Tempting the Ringmaster (3 page)

She could taste something sweet on his breath—sweet and tangy—lemonade. The perfect small town refreshment, and then his lips brushed against hers. So soft that she almost thought it was an accident. Then he did it again. Once, twice, three times. She relaxed slightly, enjoying the soft kisses. They were like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Friendly.

His next kiss was deeper. His mouth opened slightly, and the hand on her waist dropped to her ass.

Definitely not friendly.

A soft moan escaped into the air. Belle bit her lip when she realized that she was the one who’d made the noise. Damn it, she should be pulling away, not enjoying herself.

How long had it been since she’d kissed a man? Two months? Three? Not since she’d left Chicago, which meant it had been four months at least. And even longer since she’d had a good looking guy sprawled out across her bed. That was the only explanation for the way her traitorous body was reacting. After all, it couldn’t be Graham—she’d given up dating clean-cut town boys when she was eighteen years old—it was just the weight of a man’s hands on her; the scent of soap and sex in the air jump-starting her hormones. 

Her eyes flickered shut. She didn’t know when she’d started kissing him back, but now her hands were wrapped around his neck. Fingers tangled in the clean white cotton of his undershirt. Damn, the man knew how to kiss. It felt like she was flying—tumbling through the air while the crowd went wild—trusting in him to catch her on the other side.

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t trust Graham Tyler. They’d just met. He was a Gilly. A stranger. He didn’t belong. Her mouth separated
from his and she wriggled backwards slightly, trying to put any amount of distance between them, blinking in surprise as she felt the length of his erection.

“Now you know what gets me off,” his voice was husky, deep, and full of barely controlled desire. “Any questions? Or, do I need to give you another demonstration?”

“What—“ Her eyes snapped open. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be any trouble. Really.”

“Uh huh.” If he gave her another demonstration, who knew where they might end up? Naked and in bed. His hands trailed across her body, callused fingers rough against her skin as he brought her to climax over and over again.

Hoo-boy. Belle let out a strangled groan. Time to stand up. Time to get out of there. She didn’t move.

*
              *              *

Graham Tyler was a polite man. He hadn’t been in his youth. Back then he’d been a rip-roaring hell-raiser who couldn’t be trusted. Since coming back to town, he’d worked hard to rectify that. These days, he was the type who could be counted on to check on a great aunt with a bad hip or escort a tipsy sister home from the bar.

Even at his worst, he’d never touched a woman who hadn’t asked for it, but there was something about Belle that he found absolutely intoxicating.

The way she talked about the circus like it was a living breathing thing and not just a show full of tomfoolery. His thumb flicked out, massaging her side as he held her in place and listened to her breathe.

How long had it been since he’d had a woman in his arms? Too long. He kissed her again, her lips fluttering softly against his mouth.

“I should be going,” he groaned.

He’d come to the fairgrounds for one reason and one reason only; to appease his father and check on the ‘suitability’ of the traveling show; to see if they were dangerous.

The pain in his side and the aching in his head certainly answered that question. He felt like he was about to split in two, and Belle’s weight on his lap wasn’t helping.

The circus was definitely dangerous; full of wild, reckless people without any direction. The smartest thing he could do was send them all packing…
Or arrest them. His fingers itched to pull his handcuffs from his back pocket and lock her to the bed until she explained exactly what was going on.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the urge. He didn’t reach for his cuffs. He didn’t ask her to move either. He couldn’t let her leave, not while her slender body was warming his. Out of her shapeless jacket, she was dressed in a purple t-shirt with the name ‘Black Shadow Circus’ plastered across the front above a line drawing of an old-fashioned circus tent.

The t-shirt was too big for her. It hung down almost to her knees, covering the top of her black leggings. Not exactly formal wear, but the thin cotton shirt material allowed him to feel every inch of her body. From the lush curve of her breasts to the toned muscles that quivered under her skin every time she took a breath.

Whatever else Belle did at the circus, she worked hard. Her feet were bare, and the scuffed boots she’d abandoned near the doorway were covered in mud. The scent of fresh hay and sawdust clung to her hair. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to smell sawdust again without going hard.

“I have things that I need to do,” he said. Responsibilities.

“You can’t,” Belle said, and for a moment he thought she was asking him to stay. “Not like that. Your clothes are covered in mud. You’ve got blood on your shirt—and your hands—I’m sure there are other bruises and cuts that I can’t see. If anybody sees you, there will be questions.” She stood, separating from him forcefully. “You need to clean up, and I need to make sure you’re not going to fall into a coma. You need a hot shower and a cup of coffee. Then you can go.”

Like hell, he needed to leave the fairgrounds; to get back to his regularly scheduled life and away from demon dogs, violent men, and the woman who made him want to stay. He pushed himself up onto his feet, biting his lip to keep from swaying. He took one breath then another. He concentrated hard, remaining completely still until the world steadied itself under his feet.

Belle’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. Her hands twisted nervously in her shirt. Was she worried about him? Why? They’d just met.

“Alright.” It wasn’t like he was making a lifetime commitment. He would clean up, and hang around just long enough to reassure her that he wasn’t going to expire on the walk home. “Where’s the shower?”

“Through there.” She nodded towards the far end of the small trailer. “Do you need help?”

Yes, please. His lips twitched up into a smile as he imagined Belle standing in front of him, helping to remove his clothing. Her hands hot on his body as she removed his jacket and shirt. Fingers moving at his waist to undo the zipper at his waistband.

Hell. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs. A fresh bolt of lust crackled under his skin. He was rock hard under his pressed slacks.

Belle was wrong. He didn’t need a hot shower. He needed ice-cold water beating against his back. Cooling the blaze of his libido.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. She looked doubtful. It was understandable. He probably looked like he’d been run over by a truck. It felt like he’d been stomped on by an elephant. It was a familiar sensation. There was an entire period of his life when the first thing he’d done after waking up was check to make sure he didn’t have any broken bones. “I swear.”

“Prove it.”

“Right.” He raised one arm, biting back a groan as he started to unbutton his starched white shirt. If he were at home, he wouldn’t even bother. He’d sleep in his clothes and shower in the morning, but the trailer wasn’t his house and Belle clearly expected more from him.

His heart skipped a beat as he realized that her gaze was locked on his body. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’d never stripped in front of a woman before, not while she remained fully dressed, arms crossed in front of her chest, watching him so intently it felt like she could see into his soul. Long dark lashes fluttered against her golden cheeks. Her breath was coming faster.

“See anything you like?” He pulled his shirt free from the waist of his slacks, summoning every ounce of strength he had left to remain upright.

“That’s some good ink.” She made a quick nod towards the tattoo on his hipbone. “Three colors, intricate lines. Nice work.”

“You like tattoos?” he asked. “Do you have one?”

“I’d show you, but you’re already swaying enough as it is. I’d hate to be responsible for all the blood rushing away from your head.”

“Damn.” He sucked in a breath.

The woman was hot—smoking hot—she was also available if the contents of her trailer were anything to go by. Most women in relationships didn’t hang their panties to dry off their curtain rods. Silk panties. Red silk. He filed that information away for future consideration, not that it mattered.

She was everything he didn’t want in a relationship. Unmoored. Flighty. The exact kind of woman he would have gone after in his wild twenties.

His erection surged against the inside of his pants. “You know, if you really want to make it up to me, you’ll let me buy you a drink.”

It was a bad idea. He knew that as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Belle was just passing through
… Any future for the two of them would be impossible. Then again, they didn’t need a future to have a good time. They could have a one-night stand. For a limited time only. Here today and gone tomorrow.

He held his breath, hoping she’d say yes.

“You’re in no condition to drink, and I’m leaving on Monday.”

“Tomorrow night. We’ll get a beer in town.” Graham’s heart beat a little faster. He frowned. It wasn’t like he was taking her to the Winter Social. That was impossible.

Buck Falls’ Winter Social wasn’t exactly a staid occasion—the booze was free flowing and the dancing could go through the night and into the next morning—but everyone in town would be there. Their last chance to gather fresh gossip before the cold set in, and whatever happened—whoever made out with someone else’s wife or ended up naked in Mrs. Perkins’ bushes—would be fodder for discussion until spring.

There was no way he could take some gypsy as his date. No matter how much she heated his blood. He was the chief of police. People looked up to him. He had a reputation to maintain. He couldn’t be seen cavorting with some stranger.

Besides, the dance was still a little over a week away. The circus would be long gone by then.

“I shouldn’t—“ Belle’s gaze moved down another few inches. “Sure.” She swallowed hard. “I could have a drink.”

“Good to hear. I’ll pick you up at seven.” Graham shrugged out of his jacket, then his shirt, smiling when he heard the woman’s breath catch in her throat. He glanced up.

Belle’s eyes were wide. Her face was pale. She didn’t look like a woman who’d just accepted a date with Buck Fall’s most eligible bachelor. She looked trapped.

Maybe he’d been hurt more than he thought. He glanced down, double-checking. A fresh cut ran across one bicep and blood had stained his white undershirt, but other than that everything seemed to be in its proper place. Even his gun—hell, his gun.

“Easy, sweetheart. It’s alright.” His hands moved quickly at his waist, taking off his broad leather belt and the attached holster. He put the heavy weapon down on the bedside table, the dark metal gleaming in the dusky light coming through faded curtains.

Belle’s breath was coming hard. She took a step back, her body hitting the wall. “Are you licensed to carry that?”

“I’d better be.”

“Oh, hell.” She spun, stomping back through the small trailer. Her hands reaching out to rummage through her belongings until she found what she was looking for. When she turned back in his direction, there was a butcher knife in one hand.

“This is why people aren’t allowed on the grounds during jump day. It’s always trouble. I want you gone. Now.” Her shoulders were shaking under her thin t-shirt. “Did you come here looking for money?” She laughed. “Because we don’t have any.”

“Easy.” Graham held his hands up outstretched. “This isn’t a hold up.”

“You’re damn straight.” She gestured awkwardly with the blade in his direction. “Forget giving the clowns a talking to. I’m going to give them a raise—“

“I’m not a criminal.” He dug into his back pocket, exasperated, and grabbed his badge. “I’m a cop.”

“A cop.” She jerked backward, the knife clattering out of her hand. Her entire body was swaying now. Clearly, she didn’t find his statement reassuring. “Oh, god. That’s even worse.

Chapter Three

A cop. Belle seethed angrily, stomping through the circus grounds. The clowns hadn’t just beat up some random stranger.

No, they’d really done it this time. They’d attacked the cop.

She stormed past the cookhouse trailer where Dana Jarvis was cooking her special chili, across the grassy knoll where the Gates brothers had set up the dog pen, and banged open the door of the colorful trailer that made up the Black Shadow Circus’s Clown Alley.

Pale makeup and costumes were littered across every surface. This was the trailer where the clowns prepared to make their entrance on performance nights, and where they hung out after the last towns
person had gone home. She stomped inside, kicking a ruffled shirt out of her way.

Keith Aldridge was sitting on the couch near the back with a lit cigarette in one hand—against regulations—blowing smoke out an open window. He wasn’t alone.

Half a dozen men had crowded into the small space; important men, performers. The lifeblood of any circus; the folks who could make decisions and get things done. The men who might come together in order to form a mutiny. None of them would meet her eyes.

Keith’s lips pulled back into a thin smile. “How’s it hanging, Belle-Girl?”

“Don’t you Belle-Girl me,” she seethed. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“With that Gilly tonight?” Keith asked. “I did what you should have been doing in the last few towns. What your father would have done. I was enforcing the rules.”

“The rules? What about the law? I’m pretty sure, what you just did was assault. It’s a crime.”

“Sometimes you have to be flexible, when it’s important. That’s what your father always said.” He shrugged. “He had a lot of rules, remember? No strangers on jump night. You know lot lice are always getting into trouble. At least, you used to.”

Lot lice. The derogatory term for townspeople who were always hanging around the circus tents was like a slap to the face. Belle swallowed hard to keep from swearing.

Keith thought he’d done the right thing, and—from the way the other men were all shifting on the balls of his feet—she could see that he wasn’t alone. They didn’t respect her. Worse, they didn’t trust her to make the right decisions for the circus.

Too damn bad.

It was about time for them to learn that actions had consequences.

“He wasn’t just some Gilly, you morons. He was a cop.”

“No way.” Keith sat up a little straighter. “He didn’t show us any badge. Cops always show you their badges.”

“Yeah, well, trust me. He had a badge, and a gun.” She grabbed a rubber sword from a rack near the door, throwing it at him awkwardly. “A real one. You could have been arrested. You could have been shot.”

Anything could have happened. She moved forward, picking out men from the crowd.

“What if something had gone wrong? What if he’d decided to defend himself? A stray shot could have hit anyone of you. Blue, how much of a fire breather do you think you’d be with a hole in your chest?” She turned to face Mikhail Jarvis head on. “What about you?”

Petra’s father had started his career as a human cannonball. He’d grown since then. She had to tilt her head to look the six-foot-eight strong man in the face.

“What if he’d shot into the crowd? Is this idiocy important enough to risk your wife? Your daughter?”

“I’m sorry, Belle,” Mikhail said meekly.

“There are sixty-eight people in camp tonight; forty-three men, sixteen women, and nine children.” They were people she’d known her entire life; her friends and her family. She was responsible for every single one of them. Her head swung as she met the eyes of every man in the room. “Your actions put the entire circus in danger. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Belle,” six voices chorused. Everyone except the clown king.

Keith took a long drag on his cigarette. “This never would have happened if your father was still alive—“

“Too damn bad. You’re stuck with me.”

The clown king nodded slowly. He tapped his cigarette thoughtfully against a blue ceramic ashtray he’d balanced carefully against the windowsill, and Belle’s stomach churned. The crooked piece of pottery was a reminder of better times gone by; one she didn’t need. She’d given it to Keith when she was eleven years old, and he was just starting out with the Black Shadows Circus. Back then they’d been friends.

“Tent’s not up yet,” he finally said. “It won’t be hard to get things packed. We should be out of here by midnight—“

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“You said he was a cop. We need to leave before he comes back.”

“I’ve dealt with it.” Belle insisted, knowing she’d eat her words if Graham Tyler showed up with a stack of arrest warrants. He’d be well within his rights, but she had to hope for the best.

This close to winter, the circus couldn’t afford any mistakes. If they left now, they’d never get their lot fee back. How would they pay for a place to spend the next few months?

“The officer and I had a nice long talk. He’s not going to arrest any of you—“

“And pigs might fly.” Keith sniffed. “Cops always come back.”

“He’s not going to arrest any of you,” Belle repeated, her voice low and angry. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t be back. I have to go out with him tomorrow night.”

She’d wanted to cancel but after everything that had happened it was the only way she could think of to be sure Graham Tyler wouldn’t come after her people. One drink, nice and civil, no violence and no kisses, and she could get back to the circus and her regularly scheduled life.

“Going for drinks with a copper,” Keith said. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

The entire room was silent for a long moment as the clown king considered. Finally, his head shifted downward half an inch. It was the only acknowledgement she’d get that her plan—flawed as it was—might just be the best chance they had at getting out of the situation unscathed.

“Just don’t get too friendly, Belle-girl. Wouldn’t want you falling for some guy who doesn’t know a king pole from a catapult.” His gaze narrowed. “Not again.”

*
              *              *

Graham arrived promptly at seven the next night. He’d exchanged his pea coat and slacks for a pair of faded blue jeans and a blue flannel shirt that skimmed his broad shoulders. There was a purple bruise on his cheek.

Standing in the door of her trailer, Belle swallowed hard. He looked so damn sexy, like a type cast hero out of a romantic comedy, complete with a bouquet of yellow roses in his hand.

“Nice dress,” he said.

“Thanks.” Belle had only brought one dress from Chicago. It was pitch black and skin tight, not exactly appropriate for a small town Thursday night.

So, she’d called up the circus’s costume designer, Big Jerry, and twenty minutes later she’d taken possession of a new dress. The ruby red cotton skimmed her breasts and floated across her thighs.

Big Jerry was a master with a needle and thread, designing outfits that allowed for a full range of movement, but his creations left a lot to be desired.

Like an extra yard of fabric.

Belle grabbed her jacket and buttoned it on over the borrowed gown. She should have stuck with the black dress. It might make her look like a Sin City escapee, but at least then she’d understand why Graham was looking at her like a hungry wolf who’d just spotted a walking, talking T-bone.

One short drink and then she was done for the evening. She had better things to do with her time than flirt with Buck Falls answer to single women.

She had a circus to run, bits and bobs of different acts to go over, and a duffel bag full of paperwork she needed to complete. Most importantly, she needed to work the phones, calling around to find a place for the Black Shadow Circus to spend the winter.

Really, she shouldn’t even be going out for one drink. She should cancel. Graham wouldn’t mind. He certainly wouldn’t take it out on her people. He’d seemed like a reasonable man—

The memory of his mouth hot against her lips made Belle’s breath catch in her throat. He hadn’t seemed reasonable at all.

No way. Even before she’d seen his gun and his badge, she’d known that Graham Tyler was trouble, demanding and autocratic, the biggest fish in his itty-bitty pond.

Even if his touch did make her go weak in the knees.

Damn, the man could kiss. Belle took a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs. Everything was going to be all right. She had everything under control.

“Are those for me?” she nodded towards the flowers.

“They were, but I got a little lost on the way.” Graham turned and made a grave bow to the girl at his side. “Kind mistress, thank you for guiding my footsteps.”

“Are you sure you’re a policem
an?” Petra accepted the flowers with a giggle. The girl must have come straight from dance practice; her auburn curls were tucked up tightly in a bun, and she was wearing a pink leotard under her oversized sweatshirt. “You don’t look like it. Policemen wear ugly uniforms and frown all the time.”

Graham’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m the chief of police, I can wear anything I want.” There was a short pause. “I’ll work on the frown if you’d like.”

“It’s okay,” Petra assured him. “Do you have a badge? Can I see it?”

“Sure.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his badge, handing over the symbol of his authority without a second thought.

Petra grabbed at the badge eagerly. Her quick movement making the roses fall to the ground.

Belle bit her lip. Damn. Now she’d have to spend half the night tracking down that bit of shiny.

“Cops don’t always frown,” Graham said. “The work can even be fun. Do you want to be a policeman when you grow up?”

“As if,” Petra giggled.

“Oh yeah? What do you want to be? A doctor? A lawyer? A business executive?”

“And pigs might fly! When I grow up, I want to be Belle-Anne,” she
announced before wandering off.

“Last week she wanted to be an astronaut.” Belle rolled her eyes and stepped from the trailer, allowing the door to bang shut behind her. “Next week, she’ll want to be the Queen of Sheba. I’ll find your badge when we get back.”

“Thanks.” He bent and scooped the roses up off the ground. When he held the flowers out to her, petals were pointed in every direction and half of the stems had broken in the fall. No one could think they were beautiful.

Still, Belle sighed happily as a faint perfume ghosted off the bruised flowers. She hauled out a small bucket of water that had been tucked under the trailer’s front steps for any wandering dog to drink from. The flowers drooped over the edge—a pretty arrangement was too much to hope for—but at least they wouldn’t die.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Graham said.

He wasn’t talking about the flowers. Belle straightened up fast, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I—” She cleared her throat. “Should we go now?”

“Of course.” He held out a hand, every inch the gentleman.

Fortunately, Belle wasn’t a lady. She ignored his hand, leading the way across the fairgrounds to the parking lot.

“You want to give me a tour?” Graham asked, stretching his long legs to catch up.

“You live next door. I’m sure you’ve seen the fairgrounds before.”

“Not like this.”

A blast of fire lit up the air, punctuating his statement. The fire
-breather—Blue Deveraux—was showing off for some of the troop kids. Beyond him, Dorothy was putting two of the horses through their paces.

Maybe Graham had a point.

“We’re a traditional circus. Jugglers, acrobats, and strong men.”

“Lions, tigers, and elephants?”

“Nope.” Belle’s tongue darted out, moistening her lips. “We don’t have any wild animals.”

“Too dangerous?”

“For the animals. All the noise and the action, it’s not right. They don’t belong here. We have domesticated animals, trick riders on horses and some trained dogs—the kids love them—but nothing more exciting than that.”

They were passing through the mass of trailers where the performers lived. She raised a hand, waving at men, women, and children, calling out to each of them by name. 

“We don’t have any sideshow acts either,” she explained. “We’ve got a psychic. Irma Baumbach—Madame Magyck to the uninitiated—she used to do the Dance of the Seven Veils too. Before I—” She cut off awkwardly, swallowing the end of her sentence.

When she’d taken over the circus after her father’s death, she’d put an end to some of the more exotic acts. If they were going to draw in the crowds in small towns like Whispering Spring and Buck Falls, they needed to be a family show.

“That’s Irma,” she pointed out a stunning blonde in a pink bikini, tanning herself on a crooked beach chair. The sun was setting overhead, but that didn’t stop Irma from enjoying the last few rays of light… Or half a dozen roustabouts from hanging around to enjoy the sight or Irma.