Scandalous Mistress: Double Take / Captivate Me / My Double Life

4

AFTER WATCHING MIKE SANTORI drive away, Lindsey spent about twenty minutes being mortified, and not just about the whole sex-toys-on-the-floor moment. There was also the fact that she’d kissed a complete stranger like she intended to swallow his tongue.

She was a professional. She taught people how to deal with their sexual urges, and counseled women on how to respect their bodies and choose their partners. She’d made her own sexual choices with deliberation and caution, always aware of exactly the kind of man she was choosing and why she was choosing him.

Yet she had made out with Mike like she was a horny cheerleader and he the high school stud who could snap his fingers and have any girl in the school.

“Not this girl,” she reminded herself. “That will never happen again, and don’t you forget it.”

Reminding herself of that over and over, she finished packing up her...research tools. Because, despite what he might have imagined, all those ridiculous-looking toys that had been strewn across her floor were strictly for research.

She was a sex therapist, for heaven’s sake. She counseled women on taking control of their sexuality. Of course companies tried to get her to recommend their products.

Plus, when she’d been working on her dissertation, Lindsey had not only interviewed dozens of women, she had also examined just about every sexual aid on the market. Companies had happily sent her samples of their products, and if Chief Santori thought he’d seen the bulk of her collection, he had another think coming. She had loads more stored in her spare room in her Chicago apartment. That’s where that particular box should have remained. Either she or the doorman she’d paid to help her move must have grabbed it by mistake.

Still a little stunned about what had happened, she carried the now-repacked box to the closet and shoved it in the rear corner. She was determined to get it back to the mainland the very first chance she got, even if it meant going over on that stupid ferry again.

The only thing she’d salvaged from the box before she’d sealed it were a few textbooks and a small, pocket-size illustrated edition of the Kama Sutra. It had been a gift from Callie, who’d said when she’d given it to her that Lindsey needed to learn the concept of intimacy.

She’d been offended at the time. She’d been intimate with people—with men. But even though she’d told her friend she was being ridiculous, she recognized something in Callie’s words.

She had sex. She didn’t do intimacy. Intimacy—real intimacy—required trust, commitment and letting go. It meant opening yourself up and being vulnerable. It required you to be willing to be hurt by someone.

Those were the lessons she tried to teach her patients. But she hadn’t taught them to herself.

Because she’d had enough of being vulnerable in her life. She’d seen what it could lead to, had lived it and taken notes throughout her childhood with parents who put the funk in dysfunctional. They’d despised and derided each other when they were together, and then longed for each other when they were apart. Obsessive didn’t describe their psychologically abusive relationship, and Lindsey had been the innocent bystander who’d had to watch them live it.

No way was she going down that road as an adult. She’d rather be alone, completely alone, than to love/hate another person so much it drove her to madness.

Callie knew about Lindsey’s cautious approach to relationships and sex. Sure, Lindsey’d had sex, with several men. But none had ever made her want to try the Push-cart position, much less the Trapeze. Because that kind of sex required serious trust and intimacy. And that just wasn’t how Lindsey rolled.

Until Mike?

“Forget it,” she mumbled aloud, tempted to go back to the closet, tear the fresh tape off that box and stuff the pretty, colorful little book inside it. There was certainly no chance it would be put to use while she was living on Wild Boar Island...even if she could close her eyes and lose herself in the memory of Mike Santori’s kisses. One embrace had convinced her that the man knew how to drive a woman wild.

“No being wild,” she reminded herself. She simply couldn’t afford to be. She had to be quiet, and live a boring, spotless life, free from any hint of sexiness that might give her detractors more to laugh about, or meme her over. She wanted her job back, damn it, which meant keeping her nose clean so Big Brother Dr. Ross and his buddies had nothing to hold against her.

No wildness. No risk. No loss of control. And no possibility of opening herself up to hurt, she decided as she crawled into bed.

That didn’t, of course, stop her from having the kind of dreams that pushed her into an orgasm in her sleep that night.

She came so hard she was rocked into full wakefulness at dawn Sunday morning, even though she hadn’t slept well in the unfamiliar bed. And the rumbles and quakes roaring through her body, the sizzling heat, the heightened sensitivity of all her nerve endings, told her she hadn’t dreamed the climax, she’d actually had one.

It wasn’t the first time. The whole concept of climaxing in a dream—something that had been happening to her since her teen years—had been what had prompted her doctoral research. If the mind really was the pleasure center for a woman, so that merely dreaming could bring orgasm, why couldn’t women do it while awake?

Answer: they could. A little research had proved that, and a lot of research had gone on to explain why.

The part of herself that always needed to be in the driver’s seat, to have the advantage in any sexual relationship, had wanted to stand up and cheer at that thought. Because what could be more perfect for someone who avoided intimacy than the ability to just think her way into pleasure?

“Fat lot of good it did, though,” she reminded herself as she spent the morning arranging her things and settling in to the house. Because not only could she not “Thinkgasm” herself, her research had made her a laughingstock and a game-show question.

By midmorning, Lindsey realized she was starving. She’d long since exhausted her supply of cookies. They’d served as dinner last night, when she’d awakened from her long nap feeling a lot less seasick and a lot more hungry. Having no food in the house, and needing to find her way around the island before she reported to her new job in the morning, she left the cottage and headed into town.

Callie’s husband, Billy, had called this morning, saying he would be home this evening and offering to show her around. Since he sounded absolutely exhausted—he’d spent every nonworking minute at the hospital—she’d refused the offer, insisting she could make it on her own. After all, Wild Boar was a tiny island, how hard could it be to navigate?

As it turned out, impossible. Not because of the size of the island, but because of the crazy rules of the road. She’d found herself about to turn onto another one-way street, and then had to detour for a washed-out bridge. By the time she reached the outskirts of Wild Boar Township, with its one stoplight, she was cranky and starving.

And then things just got better. From behind her came a blurp. A recognizable blurp.

“No way,” she muttered as a flashing red-and-blue light appeared in her rearview mirror. It wasn’t his big SUV, but she definitely saw a Wild Boar Island Police Department logo on the door of the car. Was Mike Santori seriously going to pull her over twice in two days? What the hell had she done this time?

Part of her was indignant. Another part, she had to admit, more than a little excited.

Despite herself, she quivered in anticipation. Her heart thudded, her breath caught in her throat. Without even being aware she was going to do it, she checked her reflection, glad she’d taken a few minutes to put on some makeup and pull her hair into a loose but pretty bun, leaving a few long strands dangling over her shoulders.

Her lightweight sweater hugged her body, the scooped neck emphasizing the top curves of her breasts. She had not dressed to impress, she swore she hadn’t. But she had to admit, deep down, she’d wondered if she might run into the hunky police chief today.

She lowered her window as a tall, khaki-dressed form filled the view in her side mirror.

“This seems familiar,” she said, her tone light, maybe a little flirtatious.

“You get pulled over a lot, huh?”

Lindsey immediately jerked her head and peered out the window, staring up at the cop who did not sound like Mike Santori. Didn’t look like him. Wasn’t him.

“Oh, no,” she mumbled, seeing a young, burly guy with a bit of a paunch and carefully coiffed, slightly slick, brown hair.

“You’re the new teacher, aren’tcha?”

Was it really her fate to never be called by her name again? Was everyone around here just going to call her “the new teacher” from now on?

“Yes,” she said. “Is there some problem.”

“How about you get out of the car?”

Oh, damn, that sounded serious. She racked her brain, trying to think of what she might have done. She could see a directional sign from here and knew she wasn’t on a one-way street this time. She was pretty sure she’d used her turn signal at the last stop sign, and had definitely come to a complete stop. She certainly hadn’t been speeding, not nearly comfortable enough with these narrow, windy roads to even consider it. So why on earth had he pulled her over?

“Miss?”

She reached for the door handle and opened it, stepping out. The big cop gestured her forward, pushing the door shut behind her. He then stayed there, not moving out of her way or stepping aside. He was so close his big, booted feet were only a few inches from hers. It was definitely a personal space invasion.

Her warning bells went off, as they always did around big men who used their size as an intimidation tactic. It seemed crazy to be tensing up and worrying about being alone with a uniformed cop on a sunny Sunday morning, a mile from a busy downtown area. It was broad daylight, and she was in the nicest place on the planet, according to Callie. But the truth was, she was decidedly uncomfortable, not just with this man’s proximity, but with his long, assessing stare.

“What’s the problem?” she asked again, crossing her arms over her chest, to which he was paying too-close attention. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”

The guy pushed his hand into the waistband of his khaki pants and scratched his gut. “Nah.”

She tried to keep her annoyance in check. “Then what is it?”

“Just wanted to get a look-see.”

“A...what?”

“Heard you came over on the ferry in that bright yellow tree-hugger car. Figured I’d get an eyeful of ya.”

Wait. He’d pulled her over so he could see what she looked like? His expression—half interest, half cocky smirk—said he was entirely serious.

Annoyance segued to anger. “Are you telling me you pulled me over so you could check me out?”

“Yep.”

The situation had gone beyond unprofessional, verging on harassment. She understood they did things differently here, but this was still the United States, and no cop, anywhere, had the right to pull someone over merely to leer at them. Even Mike, as flirtatious as he’d been yesterday, had stopped her because she was going the wrong damn way.

But this guy? What a total creep.

He proved it with his next words. “You sure are a knockout. I like that red hair.”

“You had no right to pull me over.”

“Aww, don’t get hot under the collar. I was just being neighborly, wanted to welcome ya to Wild Boar.”

“Next time you decide to be neighborly, tip your hat when you pass me on the street,” she snapped, already turning to open her door. “And then keep on walking.”

He stepped between her and the car, blocking her exit. His eyes, set deep in his fleshy face, had narrowed. She didn’t imagine this bully-of-the-playground was used to anybody calling bullshit on his antics. But he quickly put that cocky smirk back on his face. “Well, cutie, there’s no call for that. You might be used to people being unfriendly-like where you come from, but this here’s a whole other world than what you’re used to.”

“No kidding. The world I come from would call this impropriety at the least, but more likely sexual harassment.”

This time not only did his smile fade and his eyes narrow, an angry flush crawled up his cheeks. “Now listen here...”

“What’s going on, Officer Dickinson?”

The barked question came from behind her, and Lindsey immediately swung around, relieved beyond measure to see the chief of police. Mike had pulled over across the street and approached, as quiet as a cat, his big body tense, his expression utterly serious. He cast a quick eye over her, gauging her mood, or making sure she was all right. Then he frowned at his officer. “Answer me.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Lindsey said, pushing her way past the big jerk who got turned on by red hair. “This officer pulled me over so he could ‘get an eyeful’ of me.”

Mike’s jaw tightened and his hands fisted. “Is that so?”

“Aww, calm down, no harm done. I was just saying hi.”

“Complete with flashing lights and siren,” she snapped.

Mike pointed an index finger at the taller man, who probably outweighed him by forty pounds. But the flab in Dickinson’s brain was matched by his body, whereas Mike was all hard, powerful muscle. She had no doubt who would win in a contest of sheer, brawny strength.

“Get in your car and drive to the station,” Mike said, chewing each word and then spitting it out. “I’ll meet you in my office in thirty minutes.”

“Oh, come on...”

“Go, Dickinson. Right now. I’m going to talk to Miss Smith and see if she wants to submit a formal complaint against you.”

The big lunkhead gaped, his jaw falling down so hard it practically bounced off his chest. He stared back and forth between her and Mike, as if trying to determine whether a mark on his record was a real possibility.

It was, of course. She could file a complaint, and she probably should. She hated to admit it, but he’d made her nervous. Not afraid, necessarily, but she didn’t like bullies and he’d tried to intimidate her from the minute she’d stepped out of the car. He’d covered his belligerence with small-town charm, but she’d seen right through it.

Unfortunately, getting into a fight with a local cop was not the way she wanted to start off her tenure here on the island. She didn’t want to make any more of this than it already was.

Nor, however, did she want to let him off the hook right away. “Goodbye, Officer Dickinson.”

The junior officer shot a fiery glare at his boss, then an equally fiery one at her, and marched, stiff-legged, to his squad car. Mike stepped closer to Lindsey, putting a hand in the small of her back, as if steadying her, and they both watched as the other vehicle tore away up the street.

“Are you all right?” Mike’s voice was low, concerned, the anger still dripping from him but now equally balanced with worry.

“I’m fine. But he’s an asshole.”

“No kidding.”

“I can’t stand men who throw their weight around.”

“He’s got a lot of it to throw.”

She grinned, as he’d probably intended her to. “Please tell me you inherited him and didn’t hire him after you started?”

“Definitely inherited,” Mike said. “And he’s caused me nothing but grief since my first day.”

“Can’t you get rid of him?”

“Not only is he from a family who’s lived here forever, but his uncle was the last chief. He’s the one who gave good old Ollie the job.”

She groaned, and not because the guy had such a stupid name. Poor Mike—talk about a rock and a hard place. It was bad enough in an office environment to have a problem employee you couldn’t trust but also couldn’t get rid of. As a cop, it had to be a hundred times worse. She doubted there was much violent crime here on Wild Boar, but anything could happen. Not being certain your coworkers had your back would make it much more stressful to walk into a dangerous situation.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry. This is entirely my fault—he’s my responsibility. I’ve been trying to work with him, get him to be at least somewhat competent. Obviously we have a lot more work to do.” He stared down the street in the direction the car had gone. “To be honest, he’s one reason I’d like to succeed in this job. I’m afraid if I left, he’d get it by default.”

“Poor Wild Boar Island.”

“Exactly.”

He thrust a hand through his hair, tousling the thick, brown locks. The sunlight caught glints of gold here and there in the strands and turned his dark brown eyes into something closer to amber. God, the man could be on magazine covers, yet instead here he was, standing on the side of the road, handling someone else’s screwup, taking the responsibility on his own broad shoulders.

One good thing—the situation with his officer had distracted him and he hadn’t mentioned what had happened yesterday at her place. She’d been half dreading running into him again, wondering how he’d behave and how she’d react. Considering all those carnal items he’d seen in her house and that kiss they’d shared, she’d feared he’d made some negative assumptions about her. Now, though, he didn’t appear at all judgmental, only worried and thoughtful.

“I’d better get back to the office. Again, I’m sorry, Lindsey. I’ll put the fear of God in him, but if he does anything at all, you let me know, okay?”

She nodded up at him and their stares met for a moment. He studied her face, his gaze lingering for a beat too long on her mouth. He swallowed, and she knew he’d finally allowed himself to remember yesterday.

That kiss. Oh, that kiss.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, his tone gruff, as if he were forcing himself to put up those barriers they’d both insisted they wanted.

“Sure.”

Getting in her car, she watched in the rearview mirror as he walked back to his SUV. She would never mistake it for Dickinson’s patrol car again, that was certain.

She only hoped that bastard got the message and left her alone. Though she had no doubt that if she had any problems with the other cop, Mike would take care of it. He was the caretaker type, a funny, smart, protective man wrapped up in a to-die-for sexy package.

“And you are going to stay away from him,” she reminded herself.

But somehow, she didn’t sound terribly convincing, not even to herself.

* * *

AFTER MIKE HAD his blowout with Ollie Dickinson, which ended, as usual, with the other man threatening to “tattle” to his uncle—as if the former chief would come spank Mike and make him play nice—he went home to cool off.

It took a while to get over his anger at what had happened. Lindsey was a strong woman—he knew that. Still, she shouldn’t have to deal with being sexually harassed on the streets of Wild Boar. That such harassment had occurred on Mike’s watch was something he would not get over anytime soon.

Although it was technically his day off, he made a point of stopping by the station house every day, just to keep things running smoothly. He should head there now, not having anything else to do. It was one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. The church crowd would be filling the downtown eating establishments for their Sunday brunches. A whole townful of people would probably welcome him to join them at their tables, or in their homes, or at the station, or the shops.

But none of those options appealed. The only place that really appealed to him right now was a small cottage on the southern tip of the island. In that cottage lived the only other person who probably understood how he felt—like a fish out of water. He’d bet she was also spending a quiet Sunday alone, maybe reading a book.

Yeah, but what kind of book?

He pushed that thought away, not allowing himself to remember those wild moments he and Lindsey had shared yesterday. He’d spent enough time dreaming about them last night.

But maybe he should stop by and make sure she’d gotten something to eat. Plus, he was worried about the heat in the old place. And he also wanted to ensure she had a working phone, since she was so far from any neighbors and cell service on the island was notoriously spotty.

Hell, he wanted to take care of her. That probably wouldn’t surprise anybody who knew him well—Mike had always been the overprotective one in his family. Lindsey wouldn’t appreciate it, though. He’d already figured out she liked her independence, liked being in control at all times.

Interesting then, that she’d chosen teaching as a profession. He’d always associated teachers with traits such as being nurturing, patient and generous. Lindsey certainly had those qualities, but they were definitely outweighed by her determination, frankness, wit and sex appeal. It was an interesting combination.

Interesting? Hell. Try fascinating.

He’d begun to wonder if she might be exactly the type of woman he’d been looking for. Smart enough to keep up with him, but with a nice, normal job, not one that made her so ruthlessly ambitious she’d dump a guy still recovering from a slit throat.

Even putting Lindsey in the same thought as his ex seemed wrong, and he quickly shoved the whole subject out of his mind. He wasn’t going to see her without a good reason or an invitation. Period.

Instead, to cut through the silence, he got online and pulled up Skype. His parents had gotten their first computer recently and had become addicted to video chatting. Waiting for the connection, he forced a smile onto his face, knowing his intuitive mother would see something was wrong even with the expression.

“Little brother!”

It wasn’t his mother. Leo had responded, apparently at the folks’ house for a typical Sunday get-together. Since Leo and Madison had gotten married a few weeks ago, the two of them were really settling into the whole family routine. That was probably in preparation for the birth of their own little girl, due in three months.

His brother was going to be a father. It was hard to believe. Leo, a firefighter, had had a near miss with a real piranha of a woman that he’d been engaged to a while back. At first, Mike and their oldest brother, Rafe, had been worried Leo’s thing with Madison Reid might have been a rebound romance. They had met, after all, when Leo had gone for his prepaid honeymoon to Costa Rica. Alone.

The fact that Madison was the former fiancée of a Hollywood superstar had made them that much more nervous. At least until they’d met her. Seeing the love between the two had set everyone’s mind at ease.

Then, of course, Rafe had come home for Christmas with a woman they all remembered he’d dated years ago, but had believed was out of his life for good. Uh-uh. Rafe and Ellie were engaged, planning to wed when Rafe rotated stateside later this year.

His brothers were settling down as rapidly as his cousins had a few years ago, tipping over, one after another, like pins in a bowling alley.

“How’s it goin’?” he asked Leo through the screen, already knowing the answer to that question.

“Fantastic. Wanna see a picture of the baby?”

“Isn’t she still cooking?”

“Yeah, but these sonograms, you just can’t believe the detail!”

Mike’s instant message notifier dinged. He clicked over and opened the fuzzy image his brother had just sent him, with the vague shape of a kidney bean in the middle. Leaning closer, he was able to distinguish head from feet, but not much more than that.

“Nice,” he murmured, looking into the camera again.

“I know, right? So how’s life treating you?”

He shrugged. “Same.”

“Ready to bail and come home yet?”

“I’m not a quitter.”

“Never believed you were. I meant, have you booked your trip home the day after your six months are up?”

Laughing, Mike shook his head. “Don’t think so. I intend to make this work. Chicago P.D.’s not an option anymore.”