Lucynda Storey-Erotic Romance Writer

Asked to roleplay to appease her boyfriend’s sexual appetite, Maggie reluctantly agrees.  But, when a police officer approaches, Stephen takes off and Maggie is arrested as an identity risk.  Maggie’s about to get a new lesson in life, love and sex, and when its all over, Maggie won’t be “vanilla” any longer. 

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Upon arrival at the police station, Maggie watched as the officer locked up his pistol before he led her through a network of corridors that only the employees of the station could possibly understand. Was the labyrinth set up this way to prevent suspects from a quick escape? With a glance, she peeked into a cubicle, one of the many that built this maze. Officers occupied two desks covered with an assortment of paper. Other quick looks revealed more of the same.

Finally, he reached a cubby with a nearly immaculate desk. Nowhere were the piles of paperwork she’d seen in other cubbies. Great, he was a rookie. She began to frown, and then halted. Maybe this could work to her advantage. He could make a mistake, confuse her with someone else, and not have the correct forms. She smiled. “Is this your desk?”

“It is.”

“It’s very tidy. My desk, at school, always looks like a tornado hit it.”

He pointed to a cracked green vinyl seat next to his desk and motioned for her to sit. Pulling out his chair, he sat and cracked his knuckles before pulling a form from the desk’s drawer file. Immediately, she saw her error. He wasn’t a rookie. He was a neat-nik. Maybe one of those anal-retentive people she’d read about, ultra-organized micromanager personality. Stodgy, repressed, operating by the rules manual every day of his life; her complete opposite.

”Name, miss.”

“Maggie Morgan.”

He clicked something on his computer. “Date of birth?”

She answered that and his other generic questions.

“For the record, Miss Morgan, would you like to have your attorney present before we go further with your statement?”

Suddenly Maggie’s palms got damp. She wiped them against the backside of her skirt. “Attorney,” she squeaked. “I don’t have one.”

“One can be appointed to you.”

“Officer Roberts, I didn’t break the law.”

“That will be for the court to decide. Do you want a lawyer present with you?” With that, he looked up and into her eyes.

She looked him over, glaring. Dark hair fell onto his brow, just above those deep, dark eyes. His nose had been broken at least once, and there was a scar that ran the curve of his jaw. A jaw that was firmly set, as if he’d spent years clenching his teeth. His ramrod-straight posture exposed a long, strong neck. In total, he presented a solid wall that wouldn’t be easily breached. The man was too good-looking and had probably broken hearts everywhere he went.

But it didn’t matter. She hoped to find something in his features to attach a nickname to, something that would put this ludicrous situation into a more positive light. “They must call you ‘Bulldog’ around here.”

Her heart rate accelerated as he turned to look at her more directly. There wasn’t the least bit of humor in his eyes. “No.”

That was it? That was all he was going to say? “I thought for sure they called you Bulldog because you’re so tenacious in arresting innocent women.”

He swiveled in his chair, taking his hands from his keyboard in order to cross his arms across his chest. “No one calls me anything but Case or Officer Roberts.” He gave her a hard stare, then returned to his typing.

Maggie had to push. She was tired of men telling her what to do. She could handle herself. Perhaps a little humor would diffuse the situation. “You would be called ‘Case’ because you have so many of them thrown out?”

He turned toward her again. Anger leapt to his eyes faster than the click of a Bic lighter could produce flame. “I would be called ‘Case’ because that is my given name.” He moved closer and crowded her space before he whispered, “And you are far from innocent.”

Her feeble attempt at levity backfired. She should have known. Maggie had never been able to tell a joke in her life without flubbing it. She inhaled deeply, struck by how good this man, sitting so near her, smelled. In fact, his mere presence made her jittery. Jitters that turned her knees into Jell-O when he encroached her space.

His eyes continued to hold her stare like some sort of magnet. They dared her to prove him wrong and she didn’t mind it one little bit. She would accomplish that task. She leaned forward and tried to mimic his position, all the while not taking her gaze off his fascinating one. She twisted in her seat and dangled her wrists, secured behind her back, in front of him. “Case, now that we’ve been properly introduced, I was wondering …” she said in her sweetest voice, “what’s it going to take to remove my new jewelry?”

Silently, he reached into his pocket and removed a batch of keys. They jingled as he searched for the key. With a practiced move, the cuffs popped open. Maggie shrugged her shoulders a couple of times to ease some of the stiffness, and then looked down at her chafed wrists. How was she going to explain those marks at the staff meeting Monday morning?

She moved her right hand toward the left, but Case intercepted it. “Let me.”

From another drawer, he pulled out a sampler-size bottle of lotion and put a drop on her wrist. Holding her hand in his, he used his free hand to massage the lotion into her chafed flesh. Maggie’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to understand the butterflies that flitted in her stomach. “Is this normal procedure for all your collars?”

Case didn’t reply. His large, strong hands doing such caring, sensitive work mesmerized Maggie. She doubted the touch was meant to be sensuous, but it was. Her pulse raced as she continued to gawk at those amazing fingers rubbing her wrist. If being touched like this were part of being arrested, it would surely reduce the number of women trying to flee.

Arrest! The word stabbed her in the forehead, slicing through her mind. She pulled her wrist from Case’s hold and grasped his hands. “Case, you can’t arrest me; you can’t,” she whispered. The man rolled his eyes. Oh, that burned. “Don’t you want to know what really happened?”

“Of course, I want your side of the story. Do you want an attorney present?”

Damn, they were back to the lawyer thing again. “Yes!” she shouted back at him. “I mean, no,” she changed her mind, trying to get her random thoughts into some sort of order.

“Which is it, Miss Morgan?”

“No. I don’t need an attorney.”

Case pulled a different sheet of paper from his file drawer and slid it toward her. “Sign this.”

“What is it?”

“This states that you have refused your right to an attorney and that I did not coerce you in any manner.”

She grabbed the pen he offered and scribbled her signature. “Case Roberts, you can have me sign this if it’s what you want, but I have to tell you that you are, without a doubt, the most intimidating, bullheaded, self-righteous man I’ve ever met!”
 

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