by T. R. Cupak
Leave? Relax? “Is this it? We don’t do anything else?” I was lost again. I’d been kidding myself that it wasn’t over yet. Now it was. This was final. Done. Finished. Through.
“For this store it is,” she responded, sadly glancing at me. “We had a good run, Sugar. It was fun working with you. Thank you for the work you put in. I’m going to miss seeing your face every day. You better come see me. I’ll take you to lunch. We’ll have ourselves a standing date.”
This was all so easy for her. Eleanor’s retirement was beginning. She was excited and my pouting wasn’t fair. I approached to hug her. “Go enjoy today. Do something fun, Sugar.”
I nodded without speaking. When the hug ended, she squeezed my hand and started to say more, but her phone started ringing. She answered with a smile before waving goodbye to me. Turning, I left her office and walked down the short hallway towards the front window, which was covered with a sheet of tan, oily-scented wood. This was sold. Another owner would glass the hole where the drunk driver had entered. That didn’t make me feel better, so I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. I took one glance back, then I left.
Maybe I should go visit my mom to get my mind off of this. She could make me pancakes and burn them. That idea was comforting.
After I stepped into the bright midday sun, my gaze swung across the parking lot towards my car and froze when I saw Ansel. For the briefest moment I felt a thrill, even though I’d sworn to forget him. Then I realized that he wasn’t alone or even looking my way. He wasn’t here to be sweet and make me go weak in the knees like he’d done before. A woman stood close to him. First I noticed her long dark hair, then I perused her tall lean figure, which her tight jeans and bright tank top almost covered. They were having a heated conversation. Ansel was wearing sunglasses. With his uniform it was sexy. I hated him for being sexy. Why did I have to become gooey when I saw a sexy guy? That’s so cliché of me.
Ansel threw up his hands and yelled something. She started crying and slammed against his chest. As she cried, Ansel’s arms enveloped her. At that moment, his head turned in my direction. With his sunglasses on, I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew he was looking right at me. Even so, he didn’t release her. Ansel stood there letting me take it all in. And I did just that.
After that, I walked to my car without looking back. That was all I needed to see. I could argue with myself and make excuses, like maybe that was his sister. Yet, there had been something about their body language that made it clear what they were doing went beyond sibling affection.
I drove home a little numb. The store was sold and my memory of Ansel was now permanently tarnished, stored and put away forever. In time, hopefully, I’d forget him. Tomorrow I would get in my car and drive to Tennessee, where I’d eat burned pancakes, listen to Elvis music, and let my mother ask me a million questions that I didn’t want to answer.
My phone dinged the moment I got home. Reluctantly I looked down at it, loathing the sound because it reminded me of the fleeting joy I’d experienced when Ansel had shown concern.
Where are you?
It was Ansel. I shouldn’t respond. I’d sworn that I wouldn’t. I had more pride than that. Sure, it had been almost three days and we’d just met, but it was rude of him not to text or at least respond to my last text. Surely he didn’t just see me and think, “Oh yeah, I forgot about her. I’ll text her and see where she is.”
I didn’t even know if he was single. What I’d seen made me question everything and also demonstrated how little I knew about the man. I touched the text and then for my own sanity I instantly deleted it. There was power in that, along with regret, though my feminine pride made me a good bit pissy that I was feeling the regret.
I decided to take a long bath. After removing my shoes, I went to the bathroom. There I would call my mother and give her the good news that I was coming for that visit she kept asking me about. I had nothing to do all day and I didn’t feel like reading. My phone dinged again. I tried hard to ignore it, but my curiosity got the best of me, even though I told myself that it could be Gemma or Mom and they may need me. I knew better. I was praying it was Ansel.
Are you at home?
It was Ansel. My stomach did a traitorous, excited flutter. Sure, I was home but he didn’t know where my home was. Not that it mattered. I ignored his texts since it was pointless to keep this up. On a day that I needed someone, he’d been there for me. Again, that made me vulnerable. It was my only excuse for having these kind of ridiculous emotions for him when I shouldn’t.
After turning off the volume, I put the phone down. I wouldn’t be tempted again if I couldn’t hear it ding. After two ignored texts, maybe he’d get the hint? Then, my doorbell rang.
I froze. My doorbell never rang unless I was expecting it to ring and that was hardly ever. My heart began beating faster and I turned to look back at the door. Why was my doorbell ringing? Who was it? I knew, even as I asked myself. He was a cop and could find my address. That seemed intrusive. I tried to be angry.
Can you ignore the law coming to your home? I wasn’t sure. After walking cautiously to the door, I studied it for a long minute before checking the peephole to make certain I was right. Ansel was there, frowning, tight-lipped, every square inch of his face masked in seriousness. Maybe he was here about something else and not to explain why he was ignoring me and hugging some woman in public? That was a long shot.
I took a deep breath and clutched the doorknob. My hand and arm seemed to work separately from me, as if they knew I should talk to him. His eyes met mine and, like the first time I’d ever looked into them, they slammed into me. God, that was unfair. Eyes like Ansel’s could be used as weapons. They were a kind of wonderful illness that I had no immunity against.
“Can I come in?” he asked, not waiting on me to say anything. He was still dressed in his uniform and that was distracting me. I stepped back and let him in.
He took in my apartment. A smile developed on his lips. He said, “Sugar, this fits you. It’s even decorated smart.”
I agreed. But I wasn’t going to chat with him. He’d run my name through their system. Found my address by accessing DMV records or something invasive like that. And now, here he was. I wanted an explanation, not a swift compliment on my apartment.
When he fixed me with his stare, I looked away. I didn’t want to get caught up in those eyes and crumble before him like a cookie.
“Did you ignore my texts or not get them?” His question was direct. It made me a little angry. So, I met his stare and replied, “Ansel, I failed to respond to a text you sent me thirty minutes ago. You didn’t answer me for days. When you didn’t respond, did I show up at your house? No, I did not.”
He smirked. This wasn’t funny, and I didn’t like him thinking that it was. He’d hurt my feelings.
“I’m sorry. Things got a little hectic. I had to deal with that before I could respond.”
He was amused, which made me feel as if he thought that I was being silly and petty. I didn’t appreciate that at all. I crossed my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture.
“Why are you here?” I blurted out. “This isn’t an interview!”
Chapter Ten
Ansel moved closer. I began to creep back when his arm shot out and hooked around me. He tugged me into him. “I was going to carefully explain this. I typed it out a dozen times and deleted it a dozen more. I tried to pretend that you didn’t make me feel something new and unique the other night. Not because I’m scared of the feelings . . . hell, I liked knowing they were there. Okay, I need to tell you something that you might not be okay with. I’ve rehearsed it again and again, trying to concoct a way to deliver what I have to say. It just has to be said.”
I waited silently. Dread, fear and excitement were all pumping through my veins. He needed to say it, whatever it was, and if he was married I would punch him in the nose. Not that I knew how to punch, not exactly, but I would jab my fist at him and manage to do some damage.
“The lady who ran through the shop’s window is my sister-in-law. Janis hasn’t been okay since my brother was killed in a car wreck during a high-speed chase while on duty. They lived in Denver, but after the funeral I moved her here so I could look after her. Janis relies on me. I’m all she has.”
“Eventually she found peace in a bottle, then it escalated to more serious addictions. You name it, the poor woman’s tried it in an attempt to numb the pain. She’s been in and out of rehab, but I’m failing because she’s not getting better. Telling you this hadn’t seemed important at the time, but then I felt guilty for what Janis had done. So, I gave you a break at my lake house and somehow, in a few hours you had me wanting things that I never expected. I’d been intrigued by you the night before, then spending actual time with you changed every damn thing. When you texted . . . well, I’d just gotten Janis released from jail and into yet another rehab, this time in California. Her travel had to be arranged. I called a friend to meet her at the airport and make sure she got settled. I can’t keep holding her hand. To heal or not is her choice. To find happiness again is her goal. I’ve had to deal with the anxiety of letting my brother down, and yes I know he’s gone, by sending Janis away. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing because I would always lose unless she wanted to remain sober and live another life, another life that wouldn’t destroy her.”
He paused. I was staring unblinkingly at him. Being angry with Janis wasn’t possible. I’d never been through what she’d experienced. I felt incredibly shallow and foolish for being upset with Ansel. He hadn’t known how insecure I was and, until the texting issue, I hadn’t realized that I was so needy. Guilt and shame spread over me.
“I’m a bitch,” I finally said, admitting it to myself while Ansel stood before me. He then began to laugh. I closed my eyes and continued. “I am. I acted like a crazy female.”
On he laughed. “No, you acted like a girl who’s as into me as I am into her. I mishandled everything. Did it all wrong without thinking it through.”
Opening my eyes I asked, already knowing the answer, “The girl in the parking lot?”
“Janis,” he replied.
“You’re not married?” I asked, before realizing it was stupid.
Ansel smiled and replied, “No, I’m definitely not married.” He then reached out and cupped my face in his hands. “The one thing that kept me focused through all of this was thinking about doing this again.” Humor fled from his expression. I shivered with anticipation.
When Ansel’s lips touched mine, all was forgotten except how good it felt. His hands ran down my neck, descending over my shoulders until each hand covered a breast. I may have moaned from the pleasure;. I couldn’t be sure. My body hummed with the thrill of excitement from being touched by him. I’d thought about this and experiencing it in the flesh was better than any musing. This . . . was . . . happening.
When he broke the kiss, I wanted to protest, but then his lips moved to my neck, which made my head fall back just enough to give him better access. This was too good not to want more. There was a safeness I felt in his arms that I didn’t have time to think through. I wanted to be close to him, to feel Ansel thoroughly. I didn’t care about all the reasons that I should take it slow.
“You keep making those noises and I’ll strip you down and bury my face between those pretty legs of yours.” He nipped at my shoulder. I delivered a moan. “There we go. I want more of that.”
The images in my head made me tremble. I grasped him. My body was weak. I accepted his threat to taste me. The idea of nakedness was appealing.
My shirt began to move up my stomach and I lifted my arms as he removed it and threw the fabric aside. Ansel’s eyes devoured me, before he placed a kiss on each nipple and around each swelling breast. I gasped at the sensations, then he removed my bra. He was moving fast and stopping him should be what I wanted to do . . . but I didn’t . . . because I couldn’t.
He licked at each bared nipple and I was so drawn into the moment that it wasn’t until my pants began easing down my legs that I realized I was about to be as naked as Ansel had threatened. Knowing what would come next made me ache between my legs. My breathing became labored and my heart throbbed in my chest like a triggered jackhammer.
I stepped out of my jeans as Ansel bent down to take them from me. He looked up at me with a sexy grin and held my gaze as he kissed my thigh before standing back up. I should stop this. I didn’t move this fast. This was something that I took my time with. Yet, that wasn’t happening.
Ansel trailed kisses back up my stomach, halting to give attention to my breasts, before pulling me hard against his chest and covering my mouth with his. The mint from his gum lingered in his mouth and, like the rest of him, was intoxicating to taste. Suddenly I was in his arms with my feet swept from the floor. He carried me to the sofa and kissed me one more time as he laid me down. With his lips touching mine, so close I could feel their heat, he whispered, “Sugar, I was going to be good. Give you some time. But I need to taste you. Let me taste you and that will be it.”
A squeak — no, a sound of desperation — came from me. Ansel gave me a cocky grin as he moved down my body until both my legs were over his shoulders. I inhaled sharply as the heat of his breath met my most sensitive area before his tongue followed The second he made contact, my hips bucked from the cushions and I screamed. The jolt from his intimate kiss was perfection multiplied. That was the beginning. I didn’t know if it would be forever. I didn’t know if he would be my best idea or my worst mistake. But right then I knew I’d do this again with him in an instant. I was willing to take a chance and risk . . . all of it . . . and everything.
If I was being honest with myself, Ansel’s smile that first night was really all it took.
About Abbi Glines
ABBI GLINES is a #1 New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of the Rosemary Beach, Sea Breeze, Sweet Series, Mason Dixon Series, Vincent Boys, Existence, and The Field Party Series. She never cooks, unless baking during the Christmas holiday counts. She believes in ghosts and has a habit of asking people if their house is haunted before she goes in it. She drinks afternoon tea because she wants to be British but alas she was born in Alabama. When asked how many books she has written she has to stop and count on her fingers. When she’s not locked away writing, she is reading, shopping (major shoe and purse addiction), sneaking off to the movies alone, and listening to the drama in her teenagers lives while making mental notes on the good stuff to use later. Don’t judge.
You can connect with Abbi online in several different ways. She uses social media to procrastinate.
CUFFED TOGETHER | T.R. Cupak
Chapter One
It’s a little after one in the afternoon when I decide to take a drive out in the country to clear my head. With every turn of the wheel as I take on each twist of the curvy country road, my stress begins to melt away, relaxing me like nothing else can. I tend to do this drive often, especially when I’ve had a rough week, and this past week wasn’t just rough, it was downright difficult for me.
Surprisingly, I was able to keep my father’s funeral arrangements out of the media, avoiding a clusterfuck of nonsense. My family, which is now a family of one, and the employees who run my household, accompanied by a few close colleagues of my father’s, were the only people in attendance; because let’s face it, my dad didn’t have friends.
Since the funeral, the days have gone by in a fog. All I want is clarity and my drive is helping—a little.
As I pull into the south end of town and get closer to home, my mind drifts into la-la land somewhere between the last stop sign and the gate to my driveway. That’s when a siren snaps me out of my dazed state.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I whisper to myself as I pull my car into the driveway just before my gate. I slam the car into park and lean my head back against the headrest in my white metallic Porsche Carrera 911 4S. The irony of having a nine-eleven an
d seeing flashing cop car lights in the rear-view mirror is almost comical, but I know who it is and I know why he pulled me over, and it’s not for speeding or running the stop sign.
After turning down the radio, I roll my passenger window down and place both hands back on the steering wheel, waiting for him to approach my vehicle like he’s done in the past. Only, lately he’s been pulling me over too frequently for my liking.
Jeez. What is taking him so long this time? Just when I glance in my driver side mirror, I see the door to the police cruiser open and shiny black boots hit the ground.
Suck it up, Emery. You can get through this.
When his dark blue, wool-clad mid-section comes into my line of site, I take one last deep breath to keep myself in check. I’ve always been a sucker for a man in uniform and this particular man heats me up from the inside out, but not in the way you’re probably thinking.
“Miss Van DeWalt,” he says after bending down to see inside my car. His voice is smooth, deep, and full of bad intentions. His eyes are hidden behind aviator sunglasses, but I can feel his seductive stare burning through the lenses, causing me to squirm in my seat.
“Oh, so we’re being cordial now?” I snip out in response to how he addressed me.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“Let me guess, Officer Dickhead” —my response is snide and by the look on his face, he isn’t pleased with my tone— “you want to handcuff me to your bed again, then leave me there for two fucking hours before you send your buddy to come set me free, humiliating me, for what?” I snap at him.
His facial expression changes. The cocky smirk on that model-perfect face of his grates on every last nerve of mine.
“Miss Van DeWalt, where is this hostility coming from?” he asks, licking his perfectly shaped lips.