Chapter 1

Chapter One

CONNOR

I braced myself as a gust of wind tried to take my feet from under me. I couldn't believe I'd gotten talked into heading out into the most dramatic storm I'd witnessed since the team's last Red Sea deployment. Not when I had a good book waiting in my apartment.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning split the sky, illuminating the town in brief, eerie flashes as the rain hammered the streets of Whisper Ridge, turning them into slick, glistening rivers.

I shouldn't have been going out tonight.

I should've used the weather as a reason to stay in my lovely, cozy apartment, not headed up a damn mountain in this deluge for Quinn's birthday party.

I locked the diner door, pulled my long coat jacket tight, and headed towards my SUV. The relentless downpour muffled all other sounds as my boots splashed through the puddles.

"Connor Mason!" The furious yell cut through the rain as Sheriff Neil Windham—six feet of sexy, blustering, temper-driven man—blocked my way. His face was a thundercloud matching the sky, and my adrenaline spiked when he bunched his fists. I thought for a moment he was going to slam me to the ground.

I'd been waiting all day for him to challenge me, but the party and the storm had derailed my concentration, and here I was caught on the back foot, in the rain, and there he was, a man filled with rage. This was a definite step up from his typical sarcastic irritation with me, straight to DEFCON 1—the kind of anger that made me brace for impact and reach for a weapon I wasn't even carrying.

I'd been expecting this visit all day. Still, I was hoping the confrontation would happen when it was dry.

In my apartment.

In my bedroom.

Preferably naked and post-sex.

My pulse quickened, not just from anticipating a confrontation but from something deeper, something hidden where all my secrets lay. I couldn't explain my visceral reaction to this intense man, but I craved his sharp tongue pulling me up on any and all chaos I had caused. My therapist would have a field day analyzing my brain—if I ever went back to therapy. She'd tell me I craved all his attention, even if it was negative, and probably go deep into why I loved pushing his buttons. Facing Neil head-on was a challenge that sparked something deep inside me. I lived for these moments when Neil was angry and when his presence in my space made me feel something .

Not that I ever told him that. I pushed and pushed, and when he snapped, I soaked up his passionate temper and loved every freaking moment of it because he made me feel…

Alive.

I squared my shoulders, ready to meet whatever he was bringing in the madness of the storm.

"Tell me you didn't threaten Abraham Wild!" The fury in his tone was like catnip.

Rain dripped from the brim of my cap, and I pulled up the hood of my coat—not that it helped, given it wasn't completely waterproof. "I didn't threaten Abraham Wild."

I did.

"Witnesses tell me you took his gun from him and shoved him to the ground."

"He had a rifle, yeah, I disarmed him, but he was drunk and about to fall over anyway."

"You took his gun and assaulted him."

"He tripped," I replied, raising my voice to be heard over another rumble of thunder.

"I don't have time for your shit!" Neil's eyes blazed with anger; his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You told him that if he didn't stop waving his gun, then you'd shove the gun up his ass."

"Yep, that was me. Now, are you mad I said that, that he tripped, or that there were witnesses?"

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and I could see him reining in his temper. "He's accusing you of being armed."

I tapped my lip in exaggerated thought. "Well, I was armed after I took his rifle."

"Give me strength." He pinched the bridge of his nose and swiped away a face full of water .

I snorted a laugh, then spread my hands wide, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "Anyway, you know I don't need to carry."

Neil's glare was icy. "You took his gun?—"

"I emptied the chamber and gave it back to him."

"You can't just go around threatening people in my town. If you see something wrong, you call me."

"I neutralized a threat. What could you have done that was any different?"

I saw the conflict in his eyes, the frustration of understanding his job's limitations, and the temper riding his ass. We both knew Abraham Wild's issues, but without a formal report, there was nothing the sheriff could do. Yeah, if I'd called Neil in his official capacity, then maybe there'd be something on record, but what if, in the meantime, Abraham had shot someone? Like his wife or that skinny kid with the braces who worked there after school.

No one dies on my watch.

Neil's jaw tightened, and then he cursed. "You come to me, Connor. You don't threaten him."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "So, you can write him a stern letter after the fact? A warning won't stop him if the posturing and drinking escalates."

"I know that family."

"Do you?"

Neil's eyes flashed with anger and frustration, maybe a hint of agreement that he didn't know Abraham as well as he thought. Word in town was that Abraham had been fine until he'd lost his job and fell into what his wife called a midlife crisis, which seemed way too soft for the darkness surrounding him. He hadn't hurt anyone—yet—but he was less likely to hurt someone without bullets.

Logic for the win.

Neil stepped so close I imagined I could feel the heat of his breath despite the chill of the rain. "You're not the law here, Connor. I am. And you need to let me do my job." It seemed he wanted to say more, and I waited, but his lips thinned.

I shook my head, exasperated. "People like Abraham need to know there are real consequences to waving a gun around."

Neil's expression hardened again, and he stepped back into the rain. "You're lucky I don't arrest you."

Hell, as much as I respected Neil and his dedication to his job, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing when people were being hurt. It must've killed him not to be able to take the man down.

"Do it then?—"

He swiped a hand between us, cutting the conversation dead. "No more wannabe heroics, no more theatrics, no putting yourself in front of a gun, Connor. No. More."

A deluge of water spilled from where it had collected in the door canopy above, just about soaking us both, and I grabbed Neil's arm, pulling him closer under the shelter. Not one forecaster had warned that this storm was going to throw the contents of a damn lake or gusts of wind down the mountain, but its snarling arrival matched the dark and desperate mood I'd been in all day. The scent of the thunderstorm lingered in the air—a heady mix of ozone and rain, earthy and electric, amplifying the tension between us, and the sudden proximity to Neil made my heart race. We were close enough to kiss. And damn it, but I wanted one taste of the irritable, yet sexy, sheriff. The tension between us was tangible, a mix of frustration, admiration, and something deeper that made me want to hold him and silence his shouting.

"Why are you doing this to me?" His eyes flicked to my lips for a split second, and I almost leaned in, tempted to steal that kiss I'd wanted for so long.

The storm raged around us. The rain was a relentless curtain that hid us, and every nerve in my body was alive with the possibility of what could happen next. This was the moment we'd kiss at last, hidden from the town, giving in to the spark of attraction. God, I could nearly taste him already?—

Neil stepped away, moving out into the rain. He marched across the road, heading straight for the sheriff's office, his shoulders stiff with anger.

Disappointment made my stomach swoop, but I couldn't help but call out, "Night, Sheriff!"

He ignored me, not even a glance back, and as he walked off, I couldn't shake the feeling this argument was far from over. The tension between us had been thick enough to cut with a knife—unresolved lust on my part, a hefty dose of anger and disgust from him. I knew the tension between us wasn't volatile frustration because I'd seen it in his expression.

Naked want and need.

The same as mine.

One day, I'd push him too far, and he'd grab me and show me what he wanted to do to me. Punch me, shake me, hurt me…

Kiss me.

One day I'd crack his stoic exterior, but tonight was not that night, and disappointment piled on top of the resentment because I didn't want to be out in this rain anyway. I went from lustful and snarky to moody and pissed again.

I loved Whisper Ridge, working with Quinn's foundation and running his security. I lusted after Sheriff Windham—Neil—and I actually loved storms if I was inside with a good book and a coffee.

I wished the high of confrontation and temper stayed, and that I didn't feel so lost.

Fuck. How far do I need to push him to get what I want?