She slid out from under that log of an arm, gratified to see that her movements hadn't caused him to stir one bit. She was able to get dressed and get out of his – amazingly enormous mansion of a – house without so much as a peep out of him.
That was when she remembered that she had no transportation, as she stared contemplatively at his SUV. Should she borrow it, she wondered? No, being the straight arrow that he was, he'd probably come over to her sister's house and arrest her himself just for the pure enjoyment of slapping the handcuffs on her, the perv.
And he was right – God, she hated even thinking that phrase about a man – that her heels were completely impractical for Maine in the winter. So, she did what she had to do. She borrowed a pair of boots from him. They were ridiculously big on her, and she nearly did several headers into snow banks because of it, but she trudged on anyway, until she made it into the small harbor, where she could see a taxi parked.
The gentleman who ran it was inside, at Becka's Diner, eating breakfast, but she waved a fifty-dollar bill in front of him and he left with her, as Becka herself promised to keep his breakfast warm for him.
She managed to get in the back door without disturbing anyone that she could tell, and even had her foot on the first stair of the back steps when the dingy gray bunny slippers that she'd given Sophie for Christmas, 1987 appeared in her line of sight, and she knew she'd been caught.
"So. Where have you been all night?" her sister asked, very much the older sister right now and sounding uncomfortably like their mother, yet again, as she took a seat on a handy stair for the interrogation portion of this morning's festivities.
Rissa yawned loudly as she turned and leaned on the kitchen island, her head on her hand, already more than half asleep again. "Letting the sheriff fuck my brains out. Why?"
"Marissa Jean Hamilton!" Sophie looked as if it was the first hint she'd ever had that her little sister actually had a sex life.
All she got in response was one bleary, opened eye. "What? Didn't I already tell you that that's what I wanted him to do to me when I first arrived here? Why are you so surprised?"
"Well, I didn't think that you were actually going to do that! He's Sonny's boss, for crying out loud!"
As she headed for the other set of stairs, not willing to listen to her sister channeling their mother any longer, Rissa said, "Oh, please. Sonny's been rooting for us to do this since before I came up here this time. Tell him that Dodge was all a woman could ever want and more. He's built like a brick outhouse and he's a stevedore in bed. I'm going to be walking funny for quite some time." Sophie's gasp was more than enough reward in turn for having said something that embarrassing, as far as Rissa was concerned.
With the sounds of her sister's complete outrage hissing and sighing and squeaking indignantly behind her, Rissa made her way – unimpeded, she was surprised to realize – up the front stairs to her room where she collapsed, face first, on the bed, barely able to force herself to put on the usual t-shirt and undies she wore to sleep.
Just as she was about to pull the covers up over her head and fall asleep, though, her phone rang, and she couldn't quite resist looking to see who it was.
Against her better judgment, she took the call.
"Where are you?" he growled, and her body reacted as if he was there, in bed with her, and had just rasped his tongue across her overly sensitive clit. Her full body clench at the mere sound of his voice had her so shocked she couldn't answer him for a moment.
"Marissa! Where the hell are you? Are you all right?" He sounded very worried and none too happy.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm at home."
Dead – ominously so – silence. "You walked all the way home?"
"Hell, no! Exercise is a four letter word, I'll have you know. I caught a cab."
He sighed exasperatedly, and she fancied she could see him running his hand through that thick thatch of black hair. "Thibodeau's cab. I bet you caught Tim having his breakfast at the diner."
It wasn't a question; it was a statement. There was only one cab company in town, and only one breakfast place.
"Yes."
"Everyone in town is going to know we slept together, you realize."
She frowned. "I fail to follow that logic, but then I've never been much of a logical person, so that's no surprise."
Somehow, his long-suffering sigh sounded terribly familiar, if several octaves lower than she was used to hearing. "Because you're wearing my boots."
"Boots?" This damned town was so small that people knew each other by their footwear?
"Yes. The ones you appropriated from me are very expensive, and I'm the only person in town with a pair of them."
She couldn't help but giggle a bit. The situation was so absurd to her, but then she wondered if he was in trouble because of their little tryst. It sounded positively medieval to her, but weren't there still morals clauses in some Hollywood stars' contracts? Could that translate to a small town sheriff? she wondered. It certainly seemed like a big leap to her, but you never knew.
And he was not laughing.
Marissa straightened up quickly. "Sorry. I'll give you back your boots. And if you'd wanted me to keep this…" Since he seemed quite tentative about what they'd done, she certainly didn't want to use the "r" word, so she avoided describing it altogether and said, "Under wraps, I would have appreciated a heads up last night."
Marissa was beginning to feel all guilty and uptight, until she realized how ridiculous it sounded that she'd been ratted out by the entire town's apparent shoe fetish, and refused to participate in feeling guilty about what she'd done. She knew she'd do it again in a heartbeat, although he couldn't seem to subscribe to her laissez-faire attitude.
Surprise, surprise.
"Why didn't you just wake me up?" he asked. "I would have gladly driven you home…eventually." After he'd indulged them both for several more long, languorous hours, maybe she could have convinced him that she needed to get home. But very probably not.
"I didn't want to," she responded primly, hugging herself under the covers.
She heard him sigh, but kept quiet.
So did he, for a long moment before saying, in a tone that was about as close to he came to whiney and was actually more of an unhappy growl, "A morning erection, though, is a terrible thing to waste."
Her snort was nothing if not derisive, despite the fact that her mouth was watering at the thought. "Isn't that why God gave you hands that reached?"
Chapter 7
It took him a long moment to respond, and Marissa wondered if she'd gone just a tad too far, but then he started to laugh and she knew she had nothing to worry about. "You're a brat, you know."
She yawned, unable to stop herself. "That seems to be the consensus of opinion."
He chuckled again. "That's okay." His voice lowered at least an octave before he added, "I know the cure."
Even miles away from him, her hand went immediately to her bottom at that tone. "No, you don't!"
"Oh, I most definitely do. And you still have two spankings coming, young lady."
"Do not!" she responded automatically. Then what he'd said sank in. "What? Wait. Two spankings? How come?"
He was amazed that she wasn't protesting that she wasn't due any, but he wasn't about to look a gift…well, anyway…in the mouth.
"Well, I never did get to spanking you for your dangerous lack of preparedness, and then for leaving me high and dry today, without so much as a good morning kiss." He sniffed loudly. "Makes a man feel as though his woman is taking him for granted…"
His woman. He'd called her his woman. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
But he sounded as if he was going to cry at any moment, which she couldn't imagine. He had to be putting her on. "Yeah, you're abused, all right. Isn't that what most men want? For a woman to just go away after sex?"
"I'm not most men, and I wouldn't have let you out of bed for the rest of the week," he growled huskily. Then he sounded pitiful again
. "But I know when I've been rejected…"
She didn't really know what to say to that, so Marissa wisely kept her mouth shut.
Dodge cleared his throat, sounding more normal. "So, are you here yet?"
Rissa snorted. "No."
"Then I'm not doing it right. Damn!"
"Well, you have to consider the fact that you don't do pitiful very well – which is points for you."
"Not if you're not here, it ain't." The raw need in his emphatic statement nearly had her reconsidering whether or not she wanted to slog back through the snow – albeit in her car this time – to him.
But, as much as ninety-nine percent of her wanted to, the other one percent was absolutely exhausted.
"You're making me wish I hadn't left," she yawned, then provided him with a translation.
"Good. That was the general idea. And in case you haven't realized it yet, you're not allowed to do that again, although I fully intend to make much more of an impression on you about that rule the next time I see you."
Damn – two spankings in one session? Now that was cruel and unusual, and she told him so, on another yawn.
He managed not to sound too worried about her concern, but he did let her off the hook about making her way across town. "You sound tired." His warmth and concern wrapped itself around her as if he was right behind her, holding her in those impossibly strong arms of his. "Get some sleep. I'll pick you up tonight and we'll hit the town."
"Hmm-hmm," she answered, almost unconscious already.
"Sleep tight, baby. Rest up for tonight. You're going to need it." He hung up the phone, realizing with a smile that it hadn't even occurred to her to turn him down about going out with him tonight.
Maybe she was trainable.
Maybe.
This time, he did take her into Bangor, where they spent some time strolling around the anemic mall, then headed to the place he had been going to take her the night before, when she requested to go to Twin Lights, instead. It was a little short notice, but he had been able to get reservations.
It was a very expensive restaurant – and that was saying something for the likes of Bangor, Maine – with amazing food and fantastic service. He knew that she was probably used to places like this, but around here, this type of place was reserved for the few very rich and extremely special occasions. It had been voted the restaurant in the area where a guy was most likely to propose, which is probably why it was still in business.
He had called her midday to check up on her, which she was surprised to find she didn't find in the least cloying, but rather wonderfully sensitive. Dodge kept it short, not wanting her to think he was the stalker type, even though he knew he could get awfully close to that with her. He missed her, which was patently ridiculous, since he barely knew her, but he had been unable to keep himself from making that call, using the excuse that he wanted to tell her that she needed to dress for dinner tonight.
"And that includes underwear, Marissa."
She just giggled at how thoroughly stern he sounded. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Most men would prefer…"
She swore she could hear his teeth grinding. "As I've already said, I'm not most men."
"Okay."
"Besides, I want the distinct pleasure of peeling them off you tonight, when we're back at my place, before I take my belt to your backside."
She felt a frisson of fear slide down her spine, bringing her nipples to throbbing peaks. "Your belt? No! Why would you use your belt?" she whined.
"Because your safety is always first. Your worst punishments will always be those where I feel you've disregarded – and continue to disregard – your own health or welfare, Marissa Jean."
"But –"
"That's enough. I'm not going to argue with you about it. Before I go, though, I do have a question for you."
Her lower lip jutting firmly several inches out from her face, Rissa asked petulantly, "What?"
"Are you touching yourself right now?"
The question came at her from left field, and she found herself sitting bolt upright on the loveseat in the den that she usually occupied while she was visiting her sister. "No – why?"
"I'd be willing to bet you were yesterday, though, when I called you, weren't you? And don't lie to me, Rissa, or the spanking you'll get from that will make a health and safety punishment seem like Disneyworld," he whispered fiercely.
"Yes," she confessed, glad he couldn't see just how red her face was. "I was."
"Did you come?"
She squirmed uncomfortably at the very personal question, but answered him truthfully, "No."
"Good. You're not to come – which means you're expressly forbidden to touch, too – unless you get permission from me, or I tell you to. Do you understand?"
Rissa waited a long beat. She didn't want to promise him either one of those things!
"Marissa Jean Hamilton, I can be there in about ten minutes, and believe me, I won't hesitate to take you over my knee when I get there."
"All right, all right. I won't." Jeez, this dominance thing was certainly going to put a cramp in her style!
But Dodge wasn't quite that easy to get around. "Won't what?" he prompted.
Her sullen sigh didn't get her off the hook one bit. In fact, he was going to do his best to curb that tendency, too. He wanted to hear from her own lips exactly what activities he had prohibited her from doing, and he didn't want attitude from her about it, either. "Touch or come."
"Without what, Marissa? I can see that you need to be taught that I don't intend to have to drag things out of you every time I ask you a question."
She didn't like that idea, either! "Without your permission. I won't touch or come without your permission." She repeated the entire statement before he had to ask, hoping to waylay another sentence on top of what she'd already earned.
"Damn straight."
"Humph," was all she said, slumping now in the loveseat and realizing that, having been told she couldn't, all she really wanted to do now was bring herself off!
"We have reservations for eight, so I'll pick you up at seven. Don't be late."
"You're going to spank me for that, too?" she asked, although she almost never had problems with time management. She was feeling very put upon, though, and wanted him to know it.
"If I need to, yes. You need to start coming to terms with the fact that you're no longer in charge of your life, Marissa. I am, and I intend that you obey me."
Nothing. Silence. If it hadn't been winter, he would have sworn he heard crickets.
But she wasn't going to get an iota of sympathy from him. "Pull your lower lip in and get some rest, honey."
Rissa opened her mouth to protest, but he was gone. So she stuck her tongue out at the phone, for all the good it did her. Although it did make her feel a bit better, especially since there was nothing he could do about it, since he didn't know about it!
He certainly knew how to pick restaurants. The place was, surprisingly, big enough that each couple got a very private horseshoe-shaped booth and their own very dedicated and attentive staff. City dweller or not, they had an absolutely fabulous meal. After they'd scooted around to the top of the horseshoe, sitting so close together that Rissa was practically in his lap, Dodge told the waiter to bring them a bottle of Cristal. Then he placed his hand possessively on her nearest thigh, moving the hem of her skirt up several inches, so that the side of his hand was nestled against that warm notch of hers under the table, where no one else could see.
"You don't have to order champagne," Marissa demurred, although her mind and body were much more concentrated on where his hand had landed.
"I know. I want to."
"But Cristal is so expensive…."
Dodge leaned back in the booth, his arm across her shoulders. "So who is it that's been telling you that I'm destitute? I need to know who to deck."
Rissa shrugged. "No one. I just remember growing up here, and the battles my
father used to fight with the town council over money for his department, and I can't imagine that they're paying you more than a dollar-ninety-eight an hour, frankly. And there's no need to bankrupt yourself to try to impress me." She leaned back against him, threading her small fingers through the much bigger ones of his unoccupied hand. "You've already done that."
"Why, thank you, ma'am," he said, a slightly amused smile on his face. "But I'm telling you here and now that I have no financial worries. I'm not Trump by any stretch of the imagination, but I made some very wise investments while I was in the military and living extremely cheap. The truth is that I don't even take a salary from my job with the town."
Marissa was stunned, and she realized that – yet again, as was becoming a habit around him – her mouth was hanging open. "Good grief! You have done well for yourself, haven't you?"
"I'm reasonably well off, yes." Dodge eyed her carefully. "Does that make me more attractive to you?"
It was an insulting question, so she returned tit for tat. "Did my sleeping with you last night – on our first date – make you think I was a slut?"
It was the first time she'd heard him snort, and it was a loud one. "Of course not."
"Well, then allow me the courtesy of not thinking that I'm quite that shallow, either, thank you very much."
Her back was up, and that was the last thing he wanted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."
Her eyebrow rose. "Well, well, well. You keep scoring points right and left, don't you?"
He intended to ask her what she meant, but the waiter arrived and poured the champagne, and he wanted to propose a toast before they got back to that very interesting topic.
Dodge looked her in the eye, linked his arm through hers, and whispered hoarsely, "To all the ways I'm going to enjoy making you squirm."
And, of course, she had to do just that as soon as he said it, nearly spilling her champagne on the way to her mouth.
From that point on, he made sure her glass was never empty.
"So, what exactly did you mean by that remark, young lady?"
"What remark?" she asked innocently, burying her head in the extensive menu until she found it removed from her hands as he laid them both down on the table.
Her Knight In Faded Denim Page 8
