Cuff Me Lacy [A Handcuffs and Lace Tale]

by Demi Alex

  He loved her. There was no doubt. He'd always loved her. And now that she was in his arms, he'd never let his Lacy go.

  Rays of light flooded the room, but she kept sleeping. Hoping the intense need that burned in him would not wake the beauty beside, he stared at her, but did not touch her. After a long while, he turned on his back and focused on the ceiling, considering their options.

  Her job was a concern. She was great at it, receiving awards and accommodations and moving up the ranks quickly. However, none of her accomplishments diminished the fact that being a cop was extremely dangerous. He couldn't stand the possibility of losing her. He wanted to tell her as much, but knowing this woman all too well, he knew she'd never agree to be a stay-at-home Mrs. MacKlick.

  And what was wrong with being a stay-at-home wife and mother? Nothing. He wanted that in her in his home, his life, more than anything, but Lacy's dreams were different.

  They'd talk about it together. Just as soon as he was sure she felt like he did.

  He continued to stare at the fan while stealing glimpses at her lush lips and angelic face. Her dark hair was tousled over his chest and it took all his control not to take her in her sleep. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her and see the look in her eyes when she called his name. But she'd only been sleeping for an hour, and she needed her rest. So he urged his libido to have patience.

  Then, a glow reflecting off a silver pen caught his attention. Carefully, he rose and walked over to the dressing table near the window.

  Lacy's journal was open and her script was scrawled across the page.

  Patrick is home!

  Damn, he looks good.

  A smiley face with a tiny tongue sticking out from the lips finished off the entry.

  Grinning, he picked up the pen and wrote on the opposite page.

  Patrick is home!

  Damn, Lacy looks good.

  He finished off with a less articulate smiley face than hers, and then set about to find his clothes.

  * * * *

  Patrick sat at the table were they'd made love for the first time, reading the paper and enjoying a cup of black coffee when he heard her padding down the stairs.

  Dressed in a long t-shirt that read, “Give me my coffee and nobody gets hurt,” Lacy glanced around the kitchen. Her mouth curved into a tiny smile, but she didn't speak a word as she tied her wild hair into a loose knot on her nape and headed for the coffeemaker.

  He stood and walked up behind her, wrapping an arm below her breasts and brushing his lips over her exposed right shoulder. She jumped at his touch, and he chuckled and cradled her against him, kissing the side of her neck.

  "Morning, sunshine,” he whispered. “Didn't get enough sleep last night?"

  Grunting, she opened the cupboard. “Did you?"

  "No. But I'm not complaining.” Taking the mug from her hand, he placed it on the counter and turned her to face him. “I'd rather kiss you than sleep any night,” he said, feathering his lips over hers.

  She raised her arms and snaked them around his neck, intensifying the kiss before ending it. Then, she placed her cheek against his chest and snuggled closed. “I don't mind, either."

  He caressed her back and prolonged the morning greeting as long as possible. He really could get used to starting his day like this.

  She lifted her head. “Not only do you invent those satellite thingies, program funky computer stuff, and entice tired women into bed for an exotic adventure, but you make coffee, too."

  "I try to give you as many reasons as possible to keep me around.” He grinned and waggled his brows.

  * * * *

  Chrissie sighed and lost in her thoughts, turned to get her coffee.

  Keep you around? I may want to, but you won't stay. You've morphed into a city slicker, my friend.

  She shrugged the idea away. She might as well enjoy the moment, and Patrick, as long as possible. “I don't think I'll ever look at this kitchen in the same way,” she said, glancing at the table. “It's kind of embarrassing.” She reached for her mug and Patrick offered to pour the coffee.

  "Nothing between us is ever embarrassing.” He tilted the pot. “It's me, Patrick. Remember?"

  Nodding, she moved to the table and plopped into a chair. “I remember. Oh boy, do I remember.” Heat ran through her body at the thought of her sprawled out on the same table with only Patrick's hands and lips for cover. Moisture collected between her legs and she squirmed in her seat.

  "So do I,” he said, running the back of his finger down her cheek. “You are so beautiful, Lacy. You stop men in their tracks and cause them to stumble."

  "Why haven't you said so before?"

  "Hm ... would you believe me if I said I'm shy?” Grinning, he shrugged. “Okay. Fine. I was an ass and I wasn't ready to admit it. Damn, Lacy. You're fantastic. And being with you was more amazing than I'd ever imagined."

  Her heart jumped in her throat. “You've thought about us that way?"

  He sat down beside her. “Come on, Lacy. I'm a man.” His thumb rubbed the back of her hand in a continuous, sensual circle. “Which sane man wouldn't think about you that way?"

  His dark gaze soothed her nerves as he smiled at her. It felt so real, so right, to sit at the table and chat with him. Maybe it was the first morning-after they'd shared, but Patrick was so comfortable for her.

  "We grew up together.” She raised the mug to her lips and sipped, thinking of the best way to approach the conversation. “It doesn't usually happen that kids, who chased frogs, can meet up as adults and have an intimate relationship."

  "Yeah, we proved that to be true last night.” Patrick rolled his eyes and laughed. “It was a really bad, horrible experience. Each one of them."

  "Last night was a fluke.” She gulped more coffee, seeking courage in the dark brew. “It's not like it has happened in the past, or like it was planned—"

  A knock at the front door interrupted her logical downplay of their extra curricular events and her cheap attempt at letting him off the hook. She yanked the hem of her shirt over her knees and peeked down the hallway.

  "Can you answer the door? It's Bill."

  "Wow. What a surprise?"

  They both rose from the table and he swatted her butt as she took the first two steps up the stairs. She blew him a parting kiss and was turning the landing when he pulled the door open. “Hi, Bill."

  "Hey, Bill,” she called down. “Grab some coffee. I'll be down in a minute."

  "Take your time, baby,” Bill replied, entering the house. “I'll hang with Paddy for a while."

  "Patrick,” she corrected.

  Hustling in to her room, she pulled a denim mini-skirt and a t-shirt from a drawer and threw them on the bed as she went into the bathroom to make herself presentable for company.

  Funny how Bill had become company and she was now completely at ease with Patrick, regardless of her dress. She sighed and sat on the edge of the bathtub, dropping her head into her hands.

  Why was Bill here? He'd asked her to marry him, but she hadn't given him an answer. Couldn't he give her some space? Couldn't he take a hint?

  Rubbing her face, she stood and stared at her reflection. The ratty t-shirt she wore around the house hung lopsided off her shoulder and was frayed on the bottom. But she couldn't find the heart to retire it. She was comfortable with its familiarity and craved its comfort all the time. Especially when she was challenged.

  Pulling the well worn cotton tight around her, she admonished the woman in the mirror. “You need to move out of your comfort zone, chickie. You'll never get what you really want if you don't."

  Five minutes later, she was snapping her skirt when Cagney barked in alarm. Despite Chrissie's request for the dog to stay, she vanished out of the room.

  Chrissie followed to the landing and leaned over the balustrade.

  "Fuck off,” Patrick said.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Cagney was on full alert, barking furiously.

  "Be real,”
Bill's voice reasoned. “She's entitled, and I'm okay with a final fling."

  More barking.

  Then a loud thud.

  Something crashed against the wall.

  Chrissie ran down the flight of stairs.

  Rounding the corner, she found Bill sprawled on the kitchen floor. His lip was split and blood oozed from his nose.

  "What happened?” she asked as her fingers closed around the agitated dog's collar.

  "You did,” Patrick spat, fixing his steel gaze on her. “Fuck, Lacy. You can't have it all your way.” He threw up his hands and shook his head. Turning his back on her, he kicked a chair and stormed toward the back door. “I'm out."

  Her heart pounded at the base of her throat and she couldn't swallow past the obstruction her pulse created. What the hell had just happened?

  Bill stirred, and Cagney growled, tugging against the restraint. Chrissie ordered her canine partner to sit, and then bent over the huge man splattered on her kitchen floor.

  "You okay?” she asked, running her hand over his forehead and evaluating his injuries.

  His eyelids fluttered, and Bill looked at her like a lost boy searching for his way home. Grimacing, he attempted to raise his head, but dropped it back.

  "Stay there,” Chrissie said, pushing against his shoulder. “I'll get some ice."

  She pulled a plastic baggie from the cabinet, filled it from the freezer, and then wet some paper towel with water and returned to Bill. She kneeled beside him and wiped at the blood before applying the home-made icepack.

  "Shit! I'm seeing freaking stars,” he groaned. “What got into Paddy?"

  "Patrick,” she corrected, pressing on the pack. “You must've done something to tick him off.” And she knew how even-tempered Patrick was; Bill must have done something big to get Patrick to react this way.

  "I did nothing.” He propped himself on his elbows and met her gaze. “He flipped out for no good reason."

  She didn't buy that explanation, but she nodded and helped him to his feet. Taking part of his weight, she guided him to a chair.

  Once seated, Bill wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Hey, baby.” He groaned in pain as his swollen lip brushed against her shirt and his hand stole up her belly. “I'll figure it out with Paddy later. For the moment, I think I like the idea of you making me feel better."

  "No.” She pushed his hand away and stood.

  His gaze narrowed and he ran his fingers through his hair. “What's going on, Chrissie? First, you put me off last night, and now, you act as if I'm intruding or something.” He cocked his head to the side and waited for a response, but she couldn't answer.

  If Bill had proposed marriage four months ago, she would've jumped at the thought and she would've been ecstatic. But now, his proposal did nothing for her. No excitement, no dreams, no need to plan a future together.

  "Baby, I'm here to make our engagement official.” He pulled a dark blue velvet box from his pocket. “I picked up a picnic lunch and wanted to surprise you after you returned from training—” He stopped mid-statement and studied her face. “You didn't go to training, did you?"

  She shook her head.

  He stood and walked around the table, glancing about the kitchen and settling his gaze on the shirt draped over the plant stand in the corner and the other shirt lying on the floor beside it.

  Bill cleared his throat. “What happened yesterday doesn't matter. We need to think about the future; our future.” He straddled a chair and lowered himself, placing the velvet box near where she stood. “I was going to give this to you during our romantic picnic by the pond..."

  The pond? No. That was hers and Patrick's place. Oh God, where had he gone?

  "I hope you like it.” Bill opened the tiny box and the diamond solitaire sparkled in the light.

  Chrissie swallowed air in to her lungs. “It's beautiful,” she whispered, transfixed by the stone's size and magnificence. Dropping gently on a seat, she looked at the man she'd once thought she'd wanted to spend her life with. “I can't accept it."

  Shock registered in his eyes. His jaw hung, and his fingers tugged at his hair. Then, squaring his shoulders, he leaned closer and closed the distance between them.

  "Chrissie, you're hesitating because this is a sudden turn around in our lives.” Grinning, he slid the box on the wood and placed it mere inches from her. Then lifting her chin with his index finger, he insisted she look him in the eyes. “We're good together. Accept it, baby."

  She bit her upper lip and shook her head. “No. Thank you, Bill, but I can't agree to your proposal.” She used her heels and pushed back her chair to stand and put distance between them. “Things have changed, and I know this sounds nuts, but I'm actually glad I didn't get my way a few months ago. It would've been cheating both of us if we'd settled."

  Leaving the ring on the table, he stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “There is someone else."

  "Yes.” She nodded. “No.” She shook her head. “I don't know. I just know that it can't happen between us."

  His lips twisted, but he walked to the front door, appearing inches smaller than the night before. “I don't get it, Chrissie. I offer you exactly what you want, and you turn me down."

  "Bill, it's not you—"

  "Spare me the talk. I don't want to hear a bunch of crap about how it's you."

  "But it is,” she said, going to his side and placing a hand on his arm. “I was the one who refused to see things for what they really were. You're a great guy, and you've done so much for yourself and the community. And now that you're out of the locker room, you'll find the right woman. You deserve that; everyone does."

  "Okay, Chrissie, I get it. We're cool,” he said, running the back of his hand down the side of her face. “Hope I get someone who loves me the way you love Paddy.” He feathered a kiss over her cheek, and then gave her a handsome grin.

  "I never said anything about Patrick."

  "You don't have to. It's written all over your face.” He rubbed his jaw. “And, I have the bruises to prove how he feels about you."

  Raising his brows in understanding, he turned and strode out the door. He was on the porch steps when she remembered the diamond on the kitchen table.

  "Hold on. You forgot the ring."

  He waved. “I won't return it. Maybe we're not the right ones for each other, but you're special to me.” Placing his hand over his heart, he smiled with his boyish charm. “There will always be a place in here for you, my friend."

  "I can't wear it. What do I do with it?"

  His brows came together as a decision registered on his face. “Donate it. Use it for the department's dinner dance auction. You know, the one about teen crime prevention."

  Damn, he'd turned out good. Bill wasn't as shallow as the press had fans believing.

  "Thanks.” She hopped down the steps and wrapped her arms around him. “You're going to find the perfect woman for that white picket fence."

  He chuckled and slapped her behind. “Yeah. But you'd better go find Paddy before he disappears again. Explain things to him. Guys don't like to be considered last flings, you know."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  Chrissie held her breath and knocked on the MacKlick's door.

  Mrs. M. answered in her house coat. “Hi, sweetie,” she said and gave her a big hug. “So nice of you to stop by. Come in for a cup of coffee."

  "Thanks,” Chrissie replied, following the older woman to the kitchen. If she drank one more drop of caffeine, her nerves would certainly shatter. “I'd like to visit, but don't bother putting a kettle on the fire on my behalf."

  "Nonsense. Paddy should be coming home at any moment and we can all chat. Just like the old times.” Mrs. M. smiled and a faraway look came over her face. “Actually, I'll make some fresh lemonade, like the old times."

  More to keep herself calm than for Mrs. M., Chrissie offered to help. She sliced and squeezed a dozen lemo
ns, set out the sugar and stirred the concoction while Mrs. M. added each ingredient in the proper proportions.

  "You make the best lemonade, Mrs. M."

  "Thanks, dear. I remember a time when I was terrified to let you near the juicer because you were always in such a hurry to get your drink.” She chuckled, bringing her hand to cover her mouth. “You've grown into a handy little helper."

  "Thanks. That means a lot coming from you."

  The older woman's blue eyes clouded and she took Chrissie's hand in hers. “I've been meaning to talk to you, but I haven't had the nerve to approach the subject. I just didn't know how."

  Chrissie recognized the serious tone and worried that Patrick had said something to his mother. Mrs. M. was old fashioned and would never approve of them spending the night together like they had.

  "Now that your parents are far away, I have the responsibility to look after you.” Mrs. M. led her to sit by the table. “Honey, I've seen you grow up from a young baby to a beautiful woman, and being that I have more experience in life, I must speak to you with complete honesty and candor."

  A hollow pit settled in Chrissie's gut, as she rubbed the back of Mrs. M.'s hand. “Is there something wrong? Perhaps there is something that I can do to help? Patrick is home and maybe we can talk to him together."

  Patrick's mother giggled. “I don't mind if we speak with Paddy about this and work on a solution collectively, but I think you should hear me out first."

  Confusion filled Chrissie, and she wanted the other woman to spit it out. “Okay. I'm listening."

  Mrs. M. nodded, adjusting their hands and rubbing her thumbs over Chrissie's knuckles. “When I met Paddy's father, I was immediately smitten with the man, but I never admitted it. You see, Mr. MacKlick was a whole year younger than I was, and it was frowned upon for proper ladies to be courted by younger gentlemen."

  "I didn't know Mr. M. was younger than you."

  "Dear, we never advertised it. As a matter of fact, at first, I refused to see him. Secluding myself and rarely going on a date with anyone, I was very lonely. He eventually married a different woman, but lost his first wife during a bad pregnancy. He grieved that harsh loss for years. Then, one night after Christmas mass, he approached me and wouldn't take no for an answer. He wanted to stop by on Christmas morning."