Divorced, Desperate and Daring Read online

  Dressed to Kill

  “You look . . . better than I even imagined in that dress,” he said. And until he said it, Sheri hadn’t considered how she looked, or let herself feel good about getting dressed up. She’d been too rushed to think about it. But now, with his appreciative gaze on her, she felt the thrill most women got when they put their best foot forward.

  “You can always count on an LBD,” she said.

  “LBD?”

  “Little black dress.” She let her gaze take in his khakis and the light blue button-down shirt that made his chest look a mile wide. His freshly showered scent tickled her senses. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

  He took her hand and twirled her around as if to check out the dress from all sides. She felt the slightly flared skirt swishing around her legs and a slow kind of heat stirred low in her abdomen.

  “I’m in trouble,” he said, his deep baritone voice sounding sexy and playful.

  And it made her feel sexy and playful. “Why?”

  “You’re probably going to expect me to actually have a logical conversation with your mom. And all I’m going to be thinking about is that dress.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. It’s not that special. Or revealing.” She put her hand over her chest at the scooped neckline that barely showed any cleavage.

  His gaze went there and lingered without shame.

  “No. But that’s the kind of dress that when a man sees it on you, all he can think about is taking it off.”

  She chuckled and got the distinct feeling he was going to get that opportunity tonight.

  Divorced, Desperate and Daring

  Christie Craig

  Divorced, Desperate and Daring

  Christie Craig

  Copyright © 2015 by Christie Craig

  Material excerpted from Divorced, Desperate and Dead copyright © 2014 by Christie Craig

  Material excerpted from Reborn copyright © 2014 by Christie Craig

  Material excerpted from Murder, Mayhem and Mama copyright © 2012 by Christie Craig

  Cover design and illustration by Janet Holmes

  Published by Christie Craig at Smashwords

  ISBN: 978-0-991020-64-5

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Books by Christie Craig

  Excerpt from Divorced, Desperate and Dead

  Excerpt from Reborn

  Excerpt from Murder, Mayhem and Mama

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Sheri Thompson hated strapless dresses, especially bridesmaid dresses. Probably one of the few straight fashion designers had invented them just so women would feel the need to wear push-up bras. Hell, a man had probably invented that bra. And she hated them, too.

  Push-up bras. Not necessarily men.

  She was still uncomfortably straddling the fence about the male gender. The breakup with her fiancé had done more damage than she wanted to admit. No, it wasn’t really the breakup. It was the announcement of his engagement to someone else a mere two months later that had left her feeling romantically dysfunctional. Not a full-fledged man hater, just a man avoider.

  Still, she hadn’t completely boycotted men. She had a date next week with almost-tall, almost-dark and almost-handsome Mark. She even almost had a good feeling about him.

  Standing in front of the occupied bathroom, needing a little privacy to readjust her “girls,” she glanced up at the clock hanging in the hall. Five minutes ’til countdown.

  She heard the music start. Chloe, her best friend and the bride-to-be, was probably panicking that her maid of honor wasn’t standing court. But who wanted to walk down the aisle with one boob two inches higher than the other, especially when the other was being pinched to death?

  Sheri really should have checked the bra size again before buying it. When a B push-up did its thing on C-sized boobs, the result came out wonky.

  The music increased its tempo. Oh, hell, she didn’t have time to wait. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she leaned forward, stuck her hand into her bra, and readjusted her left boob.

  “Need some help?” a deep voice asked with a chuckle as smooth as warm fudge.

  Oh, friggin’ hell. Yanking her right hand off her left boob and out of her dress, she lifted her eyes at Danny Henderson, the best man, who obviously had been occupying the bathroom.

  “Real funny,” she said, her smile coming too naturally for a man avoider.

  “Hey, just trying to be helpful.”

  “My girls are in a bind,” she said.

  “Happens to me all the time.” His sexy grin was both contagious and flirtatious. The twinkle in his blue eyes was downright alluring. Add the well-fitted tux covering over six feet of muscle and brawn, and this man should be outlawed.

  Actually, he was. Not that he’d done anything illegal. He was a detective for the Glencoe, Texas, Police Department. But Chloe had made it clear—Danny was off-limits to Sheri.

  Oh, Chloe liked Danny. Sheri could hear her friend’s words just a few months ago. “He’d take a bullet for Cary. But no way is my best friend going to be on his conquest list.”

  Sheri first met Danny a year ago—while she was still engaged to Kevin—and she’d tried to set him up with Chloe. Luckily, it didn’t take, because that was before Sheri knew about his wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am reputation.

  Thank goodness her friend had found Cary before Danny had bammed her. Sheri would neuter anyone who hurt Chloe.

  And a neutered Danny—Sheri gazed up at him again, caught in his charm—would have been a shame. Not for her, because she wasn’t into whams, bams or thank you ma’ams. But for the women who were, it would have been a tragedy.

  She inhaled deeply. The pinch in her right boob slowly increased, and she felt like it might just pop up and out of her
bra. “This isn’t going to work.” The music touched her ears again. Frowning, she accepted what she had to do. Only she couldn’t do it alone.

  She offered Danny a wanna-be-my-hero grin. “I’m sure you get asked this all the time. Can you unzip me and unhook my bra?” She swung around, glancing up at him over her bare shoulder.

  His soft laugh stirred her hair and tickled her senses. He touched the base of her neck. Then, slowly, as if time waited on him alone, he started unzipping. She held the dress to her chest as the pink chiffon loosened.

  His finger—just one—inched down her naked back with the zipper. A complaint danced on the tip of her tongue but then instantly dissolved like sugar.

  She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel. His touch moved so leisurely—down, between her shoulder blades, down to the small of her back—down way past her bra hook. Then lower. She bet he could see the trim of her pink silk panties. His intent? No doubt to seduce. And he’d succeeded.

  She shivered when his breath tickled the tender spot at the back of her neck. She could almost feel his lips against her bare skin. A vision of him kissing the same path his finger took filled her mind. Her knees felt shaky. Finally, his touch moved up and unhooked her bra.

  “Anything else?” The question came with suggestions.

  For a second, she forgot about her best friend waiting to walk down the aisle, forgot about her responsibility. Forgot about that damn fence she was on. She wanted to drop her arms holding up her dress, turn around and let him show her just how good of a bad boy he was.

  The wedding music brought her back to her senses. Chloe was for sure hyperventilating now, sweating in her white dress. Sheri yanked her bra out.

  “Now zip me.” She ordered all thoughts of naughty touches from her mind. They took their sweet time leaving.

  He took even sweeter time finding the tab on the zipper. Touching. Tempting. Teasing.

  “Sheri?” She heard her name called in desperation.

  “Faster,” she ordered. “We gotta go.” As soon as the zipper reached the top, she swung around and dumped the bra in the trash can. Looping her arm with his, she started hotfooting down the hall.

  “We’d better hurry.”

  “You really messed up this time.” Danny matched her pace. Not hard considering his height and long legs.

  “What?” She cut him a quick glance and caught his eyes on her free-range breasts. But hey, they were level and not hurting. Free range worked.

  He glanced up. “You aren’t supposed to outshine the bride.”

  She half laughed, half moaned and half still wanted to fall off that dang fence. “And here I thought you were a smooth-talker.”

  “That wasn’t smooth enough for you?” His teasing tone had a masculine quality to it that every good girl feared.

  “Oh, it’s smooth, but I heard that line in a movie.”

  “Probably. Writers are always stealing my best lines,” he said. “It doesn’t make it less true.” He bumped her shoulder. His scent, musky men’s soap, teased her senses. She inhaled it all the way to the bottom of her lungs.

  She laughed without meaning to. “Stop playing with fire,” she said, and told herself the same thing. The sound of the music grew louder as she cut the corner—almost back to the front where the wedding party waited.

  “What’s that mean?” he asked.

  “Please, I know for a fact that Cary has prohibited you from getting too friendly with me.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice a mere whisper and his smile dimming. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not?” she asked, before she could stop herself. But hey, perhaps it didn’t hurt to flirt a little. She could probably use the practice before her big date next week with Mr. Almost next week.

  “That makes you forbidden fruit. And I really like forbidden fruit.” His tone went sultry, sexy and suggestive.

  God, this guy was bold. He probably was good, too. Too bad she wasn’t into casual, and really hot, sex. “You are a bad boy, aren’t you?”

  His smile lost power. “What have you heard?”

  She hesitated and then decided to be honest. “That a pack of bubble gum lasts longer than your relationships.”

  His frown came with frustration. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “Are you saying it’s not true?”

  “I’m saying don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “Now you’ve got me curious,” she said, noting a look of disappointment in his eyes. Could Chloe be wrong about him?

  “Curiosity is good,” he said and almost smiled.

  “Yeah, but it also killed the cat.”

  Chapter One

  Six Months Later

  At five-thirty on Halloween, Detective Danny Henderson and five other officers working with the narcotics unit piled out of the police van and rushed around the corner to the house where the drug deal was going down. If their sources were right, Brian McCune, a known gang leader and all-around bad guy, was in that house right now, swapping his backpack of cocaine for a briefcase of hundred dollar bills.

  Not that that was all he was guilty of. That was only the tip of the iceberg, but it was a damn good place to start.

  Slowing down at the side of the house, Danny pointed the rest of the task force to their positions. The sun hung in the western sky, making the world appear golden, peaceful. The sun lied.

  The tension echoed in the way all the officers carried themselves. They loved their jobs, but none of them loved it enough to die.

  Everyone had on bullet-proof vests. They weren’t kidding themselves. McCune and his gangbangers were hotheads. If they thought they could shoot their way out of this, shoot they would.

  Cary Stevens, fellow officer and friend, offered Danny a got-your-back nod.

  Turner, another good friend, did the same. Ramon Marco, the new guy at the precinct and Danny’s bar buddy since both Cary and Turner had gone and gotten themselves hitched, moved in a little closer to Danny.

  “Let’s go get some bad guys,” Ramon said, his attempt at humor telling another story men didn’t like to tell. Fear wasn’t just for wimps. As he stepped back, he added, “Watch yourself. I need my wingman.”

  “Ditto.” Danny did another check to make sure everyone was in place. He cut his hand through the air, giving the signal.

  Gun in hand, he and Cary charged up the small porch, each of them holding position at opposite sides of the door.

  Trick or treat, Danny thought, but said, “Police!”

  Danny kicked in the door. He’d expected three guys. Wrong. Six bad guys reached for their guns. No trick. No treat. Unless you counted the gunfire that exploded.

  Shouts rang out. The last thing Danny heard before he took a bullet was Turner yelling, “Officer down!”

  • • •

  Sheri accepted the glass of cabernet her best friend handed her.

  “The wicked witch?” Chloe asked, looking at Sheri’s costume.

  “Yup.” The floor-length sequined black gown, paired with a pointed black hat, had been her last-minute, pulled-together costume.

  “So how’s your cold today?” Chloe picked up Pooch, the bad-attitude animal she and her husband called a dog but looked more like a deformed squirrel, especially when wearing a pumpkin costume.

  Cold? “It must have been allergies.”

  “You lying wicked witch!” Chloe dropped the costumed dog and plopped her butt in a chair. “You didn’t use the cold excuse yesterday. It was the stomach flu defense. And you claimed to have a cold for the barbecue last month. So ’fess up!”

  Sheri took a sip of wine, hoping the alcohol would help her wiggle out of this jam, because yeah, she was lying.

  Chloe pointed a finger at her. And when Chloe’s finger came out . . .

  “You haven’t come to one of my parties since Cary and I got married,” Chloe’s tone rang a pitch too loud. “Who are you avoiding? It’s not me. We see each other all the time. It’s n
ot my husband, because you come over to our place when it’s just us.”

  Sheri’s mind raced to come up with a believable piece of fiction. She hated calling it lying. “I didn’t want to tell you, because I know how much you worry about me, but . . . if you must know, I’ve developed a . . . phobia of crowds.”

  “Really?”

  “Crazy, right?”

  Chloe lifted her left brow. “What concert was it you went to last weekend?”

  Sheri gave her wine a good swirl and watched the rich red color race around the glass. “Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing. It doesn’t affect me when there’s music involved.”

  “You came to my girls’ night out,” Chloe said in her analytical tone. “So it’s not any of the female friends.”

  “Don’t overthink this,” Sheri pleaded.

  “So it’s a male.” Chloe deduced. “Single, because you’re not other-woman material.”

  “Why am I not other-woman material?” Sheri asked, hoping to derail Chloe’s direct path to the truth.

  “That means it could be Eddie, Ramon or . . . shit! You slept with Danny!”

  “Noooo.” And she hadn’t slept with him. Well, she’d dozed briefly. But he hadn’t.

  “When did this happen?” Chloe asked.

  Saved by the bell. Or rather the music and lyrics of “I Will Always Love You.” A sign it was Chloe’s husband calling her, which was so sweet but also a tad nauseating.

  Chloe snatched up the phone. Whenever Cary called and was at work, Chloe always answered the phone twice as fast. She claimed to have come to terms with the fact that her husband was a cop, but Sheri knew her friend worried.

  “Everything okay?” Chloe asked and then held her breath.

  Sheri took another sip of wine, debating making a run for it, but when her best friend’s eyes instantly clouded with terror, leaving wasn’t an option.