Tempting the Ringmaster (4 page)

Graham’s gaze coasted politely over the blonde before returning to Belle. “What about clowns? I loved clowns as a kid.”

“Keith Aldridge—and the boys—you met him last night. He was the one in the orange vest.”

“Little guy.” Graham reached up to rub his jaw thoughtfully. “Big fists.”

“That’s Keith. He can be a little rough, but he loves the circus.”

“Uh huh.” Graham grabbed her arm, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Paperwork, piles and piles of paperwork.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Another woman might have been put off by the hard work, but she’d always had a knack for making numbers do what she wanted.

“You’re not a part of the show?”

“Not anymore.” Not for years. She didn’t need the roar of the crowd, not when she was busy making sure everybody hit their marks and made their cues.

Belle stayed quiet the rest of the way to the parking lot. There was nothing else she had to say. It wasn’t like they were going on a real date—where she might share her hopes, dreams, and feelings—they were just two people going out to grab a drink. She just needed to get through the evening
without adding to his bruise collection; then they could go their separate ways like nothing had happened.

The ride into town was quiet and comfortable. Graham drove a big American sedan with lights bolted on top and the words ‘Buck Fall’s Police Department’ splashed across the side. Classic rock music played when he turned the car on, but he turned the volume down while he drove to point out the local sights.

He knew it all like the back of his hand, the new library, the old historical museum, and the town hall.

After a ten-minute drive, he pulled into a slightly more industrial area and stopped in a dark lot under a ‘No Parking’ sign.

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to get towed?”

“Nope.” Graham got out and hurried around to hold the passenger side door open. He put a hand on Belle’s arm, leading her down the block to a small bar stuck in between a factory building and a used bookstore.

The name over the bar’s door had long since faded away, but the neon flickering in the window let everyone know it was still in business. Stepping inside, Belle was surprised to find a clean, cozy interior with a wide bar on the left hand side and a dance floor cleared beside the jukebox in the back. There were only a handful of customers on a Thursday night, and the waitresses were leaning against the counter to gossip.

“Graham!” A young woman in a green halter top stepped in front of them. “I went past your house tonight. You weren’t there.”

Graham shrugged. “Can’t say I was.”

“I let myself in, just to stick a casserole in the fridge. Macaroni and chicken.”

“That’s not necessary, Suzy.”

“Of course it was, you were so helpful with my car last week. I even tucked in some lemon squares, I know they’re you’re favorite.” Suzy’s gaze darted back and forth between Belle and Graham, clearly trying to figure out how they knew each other. “I hear you don’t have a date for the Winter Social, do you want to—“

“It’s been great talking to you,” Graham cut her off. “I’ll look for that casserole.”

He moved past Suzy, leading Belle towards an empty booth against the
far wall. It was slow going. There weren’t many people in the bar, but every single one of them wanted to talk to Graham about his health, the weather, or the graffiti that appeared to be the only crime in Buck Falls.

The women all asked whether he’d found a date for the Winter Social, their gaze gliding over Belle like she wasn’t even worth considering.

Her teeth ground together angrily. It was only one drink, maybe a burger—the food on the whirling trays looked damn good—not a lifetime commitment made at the little slate roofed church they’d passed on the road with pictures published in the paper, but that was no reason for the women to completely ignore her. Why couldn’t she be his date to the Winter Social?

Finally, they sat down and managed to order from a teenager with a nose ring who giggled every time Graham looked in her direction.

“Do you know everyone in the place?” Belle demanded.

“I’m the police chief.” He shrugged. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I’m sure it’s the same for you, back home.”

“That’s different.” Of course, she knew everyone at the circus, she was responsible for their safety and well-being. “I sign their paychecks at the end of every week. Anyway, I assume your town has more people than my caravan.”

“Not the circus,” he said. “I’m talking about your home. Where you’re from originally? Where your parents live—“

“My father died last year.”

It hadn’t even been a full year, not really.

If Belle closed her eyes, she could still hear the phone ringing in her Chicago apartment the night Frank had called to break the news and summon her back to the life she’d thought she’d left forever.

“My mother died when I was a kid. I don’t really remember her. She lived with us in the winter—down in Florida—but she never came on tour. She loved my father, but she hated the circus.”

“Your father was a performer?”

“Barnaby was a star—larger than life—he’d walk out into the center of the ring, and the crowd would go wild.” She shifted uncomfortably in her borrowed dress. “My family’s been in the circus since the beginning of time—two hundred years—my great grandfather was the one who started Black Shadows. We’ve still got his original tent in one of the trucks.”

The thing was an antique. The red and yellow striped big top was stained, patched, and smaller than the one they performed under now. The big king pole that held it up from the center was a single solid piece of wood, crafted from the trunk of a mighty tree.

“We don’t even have the equipment—or the manpower—to put it up, but Barnaby insisted on carting it around anyway. Other people have lucky coins. His luck was in thousands of pounds of canvas and wood.”

‘The old girl’s still got life in her yet’ he’d always said, with a sparkle in his eye. ‘Trust me, one day you’re going to be glad we didn’t leave it on the side of the road. As long as you’ve got this tent, you’ll never be without a home.’

She wondered what he’d say about her struggling to find a place for the troop to spend the winter. It had been less than a year, and already his life’s work was falling apart.

“You must have loved him very much,” Graham said.

“We fought like cats and dogs.” Their last fight had taken place on the night she’d left the circus, walking away from the lot they’d set up in Chicago with only the vague promise of an apprenticeship at a friend’s tattoo parlor. The pay had been crap and the benefits had been non-existent, but that didn’t matter, not when it meant escaping from the circus life with all of its prying eyes.

Watching her pack her bags, Barnaby had been so damn angry. He’d roared and stomping around like some kind of crazed animal. She’d seen him a few times since—any time the circus traveled within a day’s drive of Chicago—but there’d always been something missing; the fire in his eyes when they worked together on a new bit or helped train a fresh performer.

“We wanted different things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Barnaby always wanted to be P.T. Barnum. He was just born 200 years too late.”

“What about you?” Graham asked, looking her straight on. His silver blue eyes held an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. “What did you want?”

She’d wanted a home, a man who loved her, and a family that she could depend on. She sighed. Those were fantasies she’d dreamed up when she was young. Now she wanted practical things; a few extra dollars in her pocket for
a rainy day, the safety of the circus, and a place for her people to spend the winter.

“Nothing important.”

Their food hit the table with a thud. There was a burger so big she’d need to eat it with a knife and fork, dripping with sautéed mushrooms, onions, and blue cheese settled in next to a basket full of fresh cut French fries. Two glasses of beer quickly followed.

“Thanks, Theresa,” Graham said.

“You need anything else, just let me know.” The waitress’s mouth pulled back into a wide grin, showing off purple and green braces. “Are you taking anyone to the Winter Social?”

Belle blinked in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

The girl couldn’t be more than sixteen. Graham might be the sexiest thing on two legs—Buck Falls answer to Romeo, Don Juan, and Channing Tatum—but some things were just too absurd for words.

It was just supposed to be one drink, but that didn’t mean Belle was going to let some teenage bar-maid completely ignore her. She leaned forward, allowing the front of her ruby dress to gape open as she placed a hand possessively on Graham’s wrist.

“Sugar,” she purred, turning up the charm, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but go play with someone your own age. This one’s taken.”

“Right. Of course.” The girl rummaged through the pockets of her apron until she found her order pad. “What’s your name?”

“Belle-Anne Black.”

“Belle-Anne.” Her brow furrowed. “How’s that spelled?”

Un-freaking-believable. Belle’s gaze met Graham’s questioningly. What the heck was going on? Why did the girl want to know her name?

He didn’t bother explaining. Instead, his lips twitched up into a knowing smile. He leaned forward, getting into the act by smoothing a single dark curl back behind her ear. The heat of his fingertips against her cheek was enough to light fires across her entire body. His hand drifted down slightly, the rough calluses on his thumb scraping across her bare collarbone before he settled back in his seat.

Hoo-boy. Belle swallowed hard, struggling to remember what was going on. Right. Her name. She spelled out each letter of her first name slowly. “The last name’s Black, the same color as my panties. You need me to spell that for you too?”

“No.” The waitress’s cheeks flushed a bright pink. She grinned. “I gotta go. I need to call my sister.” She jammed the paper back into her apron and hustled back towards the kitchen.

Belle’s shoulders slammed against the back of the booth as she straightened. “What the hell was that about?”

“Theresa thinks she’s got the inside scoop on who I’m taking to the Winter Social,” Graham explained, his face breaking out into a wolfish grin. “Last time I checked, the betting pool was at seventy-five dollars.”

“They bet on your love life?”

“There’s not a lot to do around here in the winter. People have to find their entertainment somehow. It’s a pain in the ass—hard to find a girlfriend when everybody’s in your business—but its all part of living in a small town.” He grinned. “I haven’t taken anyone to the Social in years. Otherwise, the pool would be closer to a thousand dollars. That’s how much you get if you can guess who my father’s taking.”

“Of course.” Belle came from a long line of circus performers, but Graham was clearly descended from small town heart-throbs.

For the next 30 minutes or so, they concentrated on the food in front of them. It was great; the burgers were juicy and delicious; the beers were cold and fresh from the tap.

The company wasn’t bad either. Graham Tyler wasn’t just steaming hot, he was also smart, insightful, and funny. He made her laugh, in a way, that she’d almost forgotten was possible; the easy peals of a woman who had nothing to guard against and nothing to prove.

He wasn’t her type. She didn’t date town-boys—she hadn’t since she was eighteen years old—but this wasn’t dating. The circus was going to leave town on Monday, which made this a limited term engagement, and she couldn’t get enough.

When dinner was finished, they headed back out into the dark parking lot. Graham’s hands were reaching for her before they even got to the car.

“Damn.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “You taste so sweet.”

“Like beer and blood?”

“Like sugar and spice and everything nice.” His kiss deepened as his
hands clutched at her waist. “I’ve been imagining this all night, ever since I saw you standing there in this dress.”

His fingers curled in the silky red fabric, and he pushed her back against the hard metal hood of a classic Ford truck. His lips were rough against her mouth, and she didn’t care. All night long he’d been a perfect gentleman, but the truth was she’d been dreaming about this moment ever since he’d asked her out. She’d been fantasizing about his mouth on hers, his hands grasping at her breasts, and his erection hard against her thigh through so many layers of fabric.

He was a cop, she tried to remind herself, a hometown hero with a badge and an attitude.

Only, he didn’t look like a policeman with the dark bruise under his eye.

He looked like a highwayman, ready to pillage, plunder, and take whatever he wanted.

Even her.

He palmed her breast and lowered his mouth to taste her delicate flesh. The sensation of his teeth on her skin was enough to set her writhing. They should have skipped the drink. He boosted her up on the hood of the strange vehicle, allowing his free hand to find a place between her thighs, not touching or thrusting, just holding her in place and teasing her with the heat of his body as his mouth moved back up to her lips.