Scandalous Mistress: Double Take / Captivate Me / My Double Life

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.”