With his I-take-care-of-business attitude, he impressed her. With his pure, rock-hard-and-knowing-it masculinity, he flustered the hell out of her. Plus, his expression floated somewhere between glad to see you and mad as hell. Good. She was mad, too.
She shook the manila envelope in his face. “Who do you think you are? I’ve worked long and hard to turn Peyton’s into a place known for honesty and good deals.”
He stared at her like she wasn’t making sense.
Lightheaded, she wobbled, then reached out to steady herself on the side of the house. She should have grabbed a sandwich after she got off the plane back in St. Louis. “What made you think you could…”
If the world would just come back into the spotlight from its double-shadowed nauseating haze, she could continue her tirade. Maybe if she lowered her head, she’d be okay. Confused over why she was having such an intense hypoglycemic reaction, she stepped toward the swing on the porch to sit down, but her legs folded like pudding. Cain grabbed her around the waist, holding her up.
Where had she seen him do that before? Photo…the photo of him and the woman. Now, he lowered her to her knees on his front porch.
“What’s the matter, Betsy?” Kneeling beside her, his voice was soft, like an echo.
Desperate to stay alert, she pushed to get away from the scent of sandalwood and testosterone his closeness held. Her stomach grumbled. Her mind fuzzed again. Giving up the fight, clammy wooziness permeated her skin with a chilly tingle as she leaned against him. Her body screamed its need for food like squealing tires firing against the go-line at the racetrack.
Cain smoothed her hair, held her close. “Are you okay?”
“It’s…it’s nothing. I just haven’t eaten since this morning.” She hated the loss of control over her body. Her emotions. But most of all, she hated being in a position where she needed to depend on someone else.
“What’s got you so riled up?” His hold eased.
“You will not use my dealership to sell drugs. Got that? Take your operations elsewhere.” Her voice resonated as if in a haze deep inside her head.
Two little frown lines scrunched between his eyebrows. “What are you talking about, Betsy?”
She shoved the manila envelope at his chest, and for a split second her fingers touched his skin. Her skin tingled with the feel of him while he didn’t even seem to notice her touch, instead he undid the flap and let the papers and photos slide out into his hand.
His nostrils flared while he fanned the papers out like playing cards. When he got to the last page, his eyes narrowed. “Where’d you get this?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cain flexed to his feet and tried to help Betsy up, but she pushed him away and stood on her on. He glanced at the papers in his hand. How the hell had this happened? This had to be someone who’d been following him or at least keeping a dossier on him for future use. The question was who. Might have been one of the dealers he took down the day these photos were taken. Maybe their boss. Whoever it was had gotten hold of the damaging information within twenty-four hours of the takedown because after that it had all been washed by the DEA and local authorities.
Now here it was out in the open little more than six months later. Crayton must be a bigger operation than he or the police figured. Criminals usually held blackmail-worthy stuff back until a big operation called for it.
“Don’t play innocent with me, Cain Connery. Or did you think no one would recognize you in this little town.” She poked his bicep. “There’s a lot of people spend their days on the Internet just searching for gossip. The people in Crayton aren’t any different.”
She poked his shoulder, swift and to the point, as if putting a period on her tirade.
His shoulder flinched and his abs jerked in reaction, then his muscles relaxed along with a clearing throat growl. Part of him hated people who thought they could get their point across by poking at him. Another part had been surprised she’d even touched him again after her reaction to the brush of her fingers on his chest. The way her lips had parted had almost done him in.
“This isn’t what it seems,” Cain said.
“You might as well know that I called Deputy Evans. He said I should let you explain.” She held up her phone. “But he’s on standby if I need to call him back.”
Cain’s mind raced to what might have happened with his personnel file. He’d been a DEA agent for over ten years. Stuff like this didn’t just happen on a dime.
She stood on her own for a moment, then wobbled and reached for the side of the house again. He steadied her with his arm as he pushed her through the doorway and walked her to the sofa. Even this late in the day she still smelled like orange blossoms. Suddenly, what little color had returned to her face took a nosedive.
“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.
“No you’re not. Not in my living room.” He picked her up and headed down the hallway.
She squirmed in his arms, her long legs kicking against his side. “I can walk.”
He blew out a cheek-puffing sigh and stopped. “Are you sure?”
“No.” Her shoulders slumped as she leaned her head against his chest. “I need some orange juice.”
