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

Meat loaf’s good. I like meat loaf.

“Well, there’s also the fact that...”

“Yes?”

“You’re going the wrong direction down a one-way street.”

3

“SHUT UP!”

Mike wasn’t sure what Lindsey had expected him to say—that she’d grabbed his interest along with his gloves? That he’d wanted to see her again? That he’d be happy to show her around?

All that was true. But, remembering their conversation on the trip over, he knew better than to say it. Neither of them was in the market. She was a schoolteacher, for heaven’s sake, and he was the chief of police. They couldn’t afford the kind of gossip that would arise if the two newcomers, both in respectable positions, hooked up.

That was especially true for him, considering his very job might be on the line. If the town council decided he was spending too much time romancing a woman when he should be focused on his probationary period, he might not have a job to stick with. He needed to keep reminding himself of that, no matter how much he found himself thinking about those sparkling green eyes or that stunning red hair.

Her goggle-eyed expression and gut response almost made him laugh, but he clarified, “Uh, me shutting up won’t change the fact that you’re going the wrong way.”

“You’re serious?”

“Serious as an IRS audit.” He jerked a thumb toward the fork in the road, at which she’d taken a decidedly wrong turn. “The road switches from two to one-way at the split. It single-lanes in a long loop around the base of the island.”

She continued to gape and sputter. “Is there a sign?”

“Yup.”

“I can’t believe I missed it.” She shifted in her seat, peering out through the misty morning air, looking for the road sign, then let out an audible sigh when she spotted it. “I’m very sorry—I’m usually a good driver. I was trying to read my own lousy handwriting for the directions and wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

She showed him a sheet of paper on which was scrawled something that might have been English, but also might have been a secret code used by the Allies in World War II.

“Wow. You write more like a doctor than a schoolteacher.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“I thought all teachers had good penmanship.”

“I’m not exactly a typical teacher.”

That was an understatement. If any of his science teachers had been as sexy as her, he may have ended up a Nobel Prize–winning biochemist. “You’re sure not like any of the ones I had.”

“To be fair, you’re not exactly how I’d pictured the chief of police of a remote island to look.”

“What would you expect?”

“Umm... A sixty-five-year-old with gray hair and a fishing pole?”

“You just described the guy I replaced,” he admitted. “But I don’t have the patience for fishing. I’m more of a pickup-basketball fan myself.”

“So, Kobe, is there a lot of call for police chiefing here on the island?”

“We have our fair share of crime, you know.”

“Hotbed of criminal activity, is it?”

“Some gang stuff going on.” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Chuckling, he added, “A gang of nine-year-olds went into the general store and swiped candy bars on a dare.”

“I take it they weren’t armed?”

“Only with loud whines and lots of crocodile tears when they got caught.”

“Did you arrest them?”

“Nah, I let them off with a warning. Their parents were so mad, I have no doubt those kids won’t do it again.”

“What about me? Are you going to let me off with a warning, or are you going to give me a ticket?”

“Trying to decide. Should I cite you for going the wrong way, stealing my gloves or telling an officer of the law to shut up?”

She must have recognized the teasing note in his voice, because a soft laugh gurgled from her mouth. “Sorry about that.”

“S’okay. You might have been trying to decipher your messy writing, but the truth is, the sign’s also a bit hidden by some overgrown bushes.” She glanced back again, and he did, too, barely making out the sign. He hadn’t been exaggerating. “I’ll get somebody from the town maintenance crew to come out and trim the bushes. I guess the crew’s not prepared for newcomers who don’t know their way around so early in the spring.”

“Thanks, though I should have seen it, even if the underbrush is a bit overgrown.”

“Let me hit the lights and siren and turn you around so you don’t get beaned by a truck while you get to the correct side of the loop. Then I’ll lead you to your new home.”

He wondered if she would argue, but she must have still been light-headed from her water voyage since she didn’t. That was good. Not only because the roads were twisty and, in some cases, made no sense, but also because of the possible condition of her cottage. He didn’t know Lindsey well, but he sure didn’t want to think about her walking in the door and getting a faceful of spiderweb or a lungful of dusty air.

Jogging back to his SUV, he switched on the siren and light again then swung around, watching as she did the same. He led her the short distance to the fork, turned down the correct side and easily found his way to her new place. He had only lived on Wild Boar for a few months, but he was already familiar with just about every inch of it. There weren’t very many inches, after all.

Pulling up in front of the old Wymer place, which was now empty since the elderly owner had moved in with her equally elderly, also-widowed sister in town, he drove around to the small cottage in the back of the property. The sisters clearly hadn’t given much thought to the condition of the place. Weeds choked the front garden, and the small fence lining the cobbled walkway sagged, as if on the verge of collapse. Paint was peeling off the cottage’s siding, and the front door was pitted and sorely in need of a coat of wood stain.

Lindsey pulled up next to him and got out of her car, her shoulders slumping as she eyed what would be her home for the next couple of months. “Well, it’s not exactly as I pictured it.”

“Couldn’t you stay at your friend’s house while she’s gone? Isn’t she staying somewhere near the hospital on the mainland close to her baby?”

“Yes, but her husband works here, and he’ll be at home most work nights. I barely know him. It would be really awkward.”

That did pose a problem.

“Maybe it’s not so bad inside,” she said.

He heard a note of optimism in her voice and didn’t have the heart to disagree. Hoping she was right, he pushed open the creaky gate and walked up onto the porch, the boards of which sank beneath his feet with every step. “Dry rot,” he said. “Be careful coming in and out of this place.”

She nodded. “Mrs. Wymer said the key is under the mat.”

“Let’s hope that part of the porch hasn’t collapsed and the mat’s not covering a giant hole,” he said, bending to check. Fortunately, the flooring was still intact and the key was in place. Retrieving it, he rose and unlocked the door. “Why don’t you let me go in first? I can’t say for sure there are wild animals in there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a raccoon or some squirrels had made a home out of your cottage.”

“Oh, God, when does that ferry leave again?” she mumbled.

Considering that by the end of their journey, she’d appeared ready to drop to her knees and kiss dry land, she, too, must be very concerned about what they would find behind the locked door.

Fortunately, though, they were both wrong. Because, while Mrs. Wymer might not have been able to do anything about the outside, as soon as he pushed open the cottage door, he realized the inside had been cleaned and freshened. The air smelled of pine and the wood floors gleamed. The cushions on an old-fashioned sofa had been plumped, and fresh flowers sat on a coffee table in front of it.

“Thank heaven,” Lindsey said as she walked in, a smile breaking over her face as she looked around her new home.

There wasn’t much to see, and he could glimpse almost all of it from right where he stood. The front door opened into a decent-size living room. To the left was a small kitchen, and through a door to the right he spied a bedroom with, he had to note, a nice-size bed.

Don’t think about her bed. Mentally going down that road with this sexy woman would lead only to frustration and a need to get reacquainted with his hand.

“You really had me scared for a minute,” said Lindsey.

“I was scared myself. She must have hired somebody to come out and get things ready for you.”

Lindsey was crossing to the kitchen table, where a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies sat, decorated with a bow and a card. She opened it. “Yes, this says that’s exactly what she did.”

“Excellent.”

“Oh, I needed this so much I think I’ll offer her a kidney if she ever wants one. She says she left coffee, sugar and creamer, too!” She immediately turned toward the pantry, opening it and cooing when she spied a can of dark grounds.

Without waiting for an invitation, he went over to the coffeemaker and began to fill the pot with water from the tap. The two of them worked together, falling into a routine that was as normal as it was unexpected. They just...synced.

After the coffee was brewed, she poured him a cup without even asking if he wanted one. He took it, added some milk then joined her at the small kitchen table. She sipped at her mug, closing her eyes and sighing with pleasure.

Man, he liked how she looked when she was enjoying herself. Of course, he’d also liked how she looked on that boat, when she had not been enjoying herself.

“Want a cookie?” she asked.

Mrs. Wymer hadn’t been among those who’d offered him baked goodies, but he wasn’t about to refuse a homemade chocolate chip. He helped himself. Lindsey did not take one, still a bit green around the gills and content with her coffee.

“I should probably warn you,” he said, “this part of the island is really deserted this time of year. You won’t be having any neighbors stop by to borrow a cup of sugar.”

“I noticed.” A tiny frown line appeared between her eyes. “I never had neighbors borrowing sugar before, but this quiet will still really take some getting used to.”

“No doubt about it. I live right downtown and I still haven’t gotten used to how sleepy it is, even there. It’s just a different lifestyle compared to anywhere on the mainland.”

“What about the rest of the lifestyle? Have you gotten used to that?”

He wished he could reassure her, but he really couldn’t. “I think if you weren’t born here, it’s very hard not to feel like an outsider.”

“Cliquishness?”

“Not really,” he said, remembering all the offers he’d gotten from his new neighbors and colleagues. “The people are friendly...it’s just there’s a lack of common ground. Islanders have different outlooks, backgrounds, experiences.”

“Sounds a little lonely.”

He sipped his coffee, considering her observation, and then nodded. “I guess it is, but maybe that’s my own fault. I’m just out of step with the locals.”

“I feel a little out of step with people no matter where I am,” she admitted, gazing at the dark, steaming liquid in her cup.

She sounded as though she was speaking more to herself than to him. Interesting that a woman this attractive didn’t feel like she fit in anywhere.

“You’d think with all this loneliness, you’d at least get some privacy here,” he said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “But you can kiss that goodbye. You might not have people peeking into your windows, but they’ll be commenting on your every move once you get a mile from home.”

“Oh, joy. You make this sound so appealing, I can’t imagine why it took me almost thirty years to move here.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive for two months.”

She stared at him directly. “Will you survive forever?”

Mike rubbed his jaw, not answering immediately. He thought about what had driven him here; he couldn’t go back to that way of life. Finally he said, “I don’t know about forever, but I’m hoping for a few years, anyway.”

“Well, then I hope it works out for you.”

Mike lingered to talk for a while longer. He gave her directions to town, told her where the school was, and about the difficult parking situation there. He also warned her which specials to avoid at the most popular diner in town, and enjoyed how her soft laughter rolled over him.

After he’d finished, he stood up, taking the cup to the sink and rinsing it out. “Guess I should leave you to it.”

Rising as well, she said, “Thank you so much for helping me get here. I appreciate you not giving me a ticket.”

Lindsey led him toward the door, pushing a slight smile to her lips, but he noticed the slump of her shoulders and knew she wasn’t totally ready to be alone. He understood what she was feeling. Coming here, so far away from everything that was familiar, had been tough for him, too. But Lindsey was not only in a new home, in a new job, she was also extremely worried about her friend—every word she’d said about Callie Parker and her infant son revealed that.

He should go. He’d left the island a little after dawn, hadn’t even been in to the office yet. For all he knew, there’d been an armed robbery of the Main Street Bank, or worse. Maybe one of his officers—like Ollie Dickinson, who resembled Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, and shared his temperament and brain power—had taken over his office. Ollie had been on the force for a couple of years and had fully expected to get the job Mike had “stolen.” The man hadn’t exactly been friendly to Mike.

But Mike wasn’t ready to leave Lindsey, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she suddenly looked a little like a sad, lonely waif. For a few minutes there, when they’d sat at the table, sharing coffee and conversation, she’d perked up, brightened, even laughed. Now...well, he hated to see her seem so weary. Part of him wanted to pull her in his arms and hug her, convince her it would be all right, that she hadn’t moved to the ass end of nowhere.

Well, she had moved to the ass end of nowhere, but honestly, it wasn’t that bad.

Barring a hug, though—and he was barring that—spending more time with her proved irresistible. What harm was there in lending a little moral support to a newcomer who was just as much a fish out of water as he’d been when he’d moved here? Hell, he still was that way.

Whatever Ollie had done to his office, even if he had to undo legal damage...it was worth it to be with her a little longer.

“Did you bring all your stuff in your car?” he asked.

“Yes. Since the place was described as furnished, I only packed clothes, my laptop and some personal things. Oh, and books. If I’m going to be teaching science, I’ll need to brush up.”

“Why don’t I help you bring it in? From what I remember of science books, they weigh a ton.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

He waved off her objections, already turning to head out the front door. Reaching her car, he spied some boxes on the backseat, and bent to hoist one. Lindsey, sensibly—he liked that—didn’t argue further, instead just opening the trunk and grabbing things, too.

As she’d said, she hadn’t brought a lot with her. A couple of suitcases, a laptop and printer, some sheets and towels—he could understand wanting those around her to give her a sense of home.

Then there were the books.

“Damn, you said ‘books,’ you didn’t say ‘library,’” he said as he hefted a fourth heavy carton out of the trunk and carried it into the cottage. “You planning to teach the kindergartners about quantum physics?”

She shrugged, walking over to place her own box on the floor beside a table in the living room. The table was already covered with the first few they’d brought in. He had no idea where she intended to put all the books; the place certainly didn’t have an office. Or bookshelves. Or much more floor space.

“I want to do some work on my own project while I’m here.”

She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t question her. Instead, he went back outside to bring in the last container—a laundry basket containing detergents and cleaning supplies. When he returned, he said, “Were you a Girl Scout? You came prepared.”

“Definitely not a Scout,” she said with a twist of her mouth. “You had to pay money to join the Scouts, and no way would my parents have ever done that for me.”

He frowned, hearing a jaded sadness in her voice. Obviously she had some issues with her folks.

Having been raised by loving, generous parents, who had given him and his brothers as much as they could afford to give, he really couldn’t imagine growing up that way. But it wasn’t exactly a conversation for the first day they’d met.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to start using those cleaning products right away,” she said, pushing a few long strands of hair away from her face. She yawned broadly. “I could really use a nap.”

“It’s the seasickness. But you should probably have a decent meal before you lie down.”

She grimaced. “Even if I wanted to, that would be tough. I’ve got Mrs. Wymer’s cookies and, I think, some mints in my purse. That’s about it.”

“No Twinkies?” he asked with wag of his brows.

Remembering their earlier conversation, she smiled. “I’m afraid not.”

“There’s always a diner.”

“If the Saturday lunch special is meat loaf, I’d consider it,” she said with another yawn as she put one more box on top of the others on the table. “Otherwise, I’m taking a nap.”

“Understood.” He turned to leave, realizing there was no sense in delaying things further, especially since she obviously just wanted to sleep.

Right before he reached the door, he glanced back and saw the precarious pile of boxes had reached critical mass. It had been leaning before. Now, with the one she’d just placed there, the whole thing was teetering. Watching him, she hadn’t even noticed.

“Look out!”

He lunged toward her, noting her start of surprise, but ignoring it. Diving just beyond her, he stopped the entire stack from toppling down, though he was unable to prevent the very top box from sliding to its death. It hit the floor hard, the tape splitting and the flaps popping open. Books and other items spewed out, clattering onto the hardwood floor. The books stopped where they fell, but the other things spun around, one skittering all the way across the room.

“You almost got clobbered,” he said.

She did not reply; in fact, she didn’t even look at him. She was too busy staring at the items that had spilled out of the box. Lindsey stood as still as a statue, her already pale face losing its last little bit of color. “Oh, my God.”

He followed her stare, wondering what had her so frazzled. At first, he just saw random books and some hard-plastic-wrapped, oddly shaped packages that didn’t quite register. Then he stepped closer and bent down.

The title of one of the books flashed across his consciousness: Giving Yourself Ultimate Pleasure. On the cover was a woman, her head thrown back, mouth open on a sensual moan, one hand covering her bare breasts, the other between her legs.

Shocked, he froze in place. His heart leaped up into the vicinity of his throat. All the sexual energy and base attraction he’d felt for Lindsey since he’d spied her on that ferry gushed through him. And that was before he got a better look at some of those oddly shaped items and realized what they all had in common.

When it sank in what he was seeing, Mike grabbed for the back of the nearest chair. Trying to stay steady on suddenly wobbly legs, he exclaimed, “Wild Boar Island’s new schoolteacher is a sex addict.”

“I am not a sex addict,” Lindsey said, sounding torn between indignation and utter dismay.

“Sorry,” Mike said, acknowledging as soon as the words had left his mouth that they should have stayed in his head.

But, damn. The woman had packed like she meant business—sexy business for one—which was enough to make a man cry. Just from where he stood, he spied at least a dozen female-oriented sex toys, including a pink butterfly thing that the package claimed was to be “strapped on.” A small purple one, shaped like a tiny porpoise, appeared designed to clip onto a woman’s finger. There was a small, metal case for storing what might pass for marbles on a playground but were identified as Ben Wa balls instead.

But wait, there’s more.

He spied several slim vibrators in various colors and textures. And a black harness-looking thing that didn’t seem as if it was made for a single player, which just made his breath grow that much thicker in his lungs. He saw the box for another device called an “anal probe,” which to him sounded like an alien torture tool.

Then his wide-eyed stare fell on the thick, long, extremely graphic-looking device that wasn’t quite as big as what he had in his pants but was pretty damned generous nonetheless. It was not plastic-wrapped. Nor was the one beside it—little dong’s giant brother. The thing was big enough to hold a lamp shade.

Holy shit.

He couldn’t move. Literally, could not lift a hand, or take a step or do anything except stare. Most of the sex aids were still in their packaging, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if she’d ever opened, used and then repackaged any of them. Or if, God help him, she’d used the ones that weren’t still packaged, like the huge dildo.

He didn’t imagine any woman could take that massive conversation piece into herself...but the other one... Had she plunged it into her body? If he bent down and picked it up, would he be able to tell? Did it still hold a faint whiff of musky woman? And Christ, why did he so desperately want to do things to her with it?

Wild, erotic images flooded his brain, saturating his imagination. More than just fucking her with that long ridge of rubber, he could close his eyes and picture Lindsey giving herself pleasure, just like the woman on the book. It took no effort at all to imagine her clipping that tiny, purple device onto her finger and sliding it between her thighs, letting the vibrating tip brush against her clit until her hips thrust in sheer need. Her other hand would be on her breast, stroking, squeezing, gently plucking at a perfect nipple as the intensity increased. When she came, she’d be dying for something thick and hard to fill her, and no rubber toy could possibly give her the heat she craved.

But he could. Oh, hell, yes, he could.

In fact, he could practically do it right now. Those mental images were causing stabbing sensations in his groin, and he thought he might burst his zipper.

God help me.

He shook his head, chasing all those pictures out of his mind. He knew they would creep back in later, when he was alone in his small house. It had, after all, been a while since he’d had sex. The last time had been with his upward-climbing ex, before he’d moved here. But, blue balls or not, he sure didn’t want to come across as some horny asshole taking advantage of an admittedly unusual situation.

“Sorry, I seem to have dropped your lifetime supply of vibrators,” he finally said, wondering how on earth he could sound so calm when he was certain he hadn’t breathed for the past several seconds.

She groaned. “I can explain.”

“Not necessary. You obviously own stock in a sex toy company?”

She dropped her face into her hands, shaking her head. “Please be gone before I open my eyes again,” she said, sounding beyond embarrassed, verging on humiliated.

He cursed himself for being so flippant. She had to be mortified. He sure would have been if a stranger had gotten a look at his most intimate reading material and personal items. Not that he usually read what was between the pages of his subscription mags, the ones delivered in a discreet, brown wrapper. Plus, of course, he also didn’t subscribe to a pocket-pussy-of-the-month club, so there wouldn’t be anything equivalent to shock the average passerby

When he combined the book with the toys, it was obvious this woman took that whole giving-yourself-pleasure thing to heart. Which just made him wonder what it might be like to take that chore from her pretty, soft hands.

Swallowing hard, he said, “Look, don’t be embarrassed. It’s no big deal.” Trying to pretend he hadn’t been imagining her putting something thick and hard between her thighs, he scrambled for another explanation. “It’s, uh, not as if I believe you’re opening an X-rated shop on the island.” Frowning, he added, “You’re not, are you?”

“Of course not. I don’t imagine there would be much call for that around here.”

“You might be surprised,” he said, thinking of a few people who seriously needed to have something shoved up their ass. One of them was Ollie, his own officer, a subordinate who hadn’t yet learned the meaning of that word—subordinate. The guy was a buffoon, a good ole’ boy who never would have made it on the force in any mainland city. Apparently, he’d made it on this one only by virtue of being the former chief’s nephew.

“Besides,” she said with a definite eye roll, “that wasn’t what I imagined you were thinking.”

No. She probably imagined he was thinking about how she used all these wickedly sexual items on her own stunning, curvy body. Which, of course, he had been.

He met her stare, silently admitting it. She held that stare, from sheer bravado or because she, too, had suddenly started envisioning all-too-sexy ideas about the interesting things two people could get up to with all those appliances.

He’d had a few relationships and more than his share of brief flings. But he honestly couldn’t remember if he’d ever progressed to this level of intimacy before. Frankly, he’d never understood why any guy would want to when he had his own hands, mouth and cock to work with.

Just glancing at the colorful items strewn across the floor, however, and picturing running the tip of a slender vibrator over all the most sensitive parts of her body, was enough to open up his mind. He totally got off on oral sex—but how much better might it be if he filled her with a sexy, vibrating toy while he pleasured her with his tongue? Even that alien-probing toy suddenly sounded a little more interesting. He could see how a woman might be interested in double penetration without having to go to bed with two men.

Da-yum.

Forget it. Not double, not even single.

They weren’t just two people who could get up to sexy games; they were strangers. Two strangers who couldn’t get involved, no matter what.

Because if they so much as touched one of those kinky things at the same time, he feared the news would smash into the island’s grapevine so fast everybody would be drinking Merlot by nightfall.

“Then again, I do like wine,” he mumbled under his breath. Hell, Chianti might as well have been in his bottle as a baby, it was such a part of Santori tradition.

Her brow shot up. “What?”

“Talking to myself. I’m a little out of my element with this one.”

“That makes two of us.” She shook her head, nibbled her lip, then leaned down to begin picking up the strewn items.

Knowing better than to pick up any of the naughtier things for her, he went for the giving-yourself-pleasure book. Unable to resist, he turned it over and read the description on the back. It hinted that the pages contained all kinds of secrets and tips on how a woman could achieve ultimate satisfaction, sans man.

“You don’t really need this, do you?” he found himself asking, not sure where the question had come from, or why he’d voiced it. His common sense, and tact, seemed to have departed when it came to Lindsey Smith, some inner bad boy making him up the stakes, just a little.

She’d been grabbing sex toys and shoving them into the box, but stopped midway to stare at him before replying to his question. He tried not to look at the Jolly Green Giant–size dong she was holding and instead focused only on her face.

“What do you mean?”

He could blow it off, retreat to safe conversational territory—if there was such a thing, considering she was holding a two-foot-long cock and he a manual on masturbation. But something made him persist. “You’re beautiful. You’re sexy as hell. Why would you need to...”

“Have sex by myself?”

“Something along those lines.”

Her lashes fluttered; she glanced away, twisting the phallus in her hands as if she didn’t even realize she was holding it. He flinched, unable to help it, because, while the idea of having those slim fingers wrapped around his own dick was exciting as hell, he didn’t think he’d be up for that much hand-wringing. Mr. Big Dong didn’t seem to mind, though; those sex-toy makers obviously made their products very sturdy.

“Maybe I just don’t believe in having to rely on anyone else, sexually or otherwise. Some women like having all the control in their hands.”

Her hands? He managed not to smirk at that line, even though she’d practically begged for a smirk.

“I mean,” she said, apparently noticing his expression, “they might prefer to be in the driver’s seat.”

That one he couldn’t resist. “You’d have to be one hell of a driver to handle that stick.”

A tiny smile flitted across her mouth. “I guess. But the truth is...these things aren’t really mine.”

He grimaced. “They’re borrowed?”

“I meant, I didn’t buy them,” she said with an eye roll.

“Did you knock over that big-name sex shop, Bare Essentials, before you left Chicago?”

“Of course not. They’re samples. They were for research.”

“Are you preparing for your entry into the adult-film business?”

“Hardly.”

“That’s good, because I’m fairly sure the ‘hot for teacher’ story has already been done. About a million times.”

“How many versions have you seen?” she asked, her expression unchanged, though her voice held the tiniest bit of suggestion.

“Maybe a few.”