever possessed her to buy them, anyway?

“No breaking news.” He smiled, imparting the obvious—he wouldn’t tell her anything if there was, and she could count on that. “How about you?”

“Nope. No breaking stories.” She glanced at Gunnar, the handsome homegrown stud in fitted jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt. Her cheeks warmed. She needed to get away from him. This was the guy she’d kissed with all of her heart the other night, and even though she’d been a little under the influence at the time, she’d really wanted to. That kiss had influenced her thoughts just moments ago. Now she’d been caught buying condoms. Wouldn’t that go right to his head. Oh, not that head!

Her warming cheeks advanced into an all-out hot-from-the-neck-up affront.

Lilly shook her head, hoping to clear out all the crazy thoughts. Get away. Go. Now! “Well, I better get over to the produce aisle. A girl needs her five pieces of fruit a day.”

“Sure thing.” He glanced toward her cart, but couldn’t see around her. “The apples are good this time of year. But here’s a tip, they’re much better at the farmer’s market every Sunday afternoon. Our local growers are best.”

Always up for a good story, she searched in her purse for the notepad, ready to scribble a reminder for that coming Sunday farmer’s market, unmanning her cart. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

He glanced into her cart and with a twinkle in his eyes nailed her when she glanced up again. Damn. He’d seen them.

He winked and scratched the corner of his mouth. She could read his face so easily it was sad—Hmm, you planning on using those with me?




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lynne-marshall/her-perfect-proposal/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.