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“I meant, I didn’t buy them,” she said with an eye roll.
“Did you knock over that big-name sex shop, Bare Essentials, before you left Chicago?”
“Of course not. They’re samples. They were for research.”
“Are you preparing for your entry into the adult-film business?”
“Hardly.”
“That’s good, because I’m fairly sure the ‘hot for teacher’ story has already been done. About a million times.”
“How many versions have you seen?” she asked, her expression unchanged, though her voice held the tiniest bit of suggestion.
“Maybe a few.”
Her wicked smile made Mike realize he wasn’t the only one giving in to some naughty urges here. She, too, was pushing this, even though the safe, sane thing would have been to let the conversation drop along with the dildo.
He stepped closer, pausing only to let the book fall into the open box at his feet. She didn’t move away, tossing her own retrieved item in there, as well. It landed with a thud.
“You could kill someone with that thing,” he mused.
“Maybe I should keep it handy to slam into any potential intruders.”
He rubbed his jaw. Damn, the woman did know how to give a guy an opening. But those green eyes didn’t reveal whether she’d done it on purpose. “Slam it, huh?”
Her eyes flared, even as she inched a little closer, too. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” He watched her mouth as her tongue flicked out to dampen her parted lips. She was breathing deeply, audibly. But then, so was he. “Maybe you meant to say pound, or thrust?”
She swallowed visibly, that delicate throat bobbing. “I meant, I could use it as a weapon.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’d scare a home invader to death. Go away or I’ll beat you with my big, giant penis.”
Her dark pupils widened and her eyes flared with excitement, as if she’d felt the electric thrill in the air. Hell, so had he. He’d felt it from the moment he’d seen her on the deck of that ferry this morning.
“This is a dangerous conversation, Chief Santori,” she whispered, even as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if for warmth. Or to hide any evidence of her body’s reaction to that dangerous conversation. Because he hadn’t been able to help noticing that her nipples were pebbled beneath her soft sweater and a pretty flush had risen in her previously pale cheeks.
“I’m not intimidated by your sex toy, teacher,” he said, his voice almost a purr. His turn to give the opening; he just wondered if she’d take it.
Her chin went up. “Should I be intimidated by yours?”
Oh, hell, the woman hadn’t just taken it, she’d twisted his words around and put him firmly on the defensive. His mouth went dry, his hand shook and his whole body strained to eliminate those last few inches that separated them. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to push her up against the wall and cover her mouth with his, to taste her and take her.
It was madness. She was a stranger, they were both firmly opposed to any kind of sexual entanglements and he was in a new job in a place where the walls had eyes and ears.
And yet. And yet...
One kiss. One simple taste. Who would it harm?
He reached for her, cupping her cheek, tugging her toward him. He didn’t try to overpower her, letting her duck away if she chose to.
But she didn’t. Instead, she stepped into him, throwing her arms around his neck and rising on tiptoe to take the kiss he’d been about to offer her. Her soft lips melded against his, and parted. Mike groaned, taking what she gave him, sliding his tongue against hers, exploring that sweet-tasting mouth.
He liked kissing. He’d missed kissing. And kissing this particular woman could easily become an addiction.
Every inch of her womanly body was pressed against him, from the softness of her mouth, the lushness of her perfect breasts, the flat tummy, the curvy hips, the long legs. This wasn’t some sweet, exploring first kiss; it was a hot and hungry stolen interlude. One both of them knew wasn’t going to last and shouldn’t be repeated, so they would have to make the most of it.
He angled his head one way and she angled hers the other so their tongues could plunge deeper. Her fingers twined in his hair, his dropped to her hips and they pressed into each other, making no effort to pretend they weren’t both incredibly turned on.
He was turned on. But not crazy. Certainly not crazy enough to have sex with a woman he’d met four hours ago. Especially not one who was his new neighbor, and the trusted new schoolteacher for the island’s kids.
It almost killed him, but he let common sense invade, and slowly, he ended the kiss. He didn’t pull away completely, keeping his mouth near hers so they could share each deep, gasping breath. He didn’t release her hips, and she still had a death grip on his hair. He sensed she was fighting the same inner battle as him, knowing it was time to end this, but almost pained at having to do the smart thing.
But finally, he did the smart thing. He dropped his hands and took a step back.
“I’d better go,” he said, shaking off the crazy desire to pick her up, carry her into her new room and see just how bouncy the bedsprings were in her big bed.
“Yes,” she murmured, lifting a hand to her mouth and brushing her fingertips across her swollen, reddened lips. “That would be for the best.”
“Should I apologize?”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
He nodded then strode toward the door, focused only on getting out of here before this situation could get any crazier. Unfortunately, his feet didn’t get the message that they were to avoid anything suggestive. With his second step, he accidentally kicked the more normal-size, veiny-looking toy, sending it spinning like the world’s most salacious dreidel.
He paused, watching it disappear under the couch. She did, too. Then it was gone, the squeak of rubber on hardwood ended, leaving them in thick silence. She opened her mouth to say something—hey, watch what you’re doing with my favorite toy?
But he threw a hand up, palm out, stopping her. He couldn’t stand here another minute thinking about what had fallen out of her box, or the fact that it had led to a wild, impulsive kiss that was going to live in his dreams and his memories for the rest of his life.
Nor could he think about why Lindsey Smith, the new science teacher of a quaintly old-fashioned public school, traveled with a vast array of naughty pleasure devices. Or why he, the new Chief of Police, had kissed her like he needed the air in her lungs to survive. Or why they’d met here, now, when neither of them was in a position to do anything about the intense attraction they were both experiencing. He simply moved past her, not saying another word, walking out the door, shutting it with hard finality behind him.
Her thoughts were apparently just as wild and scattered as his own. Before he even stepped off the porch, he heard a loud, feminine groan coming from inside the house. If he had to guess, he’d call it frustration mixed with embarrassment.
He didn’t pause, didn’t even consider turning back; he simply strode toward his SUV. As he got in and started it up, he found himself hoping that, by the time he saw her again, he’d have stopped thinking about how she’d tasted, how she’d felt in his arms.
And how much he wanted to get a crash course in the use of X-rated toys.
4 (#ubaaa0557-c95f-5ea4-8a18-7c09d0b19ab3)
AFTER WATCHING MIKE SANTORI drive away, Lindsey spent about twenty minutes being mortified, and not just about the whole sex-toys-on-the-floor moment. There was also the fact that she’d kissed a complete stranger like she intended to swallow his tongue.
She was a professional. She taught people how to deal with their sexual urges, and counseled women on how to respect their bodies and choose their partners. She’d made her own sexual choices with deliberation and caution, always aware of exactly the kind of man she was choosing and why she was choosing him.
Yet she had made out with Mike like she was a horny cheerleader and he the high school stud who could snap his fingers and have any girl in the school.
“Not this girl,” she reminded herself. “That will never happen again, and don’t you forget it.”
Reminding herself of that over and over, she finished packing up her...research tools. Because, despite what he might have imagined, all those ridiculous-looking toys that had been strewn across her floor were strictly for research.
She was a sex therapist, for heaven’s sake. She counseled women on taking control of their sexuality. Of course companies tried to get her to recommend their products.
Plus, when she’d been working on her dissertation, Lindsey had not only interviewed dozens of women, she had also examined just about every sexual aid on the market. Companies had happily sent her samples of their products, and if Chief Santori thought he’d seen the bulk of her collection, he had another think coming. She had loads more stored in her spare room in her Chicago apartment. That’s where that particular box should have remained. Either she or the doorman she’d paid to help her move must have grabbed it by mistake.
Still a little stunned about what had happened, she carried the now-repacked box to the closet and shoved it in the rear corner. She was determined to get it back to the mainland the very first chance she got, even if it meant going over on that stupid ferry again.
The only thing she’d salvaged from the box before she’d sealed it were a few textbooks and a small, pocket-size illustrated edition of the Kama Sutra. It had been a gift from Callie, who’d said when she’d given it to her that Lindsey needed to learn the concept of intimacy.
She’d been offended at the time. She’d been intimate with people—with men. But even though she’d told her friend she was being ridiculous, she recognized something in Callie’s words.
She had sex. She didn’t do intimacy. Intimacy—real intimacy—required trust, commitment and letting go. It meant opening yourself up and being vulnerable. It required you to be willing to be hurt by someone.
Those were the lessons she tried to teach her patients. But she hadn’t taught them to herself.
Because she’d had enough of being vulnerable in her life. She’d seen what it could lead to, had lived it and taken notes throughout her childhood with parents who put the funk in dysfunctional. They’d despised and derided each other when they were together, and then longed for each other when they were apart. Obsessive didn’t describe their psychologically abusive relationship, and Lindsey had been the innocent bystander who’d had to watch them live it.
No way was she going down that road as an adult. She’d rather be alone, completely alone, than to love/hate another person so much it drove her to madness.
Callie knew about Lindsey’s cautious approach to relationships and sex. Sure, Lindsey’d had sex, with several men. But none had ever made her want to try the Push-cart position, much less the Trapeze. Because that kind of sex required serious trust and intimacy. And that just wasn’t how Lindsey rolled.
Until Mike?
“Forget it,” she mumbled aloud, tempted to go back to the closet, tear the fresh tape off that box and stuff the pretty, colorful little book inside it. There was certainly no chance it would be put to use while she was living on Wild Boar Island...even if she could close her eyes and lose herself in the memory of Mike Santori’s kisses. One embrace had convinced her that the man knew how to drive a woman wild.
“No being wild,” she reminded herself. She simply couldn’t afford to be. She had to be quiet, and live a boring, spotless life, free from any hint of sexiness that might give her detractors more to laugh about, or meme her over. She wanted her job back, damn it, which meant keeping her nose clean so Big Brother Dr. Ross and his buddies had nothing to hold against her.
No wildness. No risk. No loss of control. And no possibility of opening herself up to hurt, she decided as she crawled into bed.
That didn’t, of course, stop her from having the kind of dreams that pushed her into an orgasm in her sleep that night.
She came so hard she was rocked into full wakefulness at dawn Sunday morning, even though she hadn’t slept well in the unfamiliar bed. And the rumbles and quakes roaring through her body, the sizzling heat, the heightened sensitivity of all her nerve endings, told her she hadn’t dreamed the climax, she’d actually had one.
It wasn’t the first time. The whole concept of climaxing in a dream—something that had been happening to her since her teen years—had been what had prompted her doctoral research. If the mind really was the pleasure center for a woman, so that merely dreaming could bring orgasm, why couldn’t women do it while awake?
Answer: they could. A little research had proved that, and a lot of research had gone on to explain why.
The part of herself that always needed to be in the driver’s seat, to have the advantage in any sexual relationship, had wanted to stand up and cheer at that thought. Because what could be more perfect for someone who avoided intimacy than the ability to just think her way into pleasure?
“Fat lot of good it did, though,” she reminded herself as she spent the morning arranging her things and settling in to the house. Because not only could she not “Thinkgasm” herself, her research had made her a laughingstock and a game-show question.
By midmorning, Lindsey realized she was starving. She’d long since exhausted her supply of cookies. They’d served as dinner last night, when she’d awakened from her long nap feeling a lot less seasick and a lot more hungry. Having no food in the house, and needing to find her way around the island before she reported to her new job in the morning, she left the cottage and headed into town.
Callie’s husband, Billy, had called this morning, saying he would be home this evening and offering to show her around. Since he sounded absolutely exhausted—he’d spent every nonworking minute at the hospital—she’d refused the offer, insisting she could make it on her own. After all, Wild Boar was a tiny island, how hard could it be to navigate?
As it turned out, impossible. Not because of the size of the island, but because of the crazy rules of the road. She’d found herself about to turn onto another one-way street, and then had to detour for a washed-out bridge. By the time she reached the outskirts of Wild Boar Township, with its one stoplight, she was cranky and starving.
And then things just got better. From behind her came a blurp. A recognizable blurp.
“No way,” she muttered as a flashing red-and-blue light appeared in her rearview mirror. It wasn’t his big SUV, but she definitely saw a Wild Boar Island Police Department logo on the door of the car. Was Mike Santori seriously going to pull her over twice in two days? What the hell had she done this time?
Part of her was indignant. Another part, she had to admit, more than a little excited.
Despite herself, she quivered in anticipation. Her heart thudded, her breath caught in her throat. Without even being aware she was going to do it, she checked her reflection, glad she’d taken a few minutes to put on some makeup and pull her hair into a loose but pretty bun, leaving a few long strands dangling over her shoulders.
Her lightweight sweater hugged her body, the scooped neck emphasizing the top curves of her breasts. She had not dressed to impress, she swore she hadn’t. But she had to admit, deep down, she’d wondered if she might run into the hunky police chief today.
She lowered her window as a tall, khaki-dressed form filled the view in her side mirror.
“This seems familiar,” she said, her tone light, maybe a little flirtatious.
“You get pulled over a lot, huh?”
Lindsey immediately jerked her head and peered out the window, staring up at the cop who did not sound like Mike Santori. Didn’t look like him. Wasn’t him.
“Oh, no,” she mumbled, seeing a young, burly guy with a bit of a paunch and carefully coiffed, slightly slick, brown hair.
“You’re the new teacher, aren’tcha?”
Was it really her fate to never be called by her name again? Was everyone around here just going to call her “the new teacher” from now on?
“Yes,” she said. “Is there some problem.”
“How about you get out of the car?”
Oh, damn, that sounded serious. She racked her brain, trying to think of what she might have done. She could see a directional sign from here and knew she wasn’t on a one-way street this time. She was pretty sure she’d used her turn signal at the last stop sign, and had definitely come to a complete stop. She certainly hadn’t been speeding, not nearly comfortable enough with these narrow, windy roads to even consider it. So why on earth had he pulled her over?
“Miss?”
She reached for the door handle and opened it, stepping out. The big cop gestured her forward, pushing the door shut behind her. He then stayed there, not moving out of her way or stepping aside. He was so close his big, booted feet were only a few inches from hers. It was definitely a personal space invasion.
Her warning bells went off, as they always did around big men who used their size as an intimidation tactic. It seemed crazy to be tensing up and worrying about being alone with a uniformed cop on a sunny Sunday morning, a mile from a busy downtown area. It was broad daylight, and she was in the nicest place on the planet, according to Callie. But the truth was, she was decidedly uncomfortable, not just with this man’s proximity, but with his long, assessing stare.
“What’s the problem?” she asked again, crossing her arms over her chest, to which he was paying too-close attention. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”
The guy pushed his hand into the waistband of his khaki pants and scratched his gut. “Nah.”
She tried to keep her annoyance in check. “Then what is it?”
“Just wanted to get a look-see.”
“A...what?”
“Heard you came over on the ferry in that bright yellow tree-hugger car. Figured I’d get an eyeful of ya.”
Wait. He’d pulled her over so he could see what she looked like? His expression—half interest, half cocky smirk—said he was entirely serious.
Annoyance segued to anger. “Are you telling me you pulled me over so you could check me out?”
“Yep.”
