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Some men were to be feared. Some men were just pure badass motherfucker rolled in a healthy dose of don't-fuck-with-me. Obadiah Matlock was somewhere between the latter and Satan-himself-is-terrified. No one fucked with Marshal Obadiah Matlock. So when the esteemed marshal pulled over the little red convertible, he damned sure didn't expect the chocolate-skinned beauty to have the unmitigated gall to hop out of the car, slamming the door as she did, and meet him halfway. Not only did she display an inappropriate amount of temper, she actually put her hands on her hips and demanded...
"What the fuck did I do wrong this time?"
Yeah, Megan Tully was nothing if not a little spitfire. A man might get used to all those curves and that lush mouth, but the temper had to fucking go.
"You were doing fifty," he replied, arms crossed over his chest, ticket book in hand.
"So?"
"In a twenty-five."
"Well, who in their right fucking mind made this road a twenty-five? No one has lived here in years and I'm the only person who drives it anymore."
"It's still the law, Ms. Tully."
She looked up at him, eyes narrowing. "Obadiah Matlock, you know very well it's Miss . What's with the ' Ms. Tully ' bullshit?"
"I'm about to write you a ticket, Miss Tully. I don't think it's appropriate under the circumstances for me to call you by your first name.
"Wait. You're a fucking Federal Marshal. Why, in Christ's name, are you writing traffic tickets? Isn't that a bit beneath you?"
"The law's the law, ma'am."
"If you ma'am me one more time..."
Obadiah leaned one hip against the side of his Charger. She was right. He'dknown Megan since kindergarten. The woman had wreaked havoc with his hormones from the time he'd reached puberty to the present day. Unfortunately, she'd always been just out of reach. Like a couple football fields worth out of reach. Not so much now. The longer he stood there, her looking all pissed off and too sexy for his peace of mind—or the ease of cock—the more he wanted to see just how close they were.
But no. He was a lawman. He didn't use his position to garner favors from women. Not only was it unethical, but with Megan, it might just get him castrated.
Damn if that didn't make him harder than ever.
"I think it's best if you just get back in the car and give me your license and registration." He was going to have to adjust himself soon and he didn't particularly want to do it while she watched. The little vixen would only use it against him and he didn't think he was up to sparring with her too much. In retrospect, he really should have just let her go. She was right, after all. She was the only person living on this street after the housing market crashed. All of the eight other houses were vacant and had been for a long time. But, damn it, he just couldn't resist harassing her just a little bit.
"Look, Obadiah. Why not come over to the house and let's discuss this like the reasonable adults we are. I'll make you a homemade tasty treat and you won't give me a ticket. How does that sound?"
It sounded like torture. And like he was in big fucking trouble.
What he should have done was run like hell for the hills. What he actually did was ask her, "What kind of homemade tasty treat?"
It was exactly the worst thing he could have possibly said. The little witch knew she'd won. She smiled. The kind of smile that said any man in her immediate vicinity was in so much trouble he would run away screaming like a girl if he had any sense. Obadiah didn't believe in screaming like a girl.
Megan closed the distance between them, trailing one perfectly manicured, blood-red nail down the buttons of his shirt as if musing to herself . Then she met his gaze, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Well, I guess you'll just have to follow me home to find out." Her voice dripped honey. In that moment, Obadiah would have likened her to a black widow spider getting ready to eat her mate. For the life of him, he couldn't
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