Blackmailed Into BedBy: Lynda Chance
Amy sat in her stalled car on the side of the busy interstate and tried not to panic. The big, black pick-up truck easing up behind her caused a sense of fear and relief at the same time. Her phone was dead, and she'd been sitting behind the wheel of her disabled vehicle for twenty minutes. It was going to be dark soon. She needed help, and she needed it now, before her situation became dangerous. Baton Rouge wasn't exactly a hotbed of crime, but in a city this large, anything could, and often did, happen.
Her nervousness increased as the truck stopped, but the man behind the wheel didn't get out. She could see him talking on the phone in her rearview mirror. All she could make out was jet black hair and aviator style sunglasses.
Oh, that black hair. Unbidden images of the man that haunted her fantasies every night came to her. The many times she touched that dark hair and tangled her fingers in it. Her hands gliding over the buttons of his uniform, and undoing them one by one. Intellectually, she knew that a man in uniform was just a cliché, but emotionally, she suspected that there was a lot more to it than that. That cop, in his uniform, had the power to make her hands tremble and her legs shake.
In reality, she hadn't exchanged more than a few simple pleasantries with the D.A.R.E. policeman that came to her school and talked to her fifth graders every week. It was best that she kept the interaction between them to a minimum. Past events that formed who she was, wouldn't allow a man in law enforcement into her life.
But the temptation. Oh, the temptation. Ten weeks. One hour a week. For ten long weeks, just the thought of him being in the building had been enough to cause a provoking blend of fascination and distress. But she had persevered, and the program was finished for the school year. She wouldn't have to see him again.
Her thoughts focused on the present as the man in the truck stepped out of his vehicle. His body unfolded to his full height as he looked around and surveyed the scene. Her heart nearly stopped beating as she got a better look at him. Same height, same fantastic build, same arrogant swagger.
It was him!
He wasn't dressed like the man she knew from her school. He was off duty, for one thing. The street clothes emphasized his maleness in a way she wasn't used to. Her breath became snarled up in her throat.
Her eyes detailed the differences. The jet black hair was the same, but that was about it. His eyes were hidden by those aviator sunglasses that all cops seemed to wear. He wore faded jeans and scuffed boots. His torso was covered in a black tee shirt that molded to his chest. And he had a leather shoulder holster and pistol clinging to his left side. Amy began to hyperventilate.
He strolled toward her and reached out to place a hand on the roof of her car. He leaned down and looked in the window where she sat. That massive chest and gun were directly in her line of vision.
"Mrs. Sanford. Having problems, Ma'am?" His words were low. Respectful. He had one of the deepest voices Amy had ever heard. It was the most prominent detail in her dreams.
"L-lieutenant Fontenot, y-yes, I am." She couldn't keep from stammering with that big gun in her face. He was by far, the sexiest man Amy had ever met.
"It just started spluttering. I p-pulled over and it died." Her words were shaky.
"It's okay, Ma'am. You'll be all right." His words soothed. "Have you called your husband yet?"
Amy paused at the question. Oh, God, here goes. "I'm not m-married." She felt like she was confessing a sin.
Primal satisfaction engulfed him at her words. Not Married! The one and only thing that had kept him from pursuing her until she was naked and flat on her back in his bed was the husband he had erroneously believed she had. He had taken cold showers every night for ten long weeks after watching her sexy little body moving around the back of the classroom. Ten weeks of seeing her dressed in demure skirts or drab slacks and flat shoes. Teacher clothes. But nothing could hide those smooth curves and her hot, unconsciously sensual movements. It was like trying to contain fire behind cardboard. It burned through. It burned him. And now he could have it all.
"Why the M.R.S.?" He bit out the letters in rapid succession and waited for an answer.
Amy's confused mind tried to make sense of the letters. The acronym suddenly made sense. Her nerves cranked up a notch. He wasn't wasting any time. "Oh. Um, well, I was married. And I've worked at the school a long time. It just kind of stuck after the divorce. And I thought it was better for Kayla. My daughter." Relief washed through her as her voice didn't noticeably shake.
"Where's Kayla now?" His voice was deep, patient.
"I just took her to the airport. Since she turned fourteen, her father and I have been letting her fly by herself to see him in Dallas." This was more conversation than they had had in all of the previous ten weeks.
"What about your boyfriend? Have you called him?" He knew he was digging, but didn't give a damn.
"My phone is dead. And I don't have a boyfriend." His dark eyes burned into hers. She started shaking, and lowered her lashes in self defense.
He moved his hands to the car door and looked his fill. She had on more make-up than usual. Her hair was loose and wild. He looked around the rest of the front of the car. She had a stack of school books and folders. And a small overnight case and a soft, material bag next to it. The top of a bottle stuck out of the bag.