Sinful Instincts (Woodland Creek) by J. D. Hollyfield, Woodland Creek Page A

Zander.
    The wrinkles now forming on my brow aren’t missed by Aaron. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re right, we will find her. This is a quiet town. She probably just forgot to call home,” he says with a kind smile.
    “Sure, sure. Well, how about that lunch?” I change the subject, hoping to drop the conversation. My grim expression was mistaken for worry, but little does Officer Bellaire know that I am pretty sure I know what’s happened to her.
    Aaron orders a tuna melt sandwich and eats it with vigor. “Wow, I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” he exclaims as he wipes his mouth.
    I place a piece of fresh cherry pie in front of him and sit on the opposite side of the booth. “Fighting crime works up a big appetite,” I joke, sliding the pie closer to him. “Here, this is on the house. Thank you again for bringing me my purse.”
    His face turning a small blushed color, he dips his chin to nod. “Oh, it was no problem. My pleasure, actually.” He smiles and picks up his fork, taking a hefty bite of the pie. “Wow, this is amazing,” he manages to speak between his chewing.
    “I know. Melanie is a great baker. She is obsessed with watching those cooking network shows. Says one day she’s going to leave Woodland Creek and make it big at a restaurant in a big city.” And I bet someday she will. Her baking really kicks ass.
    “Well, it’s great, thank you. Maybe I can repay you sometime—”
    “EMMA!” Mr. Ferry bellows from the back room. “I need you to go behind the grill. Marty’s not feeling well.”
    “Well, I have to get going.” I stand, not allowing him to finish his question. I think Aaron is a nice guy and pretty good-looking, but for some reason my brain can’t stop wanting it to be a certain beast who asks to take me out. I say goodbye to Aaron and head back to the grill.

    “Emma, table three has a customer, get out there! I don’t pay you to babysit the kitchen.” Mr. Ferry yells from up front. I roll my eyes and ask Melanie if she can finish rolling the napkins for me. I push open the gates and walk through the restaurant area. I’m stopped three times by men, all wanting a refill of water, which is complete bull since they’re all drinking beer. I swear the tips aren’t even worth it.
    I make it to table three. “Hi, how can I hel—” The rest of the sentence dies in my throat.
    “I put you on a bus.” Sin’s dark voice travels up my spine.
    I pull the shocked expression off my face and replace it with a defiant one. “Yeah, and I got off it.”
    “Why?”
    “Why? Because I came to my senses and realized I’m not going to be some pushover and let some guy tell me what to do.” My chin goes up, showing off more of my stern face.
    “I did it for your own good,” he claims, his voice low and dangerous.
    “Yeah, well, I can take care of myself.”
    He stands abruptly, causing me to stumble backwards. I try and catch myself, but I fall conveniently into the chair behind me. Before I can move, his hands are caging me in, resting on each side of the chair. “And how exactly do you plan on taking care of yourself when you are attacked and shredded to pieces?” His voice is chilling. The images of Psycho Cat send shivers down my spine.
    My tough act dims slightly as I picture his face and those fangs scraping against my neck. I shut my eyes, hoping to rid myself of the memory. “I... I… I—”
    “You’re going to what, Emma?” He’s pushing me to admit the truth, that I wouldn’t be able to save myself.
    “I don’t know,” I whisper, defeated.
    “You need to get back on that bus, Emma. And you need to stay on it.”
    His bossiness flips my sense of defeat right back into defiance. I push at his chest, “You need to get over it.” He barely budges, but stands away from me. I rise from my chair, adjusting my mini skirt and patting down my apron. “Like I said, we can be partners or nothing at all. Your choice. But I’m not leaving. Now, if you plan on