You've Got Tail by Renee George Page B

Lame, but whatever.
    â€œO-kee. Well…” He dragged out the “well” like a man who recognized crazy. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I mean, psychic shit happens, but not on a daily basis, and not over and over with crap that didn’t make any sense to me. Not to be self-aggrandizing, but my visions were usually about me. Not generally helpful, but not so puzzling either.
    After the sheriff left, Babel entered. It was like a rotating friggin’ door. I sighed and tried really hard to leave out the lusty shudder. It should be illegal for a man to look that savagely good.
    â€œWhat do you want?” I meant to say hello, really, but that’s what came out instead.
    He scratched his chin, his face full of apprehension. Or maybe annoyance. Or maybe he was just constipated. “I guess you’ve been told about the storm?”
    I guessed he needed more fiber in his diet. “Yeah, yeah, swirling winds of doom. I got the message.”
    â€œGood. Just making sure.”
    He licked his lips and my knees knocked. I scolded them profusely then wondered how horrible it would be if I used Babel for courage-building boinking?
    As if he could read my mind, he arched a brow and grinned.
    â€œUh-uh.” Shaking my head, I absently dusted the already-clean counter. My body may have wanted the quick roll, but my common sense knew better. “Did you need something?”
    He moved closer and I could smell his cologne. Eau de Hubba-Hubba. “I think it’s clean.” His voice had deepened an octave—his tone like aural sex—and my stomach went tight.
    His wild, shoulder-length, thick, thick hair made me want to grab a fistful and yell, “Say my name, bitch!” I resisted the urge and focused on scrubbing harder, but I couldn’t deny myself a sneak peek at his crystal-blue pools most people would call his eyes. And there it was, that spark, that leap, that…electricity. “It’s clean when I say it’s clean. I’d hate for someone to get skewered by a dirty piece of counter during the coming storm.”
    My skin shivered with excitement when he turned me in his arms and pressed his lips hard against mine. I tried not to respond.
    Impossible.
    I melted into the kiss, my fingers tangling in his soft mane. So much softer than I could have imagined. Mental note: Ask the man taking liberties with me what conditioner he uses.
    Every joint in my body felt as if it had come unhinged and I grasped at him to keep tucked in tight to his wide, muscular chest. All thought drained from my head as his hands kneaded my back. By the time his lips left mine, I felt all wonky and loose. “What the heck was that for?”
    â€œKeep yourself safe tonight,” he murmured, reluctantly releasing me from his embrace.
    The bell sounded again, and like boxers ending a round, we moved quickly apart. Neville Lutjen, mayor extraordinaire and total cock-blocker, walked into my little establishment. Jeezus. I hope I got this much traffic when we actually opened.
    â€œNice day, Ms. Haddock,” he said, giving a nod of acknowledgement to Babel, who nodded back. Even though it was a Friday, Neville wore what appeared to be his Sunday best—tan slacks, blue blazer, light cream-colored shirt, with a blue and brown striped tie. “Just stopped by to check in.”
    Isolated with the two men, I noticed a similar raw chemistry. Even if Neville was a bit older, he didn’t look as though he’d wasted a moment of his youth, or that he couldn’t still hold his own with anyone half his age.
    â€œHi, Mayor Lutjen.”
    I smiled. Babel snarled. Lutjen grinned.
    I grabbed a broom from the corner and started sweeping, and let me tell you, I don’t even like cleaning. That’s how desperate I felt. If the testosterone got any thicker, I’d be growing a full beard soon.
    The mayor’s bright-green