by Chloe Cole
Her heart pounded as she followed him down the corridor. He motioned for her to close the door behind her and sit.
“Mickey, I guess you know why you’re here,” he began.
She swallowed hard, and wondered if her gulp had sounded as loud to him as it had in her head. “No, sir. Actually, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Well, it seems as if your little makeover is causing quite a stir on C-block,” he responded sternly. “I’m happy for you that you’ve decided to…embrace your femininity. But I’m going to have to ask you to tone it down a bit, or face disciplinary action.”
“Tone it down?” she repeated carefully.
“Yes. I think you know what I mean.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted from her face to her breasts and back up again.
Any fear, any doubt about what course of action to take evaporated in the wake of her anger. “Yes, my shirt fits now and my pants aren’t two sizes too big. I fail to see how that is over the top, sir.”
“Be that as it may, we can’t have those types of distractions in this environment.”
Mickey leaned forward and put her hands on the desk. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I am going to turn around and walk out of this office and never come back. I’m not quitting because you’re right. I’m quitting because you, sir, are an asshole. And I’m not going to spend my time working for an asshole. If you don’t want to get slapped with a discrimination lawsuit, then I’ll expect to receive a month’s severance and a glowing recommendation so I can at least find another job. It’s that or I fight you every step of the way, while you spend the next couple of months trying to build some trumped-up case to fire me. You decide.”
He stood and nodded once. “Fine. Leave your badge and your gear. You can drop your spare set off tomorrow sometime. The official story will be that you left for personal reasons. Good day, Ms. Grace,” he said, his expression unyielding as he ushered her from his office.
As Mickey walked out of the prison, her ire slowly dissipated. She stopped and turned her face toward the sun and let its warmth soothe her. A tingle started in her belly and spread through her body. She felt…hopeful.
The job had been a means to an end, and she wasn’t sad to be done with it. She was going to be a homicide detective, just maybe not in this podunk town, and that was okay too. If she budgeted carefully she could manage for the next six months on her savings, allowing her to focus 100 percent on school.
Regardless of what happened next, Mickey felt free, and the future seemed bright with possibility. Even when faced with pressure, she had stood strong and hadn’t allowed that bastard Eller to sway her. He was wrong, and so was her mother. She was just fine the way she was, and she was never going to change for anyone else again.
She got into her car and spared one last look at the prison. What would Jake think when he found out she had left?
She tamped down the feeling of disappointment and tried not to dwell on the fact that if they had met somewhere else, somewhere on equal footing, that just maybe…
Chapter Seven
Six months later
Mickey’s head pounded. The music from the band was thumping and she could barely hear herself think. A few people from her criminology class had convinced her to go out for appetizers and drinks with them after a particularly grueling midterm exam. They had arrived at the Thirsty Camel Saloon three hours ago, and it seemed as if they were staying for the night.
She looked over at one of the girls she’d come with and chuckled despite her headache. Emily was dancing on the bar to a Carrie Underwood song about smashing her cheating boyfriend’s car to bits. Clearly, she could relate to Ms. Underwood’s woes because she was singing her little heart out into someone’s empty beer bottle. Her other two classmates were on the dance floor, and whether they had been a couple all along or they just decided to be a couple for the night, things were looking pretty heated out there.
Mickey took a sip of her tepid beer and sighed. She was too old for this. And what the hell was she doing drinking cheap warm beer from a communal pitcher? She was a grown woman.
The bartender walked by and Mickey pushed the beer away and ordered an ice-cold Cosmopolitan with lime. When the bartender handed her the drink, she took a sip. That hit the spot. Cold and tart and fantastic. Now if she could just get some distance between herself and the too-loud band, life would be good.
She tapped Emily on the foot and gestured to the pool tables across the room to let Emily know where she would be. It took some maneuvering, but she made it, noting with relief that it was much quieter away from the blaring speakers.
She’d grown up playing pool with her father in their basement but had lacked the confidence to play out in public very often. Reminding herself that she was a brand-spanking-new Mickey, she walked over and slapped her quarters on the edge of the table to let the guys playing know she was up next. She could feel the men stare as she went to sit and wait her turn.
She watched the game and sipped her drink, noting that, of the men playing, the lighter haired of the two was actually pretty decent. While he didn’t have good control of the cue ball, he was a good shot maker. The other guy was sloppy, and had no finesse. He seemed to think that the harder you hit the balls the more likely they would end up in the pockets. She hoped the blond guy won so at least she would have somewhat of a challenge. A moment later she was disappointed as he scratched on the eight ball, losing the game.
As Mickey set her drink down and walked over to deposit her quarters into the slot, she could hear the men murmuring. She began to rack as the dark-haired one approached her.
“Well, hello there. My name is Chase. My friend Wade and I were only playing singles till our buddies got back with drinks. So, we’re playing partners now. Do you have a partner?”
It was fairly obvious she didn’t, but she responded politely. “I’m Mickey. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to play singles. I’m only playing one game and then you can have the table back.”
“Well, it’s our table till someone wins it from us, so our rules. And we’re playing doubles. But, seeing that you’re all alone, I can be your partner. What do you say, gorgeous?” he asked, sidling close to her and laying a hand on her shoulder.
Mickey backed up a few steps, but he moved forward, crowding her against a corner table.
“Back up, asshole,” she said firmly, reminding herself that she didn’t need to be afraid. They were in a public place and he was probably just some lowlife whose mommy hadn’t loved him enough or something.
“Aw, now that’s not nice, is it, darlin’? I was being nice to you, offering to be your partner. I could show you how to hold the stick,” he said with a leer. “Or maybe you don’t like people being nice? Is that it? Hey, I’ll be your partner here for a game and then we can go back to my place and you can tell me just how you like it. Nice and sweet or mean and dirty.”
Just as she was about to pull back and knee him in the balls with all her might, another man spoke.
“I’m the lady’s partner.”
She stood stock-still as the voice she’d heard a hundred times in her dreams over the past few months washed over her. Jake Thompson.
It took every ounce of self-control Jake had not to clip this guy in the jaw and drag Mickey out of there. He had clearly been all up in Mickey’s personal space and she was not receptive to his advances. Jake tried to explain away his fury with the fact that he truly did think guys who used their superior physical strength to intimidate a woman were the lowest form of scum. But that didn’t explain the intense surge of jealousy, of possessiveness that flashed through him.
When he’d first seen her from across the room, he thought maybe the guy was her boyfriend, but he realized quickly that wasn’t the case.
Lucky for him, Mr. Amorous took a look at Jake and decided to back up.
“Hey man, she said she wanted to play singles, but we’re playin’ doubles. I was just trying to help her out.”
�
��Well, I’m here now so we can play doubles if she wants to. Or we can go…?” He looked at Mickey questioningly. If she wanted to play and prove a point to this jackass, then he was in. But if she was stressed out by his nasty behavior and wanted to leave, Jake was more than willing to drive her home.
“Let’s play.”
Jake tried not to drool as she walked toward him, arms open. She wore a white tank top and a denim skirt that came down to just above her knees. Despite the relatively modest length, in her case it still left a mile of tan leg bare to his gaze. Her graceful feet with sexy red toenails were encased in brown sandals. She took his breath away.
“How was work today, dear?” she asked, a smile in her voice as she pulled him close for a light hug.
“Just fine, just fine.” She felt so good in his arms, it was difficult to let go when she began to pull back.
“What, no kiss for your honey?” he asked, affecting a wounded tone.
She shot him a mischievous smile and raised one eyebrow. Placing both hands on his shoulders, she stretched up onto her tiptoes and pulled him down to meet her mouth. Her lips were full and warm and soft and erotic as hell. Her tongue darted lightly against his mouth and he parted his lips and deepened the kiss. And as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
He held her close for a moment, trying to gain control of both his breathing and his cock as she whispered in his ear, “Let’s crush this son of a bitch, okay, Jake?”
Yup. They’d crush him.
And then Jake would find out where the hell she went to and where the hell she’d been for the past six months. Because the way he figured it, they had some unfinished business.
Chapter Eight
Mickey backed away to finish racking the balls, cursing her shaky hands.
Jake.
How often had she thought of him in the past few months? How many times did she pick up the phone, thinking to call 411 and dial every J. or Jake Thompson in West Chester until she found him? How many times had she imagined running into him somewhere? Maybe the grocery store and their eyes would meet over a bin of cabbages. Or maybe at the post office and her head would be down while she rifled through her mail and they would bump right into each other, mail flying everywhere.
Ugh, what a sap. This wasn’t Hollywood. Who even went to the post office anymore? She had realized pretty quickly that, even though they lived in the same town, the odds that their paths would cross anytime soon were pretty slim.
Yet here he was.
So now what? Clearly, their chemistry hadn’t been just a fluke, because they still had it in spades. The question was, what were they going to do about it?
Mickey pulled the triangle tight, making sure all the balls were flush, then lifted it away, flipping it with a flourish and sliding it back into its space beneath the table.
“Break,” she said to Chase, who was blissfully ignorant of how close he’d come to singing soprano only a few minutes earlier. Wade had come back from the bar and was waiting, cue in hand.
Chase broke but sunk nothing, leaving a wide-open table. Jake waved Mickey forward in a sweeping gesture and she gave him a smile.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, rubbing the blue chalk back and forth over the tip of her cue.
She walked once around the table, eyeballing various paths and shots.
“Why don’t you shoot the one ball, sweetheart,” Wade asked with a patronizing smile. “It’s hanging right on the pocket, right and tight. Just hit it softlike.”
“Thanks, Wade,” she murmured, not even sparing him a glance.
Mickey bent low, lining up a long shot for the seven ball up the rail, taking two measured practice strokes before hitting the ball cleanly into the pocket with a snap.
Jake watched, enthralled, as Mickey prowled the perimeter of the table, knocking balls into their pockets in quick succession. Her gaze was so intent that she didn’t even realize a small crowd had gathered. It wasn’t often that a gorgeous woman walked up and just owned the table that way. When she bent over, her sun-kissed cleavage called to him like a siren. In combination with those legs, the single-minded concentration of a natural competitor, and the confidence she radiated, she was about the sexiest thing he had ever seen.
“Four ball, corner pocket,” she called.
He stared as she again bent low, her brow furrowed in intense concentration, her eyes gleaming with intelligence as she worked out the geometry of the shot. Snap.
“Two ball in the side.” Snap.
“Eight ball. I’m going to bank it in that corner,” she announced, motioning with her cue. She hunkered down and took a deep breath while Jake held his. He hadn’t even touched a cue. In fact, none of the men had taken a shot except for Chase when he broke. Mickey was one ball away from running the whole rack on them.
Snap.
She did it. She won the whole fucking thing.
The dozen–mostly male–spectators broke out into whoops and applause as Mickey looked up. She smiled and nodded her thanks. Then she turned to face her opponents and said coolly, “Good game, fellas,” as she slid the cue back into the wall stand and plucked her drink off the table. It took all Jake had not to burst out laughing at their slack-jawed faces.
She took a long sip and glanced his way.
“Nice shooting, Gracie,” he drawled.
“Thanks, Thompson. You should see me with a gun,” she replied with a grin.
“I think I’ll pass. Come on, let’s go get you another drink. I’d really like to find a quiet corner so we can talk. I have to say, I was surprised when you didn’t come back to work,” he said. The unspoken question hung in the air between them.
“I don’t want to talk about it. And as far as hanging out with you here, I don’t think so.”
Jake tried to ignore the disappointment he felt at her response. She’d just had a trying experience and probably just wanted to go home. And anyway, why would she want to spend her time with some ex-con she hardly knew?
But he wasn’t ready to let her go. He had tried to forget her after she’d left the prison, had tried to go back to being the old Jake, fucking his way through West Chester. But every woman he slept with had been a disappointment. Now that Mickey stood in front of him, he knew why. He was obsessed. He had to try to get her out of his system.
Still, he said the right, honorable thing, clasping her hand lightly in his. “I understand. Listen, if you need a ride home, I can take you. If not, that’s cool too. It was really nice seeing you.”
“Jake, I–”
“No problem, I get it.”
“I don’t think you do,” she said, voice firm as she stepped in to press close to him.
He swallowed hard, trying not to groan as her soft breasts rubbed against his chest and her thighs met his.
“I don’t want to stay here for another drink. I want to go home with you. I just need to see if it’s as good as I’ve dreamed it would be. I don’t want anything from you, no strings, just one night. You don’t even have to make me breakfast. I’ll be gone by six a.m. What do you say?”
Feigning a bravado she didn’t feel, Mickey waited, her entire world hanging on his answer. She was laying it out for him, being herself, as open as she could be. She didn’t think she could ever bring herself to do it again if he rejected her.
Jake met her gaze in the dim light and said in a dangerously soft voice, “Gracie, what you’re doing here with all this chatter is cutting into my time. I now have–” he glanced at his watch “–five hours and twenty-three minutes. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Mickey almost sobbed with relief. At the same time, a power like she had never known soared through her veins. She smiled at him and turned, adding a little extra roll to her hips as she led him to the door.
Chapter Nine
Jake’s house was about fifteen minutes away. Mickey had followed him so she would have her car in the morning. She sat in his driveway for a minute as he pulled into the garage, using the time
to shove a couple of things into her large purse and the back pocket of her skirt, and to text Emily to let her know she had left.
As she waited for Jake to close the garage, nerves assailed her. What if he was disappointed in her? What if they were awful together? What had she been thinking?
Jake had gotten out and was walking over to open her door. Last chance to back out. As he drew her from the car, he pulled her into his arms and laid a searing kiss on her mouth. By the time he let her go, she was dizzy and all thoughts of escape had fled.
This was so going to happen.
They made their way through the large house to Jake’s bedroom, and stood facing one another like two cowboys about to shoot it out at the O.K. Corral.
Mickey closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath for courage. If she was going to do this, she was going to make it count.
She walked forward until she stood before Jake. He was standing in front of a large chair and she reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, pressing him back until he sat.
“You like to give shows, Jake. Do you like to watch them too?”
Jake’s throat worked as he swallowed hard and nodded. “Hell yes,” he ground out.
Mickey reached into her back pocket, pulled out the cuffs, and clicked them over his wrists in a swift motion. He met her eyes with a surprised expression that quickly gave way to a lazy grin.
“Well, well, Gracie. Am I your prisoner again?” he asked in a low voice that made her shiver.
“Looks like it, Thompson.”
The day after Mickey quit the prison she returned to drop off her spare gear. She’d sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, filled with dread at the thought of walking into the building again. So, in a final act of defiance, she decided not to, and just kept her baton and cuffs. They had still been in the glove box up until a few minutes ago, and some naughty urge had compelled her to take them into Jake’s with her.