S.E.C.R.E.T. Shared (Secret 2)

He had the thighs of a runner—maybe from chasing bad guys?

“Jesus Murphy’s cousin,” I said, both hands on my hips now. “It’s just a gosh darn table, Officer.”

“Language, Miss Mason.”

“If I am asked to pay another eight-hundred-dollar fine for putting tables on the sidewalk, I am not going to be very happy.”

Without answering, he followed me into the store, where I could no longer contain my outrage. I flicked the lights back on.

“You know this is ridiculous,” I said, tossing my store keys on the glass counter. “You should be catching criminals, not businesswomen eking out a living.”

While I ranted, he moved slowly around the store, ducking his head into the men’s side, peering over the high racks.

“Miss Mason, I have a patrol car parked out back.”

“For what?”

“To save you the embarrassment of taking you into my custody on the street. But if you don’t shut—”

“You want me to shut up? Well, I won’t. I think it’s unfair that—”

“Miss Mason, what I was going to say is if you don’t shut the front door, lock it, then accept the Step, I won’t be able to … arrest you.”

With that, he moved towards me, dangling the handcuffs he had loosened from his belt. His smile took on a playful wickedness.

“Don’t make me use these. Unless you want me to.”

“I … I … You’re from … They sent you?”

My anger subsided, replaced with embarrassment, then curiosity, then arousal.

“What’ll it be, Miss Mason?”

“Are you a real cop?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. This was getting interesting.

“I don’t have to answer that.”

He was standing close enough to me that I could smell his peppermint gum.

I lifted my wrists in front of me. “Well, I guess it’s time, then,” I said. “I accept the Step.”

If a cop could be balletic, that is the word I’d use to describe how he deftly turned me around, secured my arms behind my back and locked my wrists together in his snug cuffs. He put his mouth next to my ear.

“Where are the store keys?” he whispered.

A hot shiver snaked down my back. So this is what it felt like to be restrained. Frankly, it was not only one of my fears, it was also one of my darkest fantasies. I was beginning to see a pattern. First, conquering the water, now this.

“Aren’t we staying here?”

“’Fraid not, ma’am. I’m taking you down to the station.”

I looked at my plain cotton housedress, perfect for errands and cleaning but not for seduction. Not looking my best prior to having sex? Also a fear. Damn them.

“Am I … dressed for the station?”

“You’ll be the best-dressed, or undressed, one there.”

“What are you going to do to me?”