Uncuffed

by Michelle Dare

  This is stupid. I shake my head and drag myself from the bed. He’s just a guy. A fucking cop I have no business thinking about. Of all the people in all the world, I find a connection with a detective. Real smart, Hope. Maybe next time I’ll sleep with someone on a SWAT team, or better yet, in the FBI.

  I open my closet door and pull out the only suitcase I have with me. In under thirty minutes, I have packed everything that’s mine in the apartment. Just clothes, towels, and toiletries. I’ll throw all the food in the garbage, and take it out. I’m not staying. I can’t. It’s too dangerous. Rowe knows where I live. On the off chance he comes back here looking for me, I need to be gone. Thank God, I never gave the landlord any of my real information. He knows me as Ashlyn Briske.

  The only people who know my real name are the ones in my distant family, and they don’t count. I don’t talk to them, and I like it that way. They tried to stay in touch after my parents passed away, but I wanted nothing to do with them. I liked being on my own. No one to worry about. No one to answer to. It’s better that way.

  With a full trash bag in hand, I make my way down the stairs to the front of the brownstone. This is the last bag. I already dropped one off outside, which was filled with actual garbage. This second one is food that I don’t want to haul back home. As I place the bag down, a newer model, black Dodge Charger drives by slowly. The windows are tinted so I can’t see who’s inside. All of the hair on my arms stands up. I don’t like this, and my body is on high alert.

  I turn abruptly to head back into the building. “Ashlyn!” is shouted from behind me, causing me to stop in my tracks. Fuck. I know that voice. I decide to ignore him and open the door.

  “Ashlyn, stop!” I do. I’m afraid if I don’t, he’ll be banging down the door until I let him in. If only I would have gotten my ass out of bed earlier, I could have avoided this.

  I turn slightly and lean my back on the railing to wait while he parks his car. My hands start to shake. He’s a fucking detective, and I’m a criminal. Is he coming to arrest me, or does he regret the way he left last night?

  The second he comes into view, my body starts to get warm all over, remembering what he did to me the night before. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt. His muscles strain against the fabric of the sleeves, and his tattoos peek out underneath.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  I quirk an eyebrow, and to my surprise, fall easily into conversation with him. “You’re asking me how I am after the way you left last night?”

  “It wasn’t my best exit.”

  “It was a dick move.”

  “Listen, I don’t do relationships.”

  I cross my arms. “Then why are you here? By the address on your card, you don’t even work in this city.” Shit, now he knows that I not only saw his card but looked to see what town he works in.

  “You checked me out?”

  “I read your card.”

  He walks up four steps to stand just below me, his eyes holding mine, even though he’s more at breast level with me. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I’m not calling the asshole who jumped ship as soon as he finished fucking me.”

  “I deserve that.”

  “And more.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “No,” I respond quickly. No way do I want him inside my apartment. Especially not with my suitcase sitting in the middle of the living room and the cash on the counter for the remainder of my rent. Fuck that.

  “Come for a ride with me.”

  “I can’t. I have plans.” Plans to get the hell out of here.

  “Change them. Come with me.”

  “Why? You said you don’t do relationships.” The real question is why am I having this conversation? Nothing good will come from it, and I’m a fool for entertaining the idea of going with him.

  “I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

  “You don’t have me to let go of, and I’m not going to sleep with you again.”

  “Yes, you are, but that’s not the point,” he says, smiling. Cocky fucker. “Look, I’m off for the rest of the day, and I wanted to take you somewhere.”

  “Again, you said you don’t do relationships.”

  “This isn’t a relationship. This is me asking if you want to go get something to eat.”

  “At four forty-five in the afternoon?”

  “Early bird special?”

  “We’re not eighty.”

  He chuckles. “No, but the food will be just as good now as it would at seven.” On cue my stomach grumbles. He sweeps his arm out. “My chariot awaits.”

  I roll my eyes and turn toward the front door. “Let me go get my purse.”

  “I’ll be waiting, darlin’.” I growl low in my throat at him calling me that. He laughs as I stomp upstairs to get my keys and purse.

  Am I seriously going to go with him? I shouldn’t. I should have told him to fuck off and came back upstairs to wait for him to leave. Then I could have grabbed my suitcase and left. Yet, I didn’t. And now I’m going to have an early dinner with him. Maybe I will sleep with him one more time before I leave for home. Something to tide me over until I find the next town I’m moving to.

  I just went from needing to leave to going out with the one guy I have no business seeing. Why can’t I help myself where he’s concerned? This is such a bad idea. If he gets attached, that’s right—him, I’m going to have to dump him, and it won’t go well. I mean, how do I break up with someone as hot as him who rides a Harley? Oh, right, he’s a detective. Maybe if I keep repeating that fact in my head, I’ll be able to keep my shit together.

  I’m getting way ahead of myself. I already picture breaking up with him; we slept together only once and haven’t yet eaten a meal together. It’s just a free meal and sex. That’s it. Nothing more.

  I grab my stuff and lock the door to my apartment. Not that I think anyone is going to break in there and steal the one suitcase I own with only clothes, towels, and toiletries in it. All the money I stole from the checks I cashed is hidden throughout the apartment, which I’ll grab before I leave for good. Say they, on the off chance, found one stash, there’s no way they’d find the others. I’m very strategic where I hide money. Years of being a thief has taught me that.

  Food and sex and I’m out. Wait, he’s driving. Fuck. I’ll just grab a cab. Then another thought hits me. Where are we having sex? Not here, that’s for sure. Maybe in the back of the Charger. I sure as hell don’t want to go back to his place.

  Downstairs, I find Rowe leaning against his car looking all sexy, and a little shiver goes up my spine. Bad idea, Hope. Bad fucking idea.

  He opens the door for me. “After you, darlin’.”

  I stop and stare at him before getting in the car. “Are you going to say that now just to piss me off?”

  He smiles wide. “Absofuckinglutely.”

  “Dick,” I mumble and slip inside.

  He laughs as he closes my door and rounds the hood to get to the driver’s side. The engine rumbles to life, and we’re off to God knows where for food.

  Fifteen minutes into the drive, I’m asking him where we’re going. He won’t say and instead puts his hand on my thigh, slowly inching it up to the juncture of my legs. He knows just what to do to get me to shut up and do what he wants. No man has ever had this hold over me. I’m not the submissive type. Then his fingers stroke my clit through my jeans, and I’m getting really turned on. What was I thinking about? Sex?

  Another fifteen minutes and one orgasm later, we’re pulling in to a small diner in the middle of nowhere as Rowe removes his hand from inside my jeans. Thankfully, the windows are tinted and no one walking past the car can see me zipping up. I glance over at Rowe and watch as he slowly sucks on his fingers that were just inside me. I got off a few seconds ago, and I want more. Leaning over, I reach for his fly, but he gently pushes me away.

  “Food first. Fucking later.”

  “Jerk.”

  He lau
ghs and gets out of the car. I follow suit, not waiting for him to come around and open my door. We walk to the diner’s door side by side, and I note a handful of cars here. It’s only five, so it’s still the early crowd. He holds the door for me as I step inside.

  All heads in the place turn toward us, and that’s when my feet stop moving. Rowe bumps into my back.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I turn my head slightly and whisper, “Why is everyone staring at us?” I hate being the center of attention. In fact, I usually do as much as possible to make sure no one notices me, unless I’m scouting for a new target. That’s another story.

  “Small town, and I’m one of their cops, so they know me. Plus, I’m never seen with a woman. I don’t bring my one-night stands home with me.”

  “But I’m not a one-night stand. Obviously.”

  He smiles. “No, you’re not.” Then another word he said registers.

  “Home?”

  “Yeah, this is my hometown.”

  Every part of my body is screaming to flee. To run and get the hell away from Rowe and this town, where everyone knows everybody else and probably their entire family and deceased relatives. What the fuck am I doing? I don’t belong here. I don’t do this. I was too wrapped up in my orgasm to pay attention to where we were going.

  Rowe takes my hand, pulling me from my thoughts, and starts to walk us toward a booth in the corner where we sit down. I’m on autopilot at this point. I look at the exit repeatedly, trying to find a reason to leave, but remember that I have no car, and who knows if there is a cab company out here. Lovely.

  “Hey,” Rowe says, and snaps his fingers in my face.

  “Huh?” My eyes shift to his.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “Oh, water is fine.” I hadn’t realized the waitress was standing at the table.

  I glance up and notice her giving me the dirtiest of all looks. The kind of look that says I’m here with the guy she’s crushing on. But when I look back at Rowe, he has eyes only for me. Great. I need to get in the middle of this.

  The waitress finally leaves and I can’t help but ask, “Ex-girlfriend of yours?”

  “Not even close. She’s my buddy’s sister and has been trying to get with me for years.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “She means nothing to me, other than her being a friend.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I have no claim on you,” I remind him. “We’re just here for dinner and sex.” I may have said that a little too loud. The elderly couple in the booth behind me turn to stare.

  “Don’t mind us, Mr. and Mrs. Wathman,” Rowe says, waving to the couple.

  “We were young once, too,” the white-haired woman says with a wink. I smile. Huh, when was the last time I smiled? Oh yeah, it was in the bar last night when I was talking to Rowe. Dammit! He isn’t allowed to get under my skin!

  Chapter Six

  Rowe

  I’m not sure what came over me. Okay, that’s a lie. A certain dark-haired woman has been ruling my mind. After I got off work, I drove right to her place. I remembered where she lived, even though I left there in haste last night. Now, as we sit here in the diner, I’m so fucking glad I drove back to her apartment.

  What made me drive us here? I’m not sure. Did I subconsciously want everyone in town to see me with a woman? This isn’t the norm for me. And she doesn’t fit in with my small town at all. The women here are all girl next door, no tattoos, no piercings, no cleavage showing women. Me? I need more. Not that there’s anything wrong with them, but it’s not what I find sexy. I like mystery and allure. I like a woman who challenges me and keeps me guessing. I love body art. I just described Ashlyn. Shit. I’m so done for. Every minute I spend with her, I get drawn deeper and deeper under her spell.

  After dinner is over and we are waiting for the check, she asks, “Do you want to go back to the city and get a drink? I could use one.”

  Leaning back in the booth with my arms stretched out on either side, I reply, “Why go to the city when we have a bar right next door?”

  “Say what?”

  I point out the window next to me. She leans over to look outside. The bar’s windows, with the beer logos in neon lights glowing, are easy to spot with the darkening sky. It’s a local joint. No huge crowds, but there are plenty of rowdy hometown boys in there, living it up every night.

  “Can we go back to the city?”

  “What’s the rush, darlin’? The night’s young.” She rolls her eyes and I laugh. I love that it bothers her when I call her that.

  “Fine, whatever. You win. We’ll go to your bar.”

  “It’s not my bar, but I do know the guy who owns it.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Small town.” I shrug.

  And in this small town there are some huge homes with very rich men living in them. Namely, the ones who called my department about being stolen from. While the townspeople are tight, and I call it a small town, the area it covers is rather large since some of the homes have a lot of property and can go on for acres.

  I pay our check and ignore the look I’m getting from my friend’s sister. I don’t want to deal with her, and it’s better to ignore her attitude than acknowledge her. I’ve learned that when I smile and am overly kind, it only feeds her crush on me.

  We don’t bother getting in my car to go to the bar. It’s a short walk next door, and no one will bother my Dodge where it’s sitting. We reach the door of the bar and I hold it open for Ashlyn. She takes one step inside and freezes as her eyes look over the place. It’s not large at all, but has a decent bar and a few pool tables in the back. There are a handful of small dining tables, as well, for those who want to sit down to drink and eat their bar food in a more intimate setting.

  I have to nudge her forward so I can get inside. Her movements are stiff as I direct us to a table. There’s a bunch of guys at the bar, and I’m not sure if she’s going to want to sit there and be hit on all night. As a matter of fact, I don’t want her there, because if I have to watch her get hit on, I’m not going to like it. Just the looks the guys are giving her as we walk in have me wanting to go over to set them straight. This woman is mine for the night, and if they keep leering at her, we’re going to have issues.

  Do I want her to be mine longer than tonight? It’s not a bad idea, but I can’t help wondering if I could do the commitment thing. Also, could she? Would she even want to?

  I sit and lean back, stretching my arm out behind her chair. Curling my fingers around the wooden spindles of the back, I pull her chair closer to mine. Keep fucking looking, guys. I level them with a hard stare before they swivel back around on their barstools.

  Glancing over at Ashlyn, I find her eyeing me, and not in a good way. She shoves her chair away from mine, breaking the contact of my hand with the back of it. Actually, she pushes it a good foot from where it was before. Then crosses her arms and legs before giving me a look that says, ‘I know what you’re doing, and I don’t think so.’ My lips quirk up on one side, loving that I’m getting her riled up.

  “Was that really necessary?” she asks.

  I lean forward, trying hard as hell to stifle my smile. I love her feistiness. “You see those boys at the bar?” I ask, nodding toward them.

  She doesn’t take her eyes off of me. “Yeah. And?”

  “They were all looking at you when we came in.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “I don’t want them to.”

  “Since when do you have a say over anything that has to do with me?”

  I give her a cocky smile. “Since you’re here in my town with me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She leans forward to the point our faces are close enough that I can feel her breath as it floats against my lips. Then she kisses me. Our tongues meet, the kiss quickly becomes heated, and it takes everything in me not to strip her bare and fuck her on the table. She pulls bac
k and I’m left leaning forward with my mouth still open like a moron.

  She smirks. “I’m my own woman. Not you, nor anyone else owns me, will claim me, or will act like some fucking Neanderthal where I’m concerned. Got it?”

  I sit back in my chair and rest my arm on the table. “Oh, I hear you, darlin’, but I’ll be damned if you’re going to tell me what to do. I behave like I want, and this is who I am. I’m not sorry about it. No way will another guy look you over like he wants to fuck you when I’m around.”

  She stands abruptly and walks to the bar. I’m on my feet but don’t move yet. I want to see what she’s going to do. With her elbows resting on the bar top, she bends slightly, sticking her ass out for full effect. Her jeans hug her curves; her legs shift, making that gorgeous behind move. I bite back a groan.

  The guy she’s standing next to swivels so he’s facing her. “Well, hello there, beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “You certainly can,” she replies. The bartender comes over and she orders a shot of whiskey. She swallows it down and smiles at the guy. “Thank you.”

  “Do you want another?” he asks hesitantly.

  “Only if you’re buying,” she winks.

  Another shot poured and drank. I know what she’s doing, and it’s fucking working. The guy she’s talking to is Hank, and he’s about as harmless as they come. Of all the guys in the bar, he’s probably the only one I don’t have to worry about. Then again, I don’t want him getting his hopes up that this woman wants anything to do with him. He’s not her type. She likes a badass, and good ole’ Hank wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  When the third shot gets ordered, I decide to intervene. I don’t want him blowing his paycheck buying her drinks all night. Walking to the bar, I don’t stop until I’m standing behind her, her back pressed against my chest. I look over her shoulder and smile at Hank. “How’re things?” I ask him.