He had known the minute the BMW flew past him like a silver bullet that it was trouble.

Not because the top was down, because it wasn't. Not because it was speeding, which it was. But because his skin had prickled. It was a sixth sense that was finely honed due to his previous years on the Los Angeles police force. Former detective turned deputy, Holt Brennon knew that the occupant of this vehicle was trouble - with a capital "T".

The intense feelings only seemed to increase as he cautiously made his way to the driver's window. That's when the prickling sensations overwhelmed him.

He wasn't a randy teen just about to get his first look at a girl's boobs. He was a man who had already seen more than his fair share. So, why was it that just the mere sight of this female's silhouette sent his libido into overdrive?

Shaking his head at the foolishness of the thoughts racing through his brain, Holt could see that the driver was definitely female. From what he could tell, she was a tall girl with extremely long hair. As he got closer, the shape was a little more clear and Holt realized that he wasn't dealing with a 'girl' at all, but most definitely with a full grown woman.

This woman's hair was a vibrant shade of auburn with a shine that made it look like silk. He could imagine running his large hands through the long strands and letting them slide through each finger to lay softly in contrast to the white of his pillowcase. And even though he was not able to see her eyes yet, he could picture them as if he had watched them cloud over with desire a hundred or more times. His thoughts definitely were getting out of hand and his brain protested with a resounding, Whoa!

Especially when his lower anatomy began answering the call of his testosterone. He hadn't even met her but yet his body could feel the imprint of hers beneath it on the cool cotton sheets of his king sized bed. She would look just right there, he thought. Again his brain protested, And just where did that thought come from? In response, a little voice whispered: Well, it has been awhile since you've been with a woman.

Awhile, wasn't exactly the right term for how long it'd been since he had held a woman, stroked her like a fine tuned fiddle. Somewhere around a year? He thought in wonder. Then the memories of why sprang forward.

After being shot while doing a raid on a suspected murderer's home, a woman had been the last thing on his mind. Living...living to see another sunrise over the mountains. Or just living long enough to take another breath. Even after a full recovery, he hadn't been quite up to socializing - or his job. That was when he had decided it was time to make a move. With nothing tying him to L.A., he had packed up and headed East. Not wanting to move back home to Austin, Texas but still wanting to be closer to his parents, Holt had decided to move here to small town America which just happened to be less than fifty miles North of what he would always call home.

Holt had thought he would gain peace and quiet here, so far that had been the case. Living here now going on six months, he really hadn't received much cause to stir the blood - either physically or emotionally. Until now.

That thought brought him back to the present and the realization that he was still holding Samantha Jenkins' drivers' license. And even more importantly, he was staring into her vivid green eyes.

At the wary but obviously interested look she was giving him, a wave of white hot desire rolled through his system. Holt tried to control his reaction to this woman who so blatantly had no regard for the law.

Seventeen outstanding parking tickets - speeding - what next? Holt asked himself with a hint of disgust. How could anyone accumulate that many and not seem to care at all? No, wait that wasn't right. She seemed incredulous.

And just what had that spark of electricity been between them while he was doing his best to try to intimidate her? Had she been about to kiss him? Was she wanting him to kiss her? He had never been much on games with women. He hadn't had to play any. The women he dated knew the score. There was no room in his life for romance. Besides, he just wasn't that kind of a guy.

So why did he have the sudden urge to cover his bed with yellow rose petals just to see how she would look sprawled among the delicate blooms?

~~~~~

Watching the officer's skeptical expression remain unwavering with her sincere declaration, Samantha knew that a quick warning was out of the question.

Then just when she had given up hope of ever getting a response from him, he spoke "Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before."

"Honestly, you have to be mistaken." Samantha pleaded again.

"No mistake. I ran the number..." Then in the blink of an eye, the officers expression went from disbelieving to grievous and he spoke his next words with steel, "Are those hypodermic needles?"

"Yes, but—" Samantha began hoping to explain that she was just in the processes of picking them up from the pharmacy because her shipment to the clinic had been delayed.

"Step out of the car please." The officer's voice was curt and unwavering as he made his demand.

"But—" Samantha tried again, and she knew that the horror she felt must be showing in her features.

"Now, please." Without a hint of compromise, the officer insisted.

"Well, just let me call—" As Samantha spoke she reached toward her large bag which held her cell phone, unfortunately it also held the needles. At the click of what was presumably the hammer to his gun, Sam froze.

"Hands where I can see them." Again, his steely voice left no room for argument and Sam raised her hands in the air in an effort to surrender. She was sure that he would note her face which she knew from experience had turned flame red. She could feel the heat as it rose up from her breasts to her neck then seeping into her normally pale cheeks.

Did he honestly think she was a hardened criminal? Well, he does think you have seventeen unpaid tickets. She thought with a sigh. The sigh must have been audible because he quickly opened the driver's door. Samantha attempted to control her erratic breathing—and her embarrassment while still holding her hands high in the air—she didn't dare move.

Staring straight ahead afraid of what his next move might be if she said or did the wrong thing, Samantha wondered how things could get any worse. Then the next thing she knew, the officer took her arm and assisted her from the vehicle. His touch was gentle but firm, and left no question as to who was in charge.

As she straightened from the car, Samantha wiggled a bit to make her skirt fall back into place where it had ridden up while she was driving. If she hadn't known better, which she did, she would have thought she had heard the officer take in a sharp breath.

But Samantha had never had that affect on men. From what she could tell, they had always been intimidated by her devotion to her study of medicine. It was a bit hard to find a date when all you cared to talk about was molds and bacteria. That had changed as she grew older and more advanced in her studies. Other than another doctor, most people didn't want to hear about the intricacies of their ailments. She had learned that quickly after starting her internship with Houston General Hospital, and that was also when she had decided that hometown medicine was really what she wanted to practice.

Of course, broadening her viewpoints to more than medicine had been hard at first, but now she could intelligently talk of all sorts of things guys would want to discuss. Cars, horse, racing, football—the problem now was she really had no time for a relationship.

And quite frankly was weary of getting close to anyone who would have the ability to break her heart again. After all, like she had learned to ask herself every time she met someone she was attracted to—who wanted to date a thirty year old virgin?

"Spread your legs and put your hands on the roof." At the first words, Samantha's heart began to race. To her ears, the words were spoken a little more breathless and provocatively than you hear on the cop shows.

The officer turned her towards the car and assisted in spreading her legs by sweeping his right foot between them. Was he really going to frisk her? Samantha wondered with a bit of excitement racing through her veins. Did he not realize there was nowhere for her to conceal anything?

~~~~~

Realizing too late that there really wasn't a place she could hide a weapon in either her red sleeveless dress shirt which had to of been made of silk or the mid-thigh length skirt she wore, Holt pressed on with the standard frisking position.

He knew he was crowding her a bit, but still he leaned closer until his lips were dangerously close to grazing her right earlobe. After he was sure he wouldn't just close the distance and take a little nibble, he spoke softly into her ear "I'm going to have to frisk you. Standard procedure." He added the lame excuse to give a reason for allowing himself to touch her as he had imagined when first figuring out she was all woman.

"Okay." Her voice was a mere whisper and was definitely breathless. Had he not been so close, he might not have heard her. Thinking back to when he pulled his gun on her, he felt like a heel. Had he not been watching her so closely, he might not have noticed how dangerously pale she had became before the red of embarrassment had heated her face. Now, he was going to torment them both a bit more by touching her in a way that was dramatically intimate even for a necessary precaution. If she had nothing to hide, a bit of discomfort would not be a lot to ask. After all, she did have seventeen parking violations.

Of course, his torment would only be because of safety to himself and others if she was a drug addict or dealer—and not sexual in nature he assured himself. No, not sexual.

So, trying to control his own reaction to being this close to her, Holt took a deep breath. He immediately realized his mistake. The soft smell of a vanilla and coconut mix drifted through his system and lifted his libido even further. The smell was warm, relaxing, and reminded him of hot sweaty skin—and not just the kind found on the beach.

Stepping back just once to attempt a chance at sanity, Holt closed his eyes briefly. But he opened them again immediately when visions of long porcelain-looking legs wrapped around his waist interfered in his attempt to calm down.

Attempting to remember procedure, Holt recognized just how much discomfort he was causing her when she began to shift from one foot to another. He couldn't have felt worse. Just like an evil adult who had just stolen a little kid's candy they had saved their allowance for. He was scum no doubt about it, and fact was he was enjoying being this close to her a bit too much.

However, he was not about to give up what could be his only opportunity to touch her. So, Holt began running his hands down her bare legs....one at a time.

The slow sensuous stroke Holt's work hardened hand from her left thigh to ankle did strange things to him, but he kept reminding him it was worth it for the good of the public's safety.

~~~~~

Samantha wasn't sure her reactions could be masked. The slow torture was almost more than she could bare. Strange things that she knew as a doctor were related to her heightened sense of awareness of this man were overwhelming her. She felt her nipples tighten to hardened peaks. She knew her breathing was slow and erratic. And as was her habit when nervous or overly aroused, her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. Her head was tipped slightly backward, and both of her hands were fisted on the soft roof of her car.

As the officer's hands came up the opposite direction on her right leg, a small moan escaped from her lips. His hands stopped. What must he be thinking? Samantha couldn't help but wonder. Thinking quickly, she attempted to cover her reaction to his torture. And groaned—not from what she had forgotten but from the loss of the friction his hands were creating.

"I forgot it was Mr. Wilson at ten. He won't wait." Samantha said in desperation.

The sound of a car pulling up and a door opening and shutting quickly interrupted any chance for a response or questions that the officer might have had. The rough oath was even more distracting. Was that him or the newcomer? Samantha wondered with hope. Could he have been as affected as she?

"What the hell?" The balding Sheriff Oscar Mills asked loudly.

When he didn't receive a response, he questioned his deputy "Holt?"

"I, uh, -" Holt had stepped back releasing his imaginary boundary which had kept Samantha pinned against her car. Taking advantage, Samantha eased around until she was facing both men.

"Sam?" The Sheriff questioned while giving Holt a pointed look.

"I'm fine, Uncle Oscar. Really. Just running late." Sam tried to seem a little less disturbed by the whole incident than she was. And after a thorough look at her, it appeared that her Uncle accepted her response.

"Well, head on then." Sheriff Mills instructed an almost dazed Samantha.

"But, sir. She is in possession of hypodermic needles. Don't you think we should search the car for other paraphernalia." The officer she now knew was named Holt insisted.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd find some drugs in there too." Sheriff Mills explained while opening the car door and sending Samantha on her way. And with one last look at Holt, she readily went. She was already way too late. Mayor Wilson was probably already gone. He was an impatient man—especially since his heart attack. And on top of it all, her reaction to a man she didn't know at all disturbed her. With any cooperation from him and she might have asked him to take her right then and there. Yes, it was good that Uncle Oscar had interrupted when he had.

~~~~~

Watching the silver bullet speed off, Holt felt a twinge of anger at the obvious 'good ole boys' system that was in place. How else would the niece of the Sheriff get off from not only a speeding ticket but also a possible drug charge? With a disgusted sigh, Holt turned to face the 'uncle' in question.

The first thing he noticed was the censure in the older man's gaze. The second was the humor. Frankly, Holt didn't see the humor in the situation—neither personally or professionally. Nor did he see reason for censure on the part of the Sheriff. He was doing his job. Sure, he had enjoyed the situation a little more than he should but that he would keep to himself.

"Sir?" Holt asked questioning everything that had just occurred and everything he had believed true about the man he had quickly took to be his idol.

"Well deputy, I can read you like an open book. I shouldn't have to explain to you that my niece doesn't do drugs, she dispenses them. And I'm sure that if she was driving a bit fast it was necessary. You should have asked the questions necessary to find that information out, but I think you might have been a bit preoccupied with other thoughts." With that the Sheriff headed back toward his vehicle.

Walking quickly to catch up with the Sheriff, Holt insisted, "Sir. I still don't understand."

"Don't you? Ah. I sometimes forget your new to these parts. You see, my niece—well, she's the only doctor round these parts now that Dad retired."

Stopping in his tracks, Holt realized what he had just about done. Arrest a doctor for carrying needles. Wow, she really had done a number on him. He hadn't even allowed her to explain.

After a few minutes of self-reflection, Holt realized he was rubbing something slick with his thumb. He looked down to realize he was still holding her license. Turning back to look down the road where Samantha Jenkins, M.D. had escaped this round, a rakish grin lit up his features. And he promised himself to finish their "conversation" soon.