Bad Girls Don't

Table of Contents

Praise for Good Girls Do

“Humor and warmth . . . Readers are going to love this!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

 

“Cathie Linz is the author that readers of romantic comedy have been waiting for. She knows how to do it—characters with depth, sharp dialogue, and a compelling story. The result is a charming, off-beat world, one you’ll hate to leave.”

—Jayne Ann Krentz

 

 

“Sometimes even good girls need to take a walk on the wild side. Linz deftly seasons her writing with her usual delectable wit, and the book’s quirky cast of endearing secondary characters adds another measure of humor to this sweetly sexy, fabulously fun contemporary romance.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

 

“Sexy, sassy, and graced with exceptional dialogue, this fast-paced story is both hilarious and heartwarming, featuring wonderfully wacky secondary characters and well-developed protagonists you will come to love . . . A winner that will leave readers smiling long after they have turned the final page.”—
Library Journal

 

“Lively and fun, and you won’t be able to put it down.”

—
Fresh Fiction

 

 

“A fun contemporary romance . . . Fans of
You Can’t Take It With You
who like romantic romps will enjoy this funny family tale.”—
The Best Reviews

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

BAD GIRLS DON’T
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / November 2006

Copyright © 2006 by Cathie L. Baumgardner.

 

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
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the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-00797-6

 

BERKLEY SENSATION
^®
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

Chapter One

There
were plenty of things that aggravated Skye Wright, but seeing a police cruiser in her rearview mirror was right up there.

No worries. She could handle Rock Creek’s finest. She’d done it before, when Deputy Timmy Johnson had stopped her for speeding on her way to give belly-dancing lessons. The beanpole law enforcement officer was a sucker for a big smile and a little cleavage. Or a
lot
of cleavage, depending how far over the limit she was traveling.

The halter top she wore gave her ample opportunity to flash a little flesh if necessary.

“Hey, Timmy. You know I was only going a little fast to get your attention . . .”

“It worked.”

Uh-oh. This wasn’t Timmy. The Studly Do-Right glaring down at her and her cleavage was no sucker. She’d heard about Sheriff Nathan Thornton, but had managed to avoid him. Until now.

“I need to see your license, proof of insurance, and registration,” he barked.

Paperwork. She was
so
against paperwork. “Is that really necessary?” She shot him a huge smile. Hey, it was worth a try.

Lawman Nathan did not smile back. “License, proof of insurance, and registration.”

Skye shrugged. “Okay, but it’s gonna take me a while to find all that, because I’ve got a lot of stuff in my bag. Hold on . . . my wallet is in here someplace . . .”

She’d barely started digging in her huge Peruvian woven tote when he gave her another order.

“Take your hands out of the bag and please step out of the car.”

His
please
wasn’t a polite one, so he got no points for saying it as far as she was concerned. Frankly, her attention was focused on trying to remember if she’d even put her wallet in the tote.

“Put your hands where I can see them and step out of the car, ma’am,” he commanded, his voice gritty with impatience.

“What?” Had he just called her
ma’am
? No one called her ma’am. She was only twenty-five, not ninety.

“Step out of the car. Now!”

“Okay, okay.” She shoved open the car door. “But I don’t see how that’s going to help me find the paperwork you want.”

She jingled but didn’t jiggle as she slid out of her used Toyota. He didn’t blink at her belly-dancing costume—the black crocheted, fringed halter, the purple silk harem pants. She didn’t have her chiffon hip scarf on, but she was wearing the harmonious hip belt, with its loops of coins that made such a delightful sound as she moved.

Studly Do-Right wasn’t projecting harmonious vibes at all. She saw her own reflection in his mirrored sunglasses, which he didn’t bother removing. Skye hated not being able to see his eyes. She judged people by their eyes.

Well, maybe
judge
was the wrong word to use. She’d made more than her share of mistakes in her first twenty-five years. Who was she to judge others? She
read
people by their eyes. Yeah, that was a better way to explain it.

Skye had always had strong responses to certain stimuli. And arrogant authority figures like the lawman with the stony expression totally pushed her buttons. But not in a sexual way.

Not that the guy was any slacker in the hottie department. He had all the right physical attributes—dark hair, broad shoulders, narrow waist. His face was sharply angular, but his bottom lip was surprisingly sensual, and his jaw reflected tons of stubbornness. His voice might have been nice, but it was definitely much too bossy for her taste.

“Dump out your purse on the trunk.”

There he went again. Being bossy. Skye felt like arguing, but she had places to go and things to do besides stand here arguing with an aggravating cop. She dumped her stuff onto the Toyota’s rusty trunk, thrilled to find her wallet was in there after all. So were lots of other things—papers, receipts, unopened junk mail, a few meditation cards, her checkbook (with a negative balance), her daughter’s missing minikaleidoscope—and an unopened box of Trojan condoms.

“Here’s my license.” She handed it to him. “Hello?” She waved it at him. The man seemed obsessed with the contents of her bag. Hadn’t Mr. Lawman ever seen condoms before?

“You appear to have a pile of tickets there.” He nodded toward the official-looking documents.

So that’s what those papers were. Skye knew she’d stuck them someplace. A sudden breeze blew them off her car, which had already had over a hundred thousand miles on it when she’d bought it cheap from the friend-of-a-friend months ago.

“I’ll get that.” He reached down for the tickets, studying them as he handed them to her.

She grabbed them from him. His fingertips were warm against hers. She didn’t care. “Is this going to take long? I’m going to be late for an appointment. The football team is waiting for me.”

“You doing a little routine for them?” He made it sound like she was planning on giving all the guys a lap dance.

“I’m giving them lessons.”

“I’ll just bet you are.”

“Yoga lessons and belly dancing. To improve their balance and karma.”

“Yeah, karma is real important in football,” he drawled. “Right up there with a tough defense and a running game.”

“If you don’t believe me, call the coach. He’s the one who hired me.”

“For a little light entertainment.”

“No, for enlightenment and physical improvement.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Not that you’d know anything about enlightenment. Your mind is so closed, I’m surprised it even functions. Are you done with my license?”

“No. Where’s your registration and proof of insurance?”

She rolled her eyes. “How should I know?”

“You’re supposed to have them with you when you drive. And you’re not supposed to drive over the posted speed limit.”

“Who decided on thirty-five miles an hour, anyway? That’s totally insane. This isn’t a residential area and there’s hardly any traffic—probably because of the speed trap you’ve got set up here.”

“If you don’t have your registration and proof of insurance, I’m going to have to take you back to the station.”

“I don’t have time for this!” The coin belt around her hips jangled as she stomped her foot. “I can’t believe you’re being so anal! What’s your next step? Handcuffing me? Go ahead!”

 

 

Nathan couldn’t believe how rapidly she launched herself into an impassioned rant about police states squashing personal freedoms.

Fearing she’d hurt herself as she vehemently waved her hands around and narrowly missed smacking him in the face, he had no choice but to restrain her after she ignored his repeated requests to calm down.

Naturally, that’s when another car pulled up. A big Lincoln Town Car. Owen Dunback, the elderly funeral director, was behind the wheel.

“What’s going on here?” Owen asked.

“Police brutality! The man has a handcuff fetish!” Skye declared.

“She’s hardly a threat,” Owen said.

Nathan disagreed. Skye had threatened his peace of mind before he’d even met her. Rock Creek was a small town. He’d heard all about her and her mishaps.