Suncoast Society
Broken Toy
Gabriella "Gabe" Villalobos survived a lonely, abusive childhood to become a dedicated cop who rescues children. Work is Gabe’s life. Which is why when she slugs a suspect, her boss orders her to leave town for three weeks of vacation she doesn’t want. When she stumbles into the Suncoast Society munch, she certainly doesn’t expect to meet a guy who makes her want more.
Det. William "Bill" Thomas is a widower who’s decided to fish in the BDSM dating pond after years of failed attempts. When he meets "Ella" at his first munch, he suspects she’s hiding a secret but doesn’t know exactly what.
Being assigned to a joint task force together forces Gabe and Bill to admit their true identities to each other and confront their feelings. Gabe has spent her entire life proving herself through her work, but Bill wants to show her what love and happiness feels like and convince her that she’s anything but a broken toy.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary
Length: 80,298 words
BROKEN TOY
Suncoast Society
Tymber Dalton
SIREN SENSATIONS
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Siren Sensations
BROKEN TOY
Copyright © 2014 by Tymber Dalton
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-400-5
First E-book Publication: February 2014
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
If you have purchased this copy of Broken Toy by Tymber Dalton from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.
The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.
This is Tymber Dalton’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Dalton’s right to earn a living from her work.
Amanda Hilton, Publisher
www.SirenPublishing.com
www.BookStrand.com
DEDICATION
For Sir, who keeps insisting I’m not a broken toy. Thank You for putting up with me.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
While the books in the Suncoast Society series are stand-alone works that may be read independently of each other, the recommended reading order to avoid spoilers is as follows:
1.Safe Harbor
2.Cardinal’s Rule
3.Domme by Default
4.The Reluctant Dom
5.The Denim Dom
6.Pinch Me
7.Broken Toy
Many of the minor characters who appear in this book also make appearances in—or are featured in—other books in the Suncoast Society series. All titles are available from Siren-BookStrand.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author's Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BROKEN TOY
Suncoast Society
TYMBER DALTON
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
“So that must be a really cool job, huh? You know, I totally love watching CSI. That is such a great show.”
Oh, my god. Kill. Me. Now.
Detective William Thomas forced a smile as his date, Cassie, took a sip of her Diet Coke, her dramatically overdone smoky eyes intently staring at him from across the table. “It’s not like it is on TV at all, believe me,” he assured her.
“Yeah, you don’t have commercials in real life.”
He’d started to laugh when he realized with dawning horror that she was totally serious.
Like, totally.
Thank god we didn’t go to Marelli’s. I’d be embarrassed to death right now. “Uh, yeah.”
Scratch killing myself, I’m going to fucking kill Al for letting Sue set me up.
Normally, he wasn’t a fan of blind dates. As in he didn’t go on them.
At all.
Detective Albert Ogilvy, friend—former friend if this date dragged on too much longer—and coworker, had managed to catch him at a weak moment. It’d been two years since his last date, five years since the last second date he’d had with someone…
And nine years since Ella died.
By the time he walked Cassie out to her car an hour later, he’d tried to adopt a Zen attitude about it. It wasn’t like he had to endure a second date with her, much less spend the rest of his life with the woman. He’d gotten out of the house for the evening, which had kept his mind occupied.
And now I’ll have something to freaking guilt-trip Al over.
Totally.
* * * *
The next morning, Al’s smile lasted from when he walked into the conference room until he got a look at Bill’s face.
“Uh-oh
.”
Bill just glared.
“Um, I was going to ask you how your date went last night, but I can tell you’re not wanting to talk about it.”
Bill sat back and tossed his pen onto the conference table. He pretended to twirl his hair. “Wrong. I sooo totally want to talk about it. Um, I so totally think what you cops do is sooo cool. I mean, CSI and everything. Ohmagurd.”
Al froze before letting out a snort. “Wow. That bad?”
Bill glared in reply.
His face fell. “Man, I’m so sorry. I owe you. Sue was driving me crazy to ask you to go out with that woman.”
“What the hell, dude? I thought we were friends.”
Al sat next to him. Their morning briefing would start in a few minutes. They could see through the windows overlooking the hallway that other detectives and officers were already making their way to the conference room.
“She’s Sue’s best friend’s niece or something,” Al explained. “I’d never met her before, I swear, or I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”
“Yeah, well, tell Sue thanks but no thanks if she comes up with any other dates for me,” he muttered, his voice dropping off as two other detectives walked into the conference room.
“Ten-four,” Al muttered back.
Hell, he was only forty-six. It wasn’t like he was in danger of dying alone as a crazy old man with twenty cats or something.
He hadn’t even adopted a cat.
Yet.
Although the last time he was in the neighborhood of the Humane Society over in Englewood, he had given serious thought to stopping by, just to take a look.
* * * *
Al stopped by Bill’s desk at lunchtime. “Want to go grab a bite to eat, or are you still pissed off at me?”
Bill’s first inclination was to say no, except he wanted to get out of the office and the only other option was a bag of chips out of the vending machine, or walking across the street for fast food at the Golden Arches.
Again.
Bill logged out of his computer. “I’m still pissed at you, so you’re buying.”
“Deal.”
“And driving.”
“Deal. Again.”
“And that still doesn’t get you off the hook.”
“Roger that.”
They drove a couple of miles south down US 41, to a small Greek restaurant they both liked. “Will this do?” Al asked.
“It’s a start.”
“You’re going to bust my balls over this forever, aren’t you?”
Bill grinned. “What do you think?”
“Oh, boy. I’m fucked.”
Once they were seated at the table and had menus, Al asked. “So, give me the deets. What happened?”
Bill gave his friend credit. Al tried not to laugh. Tried damned hard. But by the time Bill finished the story, Al finally had to let out a chuckle. “Uh, wow.”
Bill nodded. “Wow is right. Not the good kind of wow, either.”
“So, okay, serious question here. What is your type of woman? Or are you into guys, because man, I’ve got a cousin in Sarasota who’s single and he’s not bad looking, according to Sue.”
Bill scowled at him, earning another laugh.
“Come on, I had to yank your chain.”
“I don’t have a type. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate an attractive woman, but there’s got to be something under the hood to spark my interest. The chassis is irrelevant if there’s not much more than a hamster and a rusty wheel inside.”
“Such a romantic. I can see why ladies are flocking to you.”
“I’m serious. You asked, I’m answering.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He put his menu down. “So tell me. I’m listening.”
“Smart. A sense of humor. Someone who won’t be terrified being with a cop. Someone independent enough to stand on her own.”
“We talking Mensa-smart?”
Bill gave him “the look” again.
“Sorry.”
“You know what I mean.” Bill lowered his voice. He tried not to delve into his memories and make comparisons, but he couldn’t help it. “You knew Ella. She was curious and loved to try new things. She was laid back.”
The blanket of melancholy settled over him once more. “If I woke up on a day off and said, ‘Hey, let’s go to a car show,’ or whatever, she’d be game. She had a fun side. She had a playful side.” Bill rearranged his silverware on the table. “She was vulnerable and strong at the same time. She didn’t cling to me, but when we were together, she knew when I needed her.”
Al stared at him. “You just described a golden retriever.”
Al was the only person he’d tolerate that kind of crap from because they’d been friends for so long. Still, he gave Al “the look” once more.
His friend’s tone turned serious. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to help.”
“I know you are, and I appreciate it. Whenever it’s meant to be, it is. If it’s not…” He shrugged. “I was lucky enough to have the love of my life once. I’m not naive enough to think I’ll have that kind of luck a second time.”
* * * *
Bill spent the afternoon working on a case involving counterfeit prescription slips and took a man into custody for that. Then a burned car, reported stolen the night before, was found over near the mall.
Fortunately, that rounded out his day. By the time he was ready to go home a little before seven that night, he breathed a sigh of relief he hadn’t caught any disturbing cases. Not that they had a lot of those in their sleepy part of southwest Florida, fortunately, but it was always a good day when the worst complaint he had was getting a little soot on his pants while trying to read the VIN number stamped on a burned-out car.
“Did you want to come over for dinner tonight?” Al asked him on the way out.
Bill shook his head. “Nope. Look, don’t make Sue feel bad. Just tell her I said thanks, but it didn’t work out. For me, at least.”
“Will do.”
He didn’t feel like cooking, so he stopped at his usual haunt, Marelli’s, a small family-run Italian restaurant not far off US 41. The same family had owned and operated it for over three decades. A few years earlier, it had been leveled by Hurricane Charley. The owners had rebuilt it better than ever while still retaining the homey, cozy feel of the old place.
Fortunately they weren’t very busy since it was a weeknight. Dori, one of the owner’s granddaughters, smiled when she spotted him walking in. “Anywhere you want, Bill,” she said to him.
He nodded and grabbed a menu and a set of silverware from the hostess stand as he headed toward the back, to a small two-person table right next to the kitchen. In this restaurant, he loved sitting near the kitchen. He enjoyed listening to the family’s banter, getting a few extra minutes to chat with the staff and owners, and he could even lean over and refill his own water and tea from one of the waitress stations without bothering anyone.
They made him feel like family, including to the point of insisting that he come to their homes to celebrate holidays for the past several years after they found out he was a widower.
At least they hadn’t tried fixing him up on dates with anyone.
Yet.
After Dori finished with the table she was serving, she poured glasses of water and iced tea for Bill before walking over and setting them in front of him.
She flashed him a friendly smile. “I was beginning to think we weren’t going to see you tonight.”
“And miss spaghetti Tuesday on a Wednesday? Are you nuts?”
She cracked up over The Walking Dead references every time. “You’re too much. And it’s Thursday. The special?”
He nodded and handed her the menu. “Yep. Don’t know why I bothered grabbing a menu.”
She took it from him. “Just to make work for me.” Her grin made him smile in return. She stepped over to the pass-through window to the kitchen. “Bill’s here,” she called out. “Usual,” she said by way of giving them his orde
r. Then she carried the menu back to the hostess station and greeted an older couple who’d just walked in.
The kitchen door swung open and an elderly man swept through, dressed in checked chef’s pants, a black shirt, and a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. He wore a beaming smile on his face, his hand already extended for a shake. “There he is. How are you tonight, my friend? We missed you last night.”
Bill stood to give him a hug. “Good enough, Papa Tom. How are you?”
“Eh, no complaints.” He planted himself in the chair on the other side of the table. “I see you brought no work with you tonight. Must have been a good day?”
Bill shrugged. “Not the worst.” Everyone called Tom Marelli, the family patriarch and head chef, “Papa Tom” if they were considered part of the family. The eighty-two-year-old had been born in Italy, but emigrated to New York with his parents and siblings when he was two.
When Hurricane Charley had hit several years earlier, Bill had gone out of his way to track down the family and make sure they were all safe when he found out the restaurant had been destroyed by the storm. Much to his relief, they’d all been safely hunkered down at one of the daughter’s homes in North Port.
Dori called from the other side of the dining room. “Papa Tom!” She waved at him, motioning him over to the table.
The old man threw up his hands. “My apologies, it seems I’m wanted.”
Bill smiled. “You have a big fan base.”
He stood. “It could be worse. It could still be snowbird season.”
Bill watched, amused, as the man crossed the dining room, quickly leaning in to hug the couple who’d requested his presence. Now that it was May, the winter tourists and seasonal residents had mostly returned home. Even in the dead of summer, sometimes the worst time of the year for local eateries, Marelli’s always did a brisk business with locals.
Broken Toy Page 1
