Cuffing Her: A Small Town Cop Romance

by Emily Bishop

  “The next one?” A gentle prodding.

  “The fifth card foretells what may happen, depending on how you react to future events.” I placed it to the right of the first two. “Two of Cups. So many Cups,” I whispered.

  “Why is that significant?”

  “Cups is the suit of emotion. It’s—I didn’t expect that in the reading.” He didn’t seem like the emotional type. He was intense, yes, but emotional? He was in a suit, and so well put together.

  “What does it mean?”

  “Two of Cups signifies a relationship or partnership.” The man and woman on the card, both dark-haired, him taller, her short. Stop it. You don’t even know him. He’s famous and you’re… you.

  “In my future,” he said. “Doubtful.”

  “The sixth card.” I blew past that response. It wasn’t my business. I wasn’t a shrink, and I wouldn’t drag his personal problems out into the open. That wasn’t me. “The sixth card represents that which lies ahead. The certain future.” I drew the card and placed it to the left of the arrangement then frowned. “Reversed Two of Pentacles. Financial disarray. You’re going to lose money.”

  Once again, he fixed his attention on the spread.

  “The seventh card is—”

  A shrill ring interrupted me, and Jarryd slipped a cell out of his jacket. He held down the plastic button on its side and the noise cut off. “Sorry about that.” He magicked it back into his pocket again. “Please, continue. This is more important.” His foot brushed mine.

  My heart did a flop. The reading was more important than… what? An important call from whoever that’d been. At least he could switch off. I despised the new social era, everyone attached to their devices, tapping and liking and poking.

  “The seventh card is the current state of your emotional self.” I placed it to the far right. “The Hanged Man. Sacrifice, suspension, the need to let go.” Readings usually had some element of intimacy, but this felt different.

  It was as if I’d peeked behind a curtain and caught him naked. The cards bothered him.

  Jarryd shifted and tapped his fingers on the table. He didn’t like any of this, but what could I do? He’d touched the cards, and he’d paid me to do this. I couldn’t guarantee anyone a joyful reading.

  “Go on,” he said. “I’m fine.” As if he’d read my thoughts.

  “The eighth card is for external forces, the people who influence your life. The High Priestess. Intuition and mystery.” Once again, his gaze flickered up to my face and glued me in time. “The, the ninth card is for hopes and desires. The Lovers. Love, union, choices.”

  “And the tenth card?” he asked, voice deep and warm, like honey and butter.

  “Tenth card is the outcome of your question,” I replied.

  “Am I making the right choice with Pride’s Death?”

  “That’s it,” I said, as if he didn’t already know that. “The tenth card is—oh, my god.”

  “What?”

  Shoot, I never let emotion show during readings but he’d made this difficult for me. His presence had hazed everything but the table, the cards, and Jarryd. Flickering candles, a distant rumble of thunder.

  “What?” he repeated.

  I placed the tenth card. “The Tower.”

  “Jesus, that doesn’t look pleasant.”

  A tower above a roiling ocean, waves crashing against the cliff it stood upon. Flames erupted from the topmost window, a man toppled to the waves below, and lightning arced through the darkened clouds above.

  Outside, rain pattered the roof of my tent to suit the mood. “It symbolizes change.”

  “Is that all?” he asked. “Don’t go easy on me. I can take it.”

  “Disaster. Upheaval. Revelation.”

  Silence followed my words, broken only by the flash of lightning and a thunderous boom outside. The rain picked up. Shoot, I’d have to pack up everything and cart it back to the RV park. If the tent flooded, it’d ruin my books, cards, candles, everything. I’d officially run out of time for this reading.

  “Is this true? Is it all going to come to pass?” Jarryd asked.

  “That depends entirely on you. The reading is a representation of what you’re feeling. If you make a change, you can affect the outcome of your question,” I replied and swept the cards back into a pile. I patted them together and fed them into their black silk pouch.

  “I’m not sure I understand half of what you told me.” He rose fast, towering over me. Towering, ha. Irony? “Or if I believe it.”

  I bristled a little. “You don’t? I can only explain what the cards show me. Change is coming for you. Change and love. Perhaps a bit of turmoil, but ultimately, you’re in control. You always have been,” I said and hurried to the bookshelf. I placed the cards then moved back to the table and swept the tablecloth off it. “But now, Mr. Tombs, I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  “Will you leave a glass slipper for me?” he asked.

  “I—what?”

  “Why do you have to leave?” He caught my arm, and I gulped. I couldn’t handle him touching me. Every cell in my body ached. “No, why are you packing up? Are you leaving Moondance?”

  “Not Moondance, no.”

  “I don’t want you to leave because of me.” Jarryd still hadn’t let go, and the heat from his skin on my bare arm brought goosebumps. He looked down at them then up at me again.

  “I wouldn’t leave because of you.”

  “I’ve upset you.” He let go of my arm.

  “Not at all. I’m packing up because of the rain—the tent will flood, and I’ll lose everything. I need to get it all inside.”

  Already water had trickled beneath the tent flap and sluiced across the grass.

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh. I’ll help you.”

  “I don’t need help.” I tried for a smile.

  “ I want to,” he replied and brushed his fingers through that wavy brown hair “I’ll help you pack up. You wouldn’t have this problem if I’d come during regular hours.”

  “It’s OK. I can do it on my own.”

  “It’s fucking pouring out there,” he said. “It’s already flooding. I’m helping you.”

  I stared at him, breathing hard, my heart pounding against the inside of my ribcage. “All right, but you’re going to get wet. I live in the RV park outside the fairgrounds.”

  “No problem.”

  We made quick work of it—packing the crystals, books, and tarot cards into a wooden box decorated in silver etchings. I covered the top of it with the velvet tablecloth. “That’s everything. Oh, wait, the sign,” I said. “It’s wooden. I don’t want it to rot.”

  “I’ll get it. You take this.”

  Jarryd marched out into the rain before I could utter another word. I splashed out into the thunderstorm with the little box. Chain lightning arced through the sky, and the wind picked up, splattering raindrops against my back. I shivered and rushed past Jarryd while he heaved the sign from the ground and toward the exit.

  The thrill of the storm, and the fact that he was behind me, rushing through the rain to help—there was a celebrity here, in my little field—was enough to trip me up, and I stumbled, straightened then continued. I led the path to the RV, shuddering from the cold, and thundered up the front steps. I forced the door open, stumbled in, and dumped the box on the mini-kitchen table. I’d leave the bookshelf and the table out—neither were made of wood and wouldn’t take damage.

  Footsteps thumped up the two steps behind me, followed by the creak of wood and scrape of something being placed. “There.”

  I turned and slammed into Jarryd’s hard, muscled torso. He caught my arms and kept me from falling. “Whoa, easy there.”

  I sucked in a breath and looked up at him. “Th—you—thanks. I—the sign?” He dripped water, his suit jacket sodden but hanging open to reveal the wet, white cotton shirt underneath, stuck to his abs, displaying the outline clearly. The scent of his cologne, kind of woody and mixed with the musk of pure
skin, drifted between us. His eyes glinted, danced up and down, studying me.

  He moved forward, and the wetness pressed against me, water spread between us, joined us. I melted internally, barely holding myself together.

  “It’s right there.” He tilted his head to the left.

  I didn’t look. Neither did he. We were connected by something, tangible strings of attraction, and it was all I could do to keep breathing. He had a dimple on his chin.

  Jarryd Tombs—him, the celebrity, an actual famous person—inhaled and kept me silent by the magnitude of his presence. His fingers smoothed the silk of my blouse over my arms. “Do you need anything else?”

  Yes. You. I shook my head.

  “Are you sure?”

  No. I need you. I nodded.

  “You don’t look sure.”

  I swallowed, and the strings thickened, the length shortened. So close. So close, and it’d been so long, it’d been five years since I’d felt anything, done anything. Since I’d trusted and been rewarded with pain.

  “So beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I don’t even know your name. What’s your name?”

  “Aurora,” I replied, at last. “My name is Aurora.”

  “Like the northern lights. A natural wonder of the world,” he said and brushed chilled fingers down my cheek. “It suits you.”

  Chapter 3

  Jarryd

  Two weeks after a breakup, and I couldn’t take my eyes off this woman. This mysterious, totally opposite-to-me female who had curves in all the right places and long dark hair. I pictured grabbing a handful of it, tilting her head back, and ravaging her throat with hot, sweet kisses.

  “You’re wet,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I replied and finally let go of her. If I held on much longer it’d drive me crazy, or give me an inappropriate boner. I ran my fingers through my hair and grimaced. Water scattered to the carpet.

  “Hold on. I’ll get you a towel.” Aurora walked down the length of the RV and to a door at the far end. She opened it and revealed a glimpse of a bedroom, a double bed squeezed into the space, decked in plain white sheets. It looked comfortable, not too flashy.

  Nothing like what Felicity would’ve chosen if we’d gone through with it. Nah, I’d have been stuck with purple silky crap.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” I said.

  She returned and held out the towel at arm’s length, the distance between us too great for my liking. “You mean nice for a fortune-teller?”

  “No, I meant nice. Like nice. Nice in general.”

  “Say nice one more time and I’ll believe you,” Aurora said, and a tiny smile flickered around the corners of those full lips. Full enough to taste. “Look, you’d better get out of that suit. You’ll catch pneumonia like that.”

  I looked down at the wet jacket. An Armani suit, ruined. “You’re right,” I replied. “Got any old men’s clothes laying around?”

  “No, sorry,” Aurora replied and shrugged.

  “Nothing?”

  “No. Why, is that weird?” She colored slightly. It was cute. Why would she care if I thought it was weird or not?

  “It’s good. But it doesn’t help my situation here.”

  “Hold on a sec.” She shuttled off to the bedroom again, disappeared inside. The creak of cupboards followed, and I waited, towel in hand. Aurora reappeared holding what looked to be a pink blanket. “Here,” she said and thrust it toward me. “This has always been a little big for me.”

  “Big for you and miniature for me,” I replied. “What is it? Some kind of blanket?”

  “It’s a robe,” she said and held it up.

  “With a rose on the front.” I poked it.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she replied and giggled behind the pink curtain separating us. “Besides, you only have to wear it until I dry off your suit. Then you can head back to your car and –”

  “I didn’t bring a car,” I replied.

  “What?” She lowered the robe. “Are you—you mean, you walked here?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I mentioned I’d had a beer, right? It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Luckily, the effects of the alcohol had long since worn off. Probably had something to do with being told I’d lose money and possibly fall in love. Oh, and there was disaster on the way. Disaster for my movie, Pride’s Death.

  “You walked,” Aurora repeated then looked up at the ceiling of the RV.

  Rain drummed on the top of vehicle, thunder rolled outside. “Yeah. I’ll call a cab and be out of here in a couple minutes.” Not that I wanted to.

  Aurora walked toward me, swaying as she did. She reminded me of a fertility symbol, all woman, feminine in motion and sound.

  Aurora snorted. “A cab? There are no cabs here. OK, there’s one, but old Bobby doesn’t drive during storms or at night. He’s got night blindness. Really dangerous.”

  “Old Bobby? Who’s old Bobby?”

  “The cab driver?” Aurora smiled, a tremulous shifting of those lips.

  It was as if someone had punched me dead in the gut. Beyond gorgeous. Perfect. “I’m not used to small towns.” Or women who affected me like this.

  “Well, Moondance is an atypical small town. The cab driver won’t be working until tomorrow, and that’s if the rain doesn’t muddy up the dirt roads too badly.” Her smile faded slowly.

  I stepped forward. “I’ll walk. You got an umbrella? I’ll bring it back tomorrow and pay you for your trouble.”

  “What? Don’t be crazy.” Aurora didn’t shy away from me, but she did twitch. “You can’t walk in this. There are trees out there.”

  “Terrifying. I hear they’re rooted down, though,” I replied and winked at her.

  She flinched again. Was it the wink that’d done it? “The lightning. You’ll get electrocuted or sick or something. Look, it’s fine. You change into the robe and sleep on the sofa, see?” Aurora gestured to the tiny sofa next to the even tinier kitchen table. “Or—yeah, I’ll sleep on the sofa and—”

  “No,” I said. “The sofa is fine for me. Thanks.”

  Aurora nodded. “Good, right, OK. Good.”

  “You said that already.”

  She blushed again, but this time it was an overwhelming flush that crept from the base of her neck, up her throat, to her cheeks, and right to the roots of her hair. Adorable and vulnerable, yet feisty.

  “Right, so I’ll leave you to change out of those clothes. Just lay them over the, uh, over the—” She swayed from side-to-side, looked around. “The table. Put them on the table to dry, and if they’re not dry by tomorrow, I’ll heat them up. Or—yeah, OK. Goodnight then.” She turned stiffly and walked to the bedroom. She shut the thin door behind her.

  “Goodnight.” That’d gone well.

  I stood in place and listened.

  Soft sounds from the room, rustling, the thump of a drawer. Clothes changing. Images of her naked came uninvited and nearly doubled me over. I moved without thinking, closer to the wood that separated us.

  Her scent permeated the space around me and flooded my nostrils with lavender. It was gentle, though, not too overpowering, feminine. I halted in front of her door and lifted my fist.

  The door opened before I could connect with it.

  “What are you doing?” Aurora asked, now wearing a silken nightie. Her nipples pricked at the fabric, and goosebumps decorated the slopes of her breasts. “You’re still wearing wet clothes. You’re going to catch cold. Seriously, change into the robe. I don’t have anything else that—”

  I moved in fast, cupped her face in my hands, and searched her eyes.

  “Wh-what?” She shivered beneath me. “Jarryd?”

  My name on her lips. Fuck it, that sounded good. I bent my head and looked at her mouth. Her lips, parted slightly, let out tiny breaths.

  “Jarryd.” Less of a question this time.

  So close to her. Our lips almost touching but not quite there. The tension ramped up, and she quiver
ed. No longer subtle tremors but visibly shaking.

  “You want me,” I said.

  Aurora swallowed, wet her lips.

  “Say my name again.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Jarryd.”

  I watched her say my name then brushed my finger along her bottom lip. “Aurora.”

  Finally, I kissed her, melting her and myself with that embrace. I slid my arms around her and down her spine, pressing the silk to her skin, tracing the long line down her back to the swell of her ass.

  Aurora moaned into my mouth—a tiny sound that lit me from the inside.

  I pressed her body to mine.

  She gasped and shuddered. “Cold,” she said and pulled back from the kiss.

  Shit, I was still wet from the storm.

  I stripped off my jacket and dropped it on the table behind me. Her front was wet, now, and the material clung to her breasts, to her flat belly, a slight dip at her belly button.

  I lost my shirt next, left the pants on. She had a choice, and I wanted her to make it.

  Aurora’s gaze danced across my body from my pecs, to my abs, to the tattoo down my left bicep, and finally it sank lower, to the bulge at the front of my suit pants. She trembled and let out a squeak.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked. It came out as a command rather than a question.

  She undid my belt, slowly, and dragged it off then unbuttoned the top button of my pants. They dropped to the floor, and she inhaled sharply.

  “It’s—you’re…”

  “Nice?” I suggested.

  “Huge,” she replied.

  Talk about calling a spade a spade. I tilted my head and studied her, chest rising and falling rapidly, that silk still clinging to her. “Take it off,” I said.

  Aurora’s eyes flashed but she didn’t argue. She slipped her thumbs underneath the thin straps of her nightie, lifted them, and let them fall from her shoulders. The nightie clung to her still, and she wormed out of it. Finally, it dropped and revealed all of her.

  Shaven, breasts full, and nipples puckering in the cold air.