Recharged Page 3

  Ah shit. For the second time that day, I had the distinctive thought — I’m screwed.

  “Hey there, officer,” I mumbled under my breath, physically incapable of making eye contact. I worried that if I gazed too closely, I might never be able to see another man as attractive so long as I should live.

  No, no! my inner angel voice shouted. Remember the cakes! Good voice. Smart voice. I’d do that. Or at least, I’d try my darndest.

  I shook my head free of sensual distraction, and righted the mental train, guiding it awkwardly back onto the metaphorical tracks. I had a business to save. Time to boss up.

  So, I gave it another shot. I lowered my voice, and enunciated each word, as I said, “Hey there, officer.”

  Much better, Zoe. Well done. Indeed, he did look momentarily taken aback.

  “Miss,” he began. “Pardon my manners, what’s your name?”

  “Zoe Reynolds. But friends like you can call me Zoe.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were friends,” he returned in a low, humor-filled voice.

  “Well, not yet we aren’t. But I’d like to change that.”

  His grin grew wider, and my breath caught in my throat. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the pretense of being in control. Especially when I was thinking about all the ways I wanted those thick hands to control me.

  He continued on in a drawl, the kind that told you he’d fished on an open lake in the summer and cooked the bounty over a fire he had made himself. It was the drawl of a self-possessed man.

  “Zoe,” he said languidly, “you know why I pulled you over?”

  I rallied my strength. “To get to know me better?” I asked with a wink.

  Did I just do that? Oh shit, I think I did. When had I grown so brazen? A small part of me sparkled with pride, though I figured I shouldn’t get too big of a head over something as basic as flirtatious chitchat.

  “I wish, darlin’. I sorely wish.” He sighed, and I could see real regret filter throughout his face, that familiar masculine strain of trying to resist a pretty woman. “‘Fraid I gotta talk with you ‘bout that brake light.”

  Fuck. The brake light, of course. It had been out since, well, pretty much since the first day I got it. But I didn’t have the money to fix it, and I’d figured that if I could just hold out until the bakery was on its feet, I’d be able to take the car to an auto repair shop. Guess I didn’t make it quite that long. I guess the cops noticed the broken brake light as I was slowing down due to a squirrel crossing the road. Of all the luck.

  “Right, of course,” I replied hastily. “I’m planning on getting it fixed next week.” The lie came out more fluidly than I’d anticipated.

  “Well, that sounds good by me. What other plans have you got for next week?” he inquired, his eyes twinkling, almost coaxing me further into the banter.

  “Not so many that I couldn’t squeeze you in there,” I fired back. Was I about to dodge a ticket and get a wickedly hot date? Man, oh man, had my luck turned.

  “So, what’s your name, officer?”

  “I’m Officer Dylan Robertson, ma’am.”

  He sidled up closer to the window, and I had to remind myself to breathe. This guy was all-American rugged, and I wondered what it’d be like to ride a cowboy cop. Would he buck beneath me? Was he hung like a bronco? That last thought was so overwhelming that my ears began to burn.

  “I’m gonna need to see your license,” he said.

  I snapped out of my daze. Shit. Did this mean I was still on the hook for the brake light? Here I’d thought I was doing so very well.

  “And registration. Got to do things by the book,” he added smoothly with a cocky smile.

  I hadn’t given up yet. This was the first nibble I’d had in months and I wasn’t going to let a broken brake light or a broken heart stand in my way a moment longer.

  Trying to match his calm seduction, I slowly leaned over to my console, popped it open — jerked it open when the button caught — and pulled out my registration. I turned around to the back to grab my wallet and pivoted just enough that my thong rode up over the edge of my jeans. I heard a deep breath behind me. Good. He’d clearly noticed the lacy strip of pink.

  I palmed my wallet and unzipped it to riffle through the contents. Coupons, membership cards, spare change. It was a hoarder’s wallet. I landed upon my license and thumbed it up to the top of the wallet. Grasping the plastic and paper, I reached my hand out the window and put the documents in his outstretched fingertips. Time to play the game. I let my skin rest on his, which was warm to the touch, like a patch of grass warmed by the sunshine in summer.

  His hands were truly mountainous, the kind of hands made for building log cabins. They were rough, and thick but not meaty. They held great promise in regard to what rested in his pants. I grinned internally at the image that flitted across my mind’s eye.

  And then I noticed the ring on his left hand.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dylan

  I watched her clock the ring in what felt like slow motion. One minute, her eyes were lustily tracing the curvature of my hands. The next minute, those same green eyes had come to rest with a rapidly dawning horror upon the ring.

  If only she knew what it really meant.

  “Oh,” she muttered. “I get it. Understood. Ha. Great, just great.”

  Rushing to explain myself, I jumped in with, “No, uh, it’s not, you’re, this is actually—”

  “Yeah,” she said with a touch of defeat in her voice. “Isn’t it always.”

  I was ready to fire back with something besides the truth, but I was cut off.

  “You kids all right out there?” a voice called out. Thomas. For better or worse, he had interrupted. I saw the old man hoist himself out of the low-riding car and trudge over to where me and this woman were locked in a silent quarrel over my ring. Thomas arrived at my side before I could continue.

  “What’s going on out here, Officer Robertson?” he asked with a tip of his cap in her direction.

  “Well,” I began, “we’re just discussing her brake light situation.”

  “Yeah? You been gabbing long enough I’da thought you’d gone over all the Badgers’ stats from last season by now.”

  “Ha, not yet, sir,” she interjected. “If Coach Chryst gets his shit together we can talk shop all day.”

  Thomas gave a hearty chuckle at that. I smiled at her charisma and quick read on Tom. She shot me an angry look, her eyes darting to the ring and my smile relapsed into a somber, tight-lipped expression.

  “License and registration?” he asked Zoe, fiddling with his walkie all the while.

  I butted in, glad to be of value to somebody, saying, “Got ‘em,” and passed the information over.

  His eyes, shelved beneath bushy brows, quickly scanned the license. They hitched on something, and he paused.

  “Miss Reynolds…”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Miss Reynolds, do you know that your license is expired?”

  “It’s what?”

  Her pale, freckled cheeks went fire-hydrant red and the blush spread to around her pale green eyes, tracing a path across her smooth forehead.

  “Expired,” I offered helpfully.

  “It’s expired?” she repeated, totally ignoring me. Shit, it appeared I’d already screwed the pooch on this one.

  “Yup,” Tom returned.

  “Fuck,” she said, and the curse caused those cheeks to burn even brighter. “Sorry, I meant, uh. Y’know.”

  “I have no objection to coarse language, Miss Zoe,” Tom replied. “I do, however, have an objection to expired licenses.”

  “Yes, of course, I completely understand,” she said sadly. And here I was, ready to let her off easy after I was going to secure a promise of drinks from her. Why did Tom have to walk on over? I hated to admit it, but I probably would’ve never noticed.

  This was going to be a bigger problem. To that end, Tom held up a hand in her direction, indicating that sh
e was to give us a moment, and motioned for me to follow him a few feet away.

  I obliged, shooting her an apologetic look over my shoulder. Her confidence of minutes ago had vanished, now replaced by a slightly trembling bottom lip. Its pink flesh quivered up and down, hinting at an impending breakdown. Great way to proposition a woman, Dylan. Arrest her and make her cry.

  “You know we gotta book her, right?” Tom asked me, staring off at some unfixed point in the distance. I could tell he felt a bit bad about it, too. After all, if she’d had only one of the two problems, we would’ve let her off with a ticket. Maybe not even a ticket, just a warning. But now she’d have to go through the whole rigmarole of booking, setting court dates, on and on and on.

  I nodded to Tom, regretfully understanding. “Yeah, a brake light on its own we could’ve let slip, but that plus a license… I get it. I feel like a dick, but I get it.”

  The old man ran a tongue over his lips. “Plus, I figure it’ll give you two some time to talk in the car.”

  My brows shot up, propelled by sheer surprise. Tom and I had discussed most everything under the sun, but my love life was off limits, for obvious reasons, professionalism being the least of them.

  “Don’t give me that look,” he continued. “I saw the way you were gabbing. You haven’t stared at a woman like that since—”

  “I know.”

  “Well, our little expedition will give you lovebirds plenty of time to get acquainted.”

  Guilt tightened my throat. I mean, she was gonna get arrested anyways, right? I was just making hay while the sun shone, or however the expression went. Plus, I tried to highlight for myself that this was a kind gesture on Tom’s part, and that he meant well. If I refused, I’d look ungrateful. Shortly, I’d convinced myself that the honorable thing to do was arrest Zoe and, ah, get to know her a bit better during the process.

  Man, when had I become such a self-serving asshole?

  “All right, let’s go break the news,” I said, caving.

  He inclined his head, signaling an ‘okay,’ and we strode back to Zoe’s car, where she apparently had used that brief intermission to toughen up. There was a determined set to her brow, and an angry spark in her eye. Under any other circumstance, I might’ve been charmed, maybe even aroused, by her renewed feistiness.

  “Well?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

  “I’m sorry,” I replied earnestly. “We’re gonna have to take you into the station.”

  She glared at me, a total reversal of position from our easy flirting. “Are you serious?”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  “But I thought,” she began accusingly, insinuating that the earlier flirting had not indicated this swift shift in winds. But Zoe’s tone changed, and she moved to pleading. “Please, I have groceries in the back, and a huge order in at the bakery, and if I don’t get it on time it’ll… I don’t know, I mean we might have to shut down. I need to make this order. Please, you must understand that, you’re both working men.”

  “Sorry, Miss,” Tom interjected. “I understand the difficulty of keeping a small business afloat, but it’s the law. And I gotta address everyone operating under the law with the same level of severity. Many apologies for the inconvenience.”

  She groaned, and let her head fall on the steering wheel. “Great. Just great. Seems about right for the kind of year I’m having.”

  I resisted the urge to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, knowing that my reassurance was the last thing she wanted right now.

  “You’re going to need to step out of the vehicle,” Tom said. Guess we knew who was playing bad cop today. Again, by taking on the less desirable role, Tom was giving me an opening with Zoe. If only she were in more of a mood to be wooed. As it were, I worried she’d bite my hand if I were to offer her help disembarking from the car.

  With a little huff, she swung open the door and stepped out onto the curb. I reflected that it was a smart choice not to offer a hand.

  And that was when I got a good look at her body. She was of average height, but with long legs and a small waist. Her form rounded gently, cascading into small, high breasts and beautifully dipping collarbones. She turned around to lock the car, and I got a look at her ass, which was pert, perilously stretching the denim back pockets.

  Even in jeans and winter boots, with a newly formed scowl on her face, she was stunning. Adrenaline shot through me like a spark of lightning, touching on corners I’d forgotten existed. I could see her spread across my bed, beaming up at me and scrunching up her ski-slope nose, tossing her brunette curls this way and that. I shook my head, trying to clear out all my dirty thoughts. It didn’t work.

  She held out her wrists, pressing them against one another, submissive. I shot her a questioning glance.

  “Well?” she asked impatiently. “Don’t you have to cuff me?”

  Tom and I broke out into a fit of laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” she pressed, acutely embarrassed.

  “It’s just that, we cuff dangerous people,” I responded. “You, Zoe, are not dangerous.”

  She crooked an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”

  Tom looked back and forth between us, watching the verbal sparring match with something between trepidation and delight.

  “Do you want me to cuff you?” I asked in a low voice, just a touch too low to read as a joke.

  A gulp traveled down the length of her neck and she seized, responding. Tom took the gap in conversation to get down to business, and cast a more professional, law-abiding hue over our back-and-forth.

  “All right, Miss, follow me. Officer Robertson will escort you.” With that, he turned on his steel-toed boot and began ambling back to the car.

  I put a hand on her upper arm, the classic position for maneuvering an arrestee, as it were, the one they taught in school. I never knew that a perp walk could be so hot. My fingers bit into the soft flesh of her arm, and as we jostled one another on the stroll back to the car, I controlled myself not to graze the edge of her breast.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “We’ll give you the nicest cell, the one we put all the celebrities in.” I thought an attempt at humor might return some of the earlier magic of our first moments.

  She squirmed from my grasp and locked her eyes on mine. “I’m gonna have to sleep in a cell?”

  “Nah, I was just kidding.”

  “Some joke,” she muttered, and blew a piece of hair off her face.

  At last I bundled her into the back of the vehicle, shut the door and slid into the front alongside my partner. I turned around to check on Zoe, mostly to make sure she wasn’t going to try to wiggle out of this.

  “How ya doin’ back there?” I asked.

  “It’s my first time in a cop car,” she replied dryly. “I’m just taking it all in.”

  “If you like the car, you’ll love the station.”

  “I’m sure,” she said with an eye roll, leaning back with her arms crossed into the tough plastic of the seats. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Zoe

  I was getting booked. Booked! Like on one of those shitty reality TV cop shows, where they wrestle a suspect to the ground outside a dilapidated apartment building. Come to think of it, this whole thing would be a lot more fun if Officer Robertson would just wrestle me to the ground.

  I’d been so close to getting off the hook. Now I was going to lose a vital day of work in the race to finish these cakes. And if I didn’t get the milk into the fridge in time, that would be another half day gone to a second grocery expedition. However, the cold temperature was cooperating, so the milk would be fine for now. Who knew if I’d even be able to fill the order? My shoulders slumped at the prospect of failing to deliver, and thus ensuring that my business would never regain its good name.

  I spent most of the car ride in a grumpy slouch, daring either officer to engage me in conversation. Frankly, this whole thing would’ve been a bit more fun if
I could’ve continued flirting with the hot cop named Dylan. But after spotting that ring, I was a goner. Being on the receiving end of said cheating, I knew it fucking sucked. And we hadn’t even been married. I wasn’t going to enable anyone to inflict that level of pain on another woman, not when I knew how deeply it burned.

  But those eyes… and those thighs… I’m just saying, I’m not perfect. My brain may have been vehemently against engaging in even harmless flirting with a married man, but my body craved him like he was greasy food after a hangover. What can I say? I’m only human. Cut me some slack here.

  I wrestled with my feelings over the course of the ride and hadn’t drawn any further conclusions by the time we skidded to an icy halt in front of the station. When a hot piece of ass like his was on the line, what was a girl to do? Not to say that I’d forgiven the whole arrest thing, but the more I stared at the stubble on his jawline, the more I was amenable to hearing his presumably forthcoming apology.

  He got out and opened my door, and even though I knew it was because the vehicle had kiddy locks, I pretended it was an act of gentlemanly kindness. Besides, he seemed like the kind of man who would open a car door for his date. He exuded the variety of Midwestern chivalry I had quickly come to recognize in the men of Fallow Springs. I could say one thing for country boys, they had manners in spades.

  In a little cluster, the two officers and I made our way into the station. It was old-fashioned, to put it mildly, and resembled a quaint schoolhouse more than a prison. It was tiny — the town itself was tiny, after all — and there were two single cells, in addition to a front desk and a corridor I assumed led to a handful of offices. As I watched Dylan lumber into the rooms, it occurred to me that he was both too big and just the right size for this place. Physically, he looked like the Hulk next to the sixties wooden desk with a green lamp in one of its corners.

  But emotionally, or whatever you want to call it, his aura fit just right. Like the station, he emanated a disdain for modernity. I doubted he’d ever progressed beyond a flip phone, or that the computer in his house ran on anything besides a modem.