Defending Serenty Read Free Page A

not to look at Trace.
If I do I know he will see I want him so bad I’m quivering inside.
If I see that craving reciprocated, I might throw caution to wind
and beg him to come over later. I’ve spent ten years building my
defenses and one touch will shatter them. I refuse to contemplate
what a rejection will do to me. “See y’all later.”
    When I pull the door shut behind me, I
release a pent up sigh of...what? Angst? Lust? I don’t stop examine
it too closely. Can’t. Whatever I feel for Trace, whatever his hold
over me is, any real chance at exploring it ended years ago. I have
to focus on the life I have now and quit yearning for something
that never really was. And this fucking sucks because it’s so clear
to me now. Seeing him. I’ve led the wrong life. If he hadn’t gone
to prison, we’d probably be together. I wouldn’t be a cop. He
wouldn’t hate me. I want to sob but I know it’s my own damned
fault. I gave up and he knows it. There’s no way to go back now. I
just need to get someplace safe so I can have the mini breakdown I
know is coming. I can’t change the past. I can only deal with the
present. But it hurts and I need to deal with that. Accept it. I
need to get home.
    Our little cove off the river is visible down
the slope of the backyard. Lit by the glow from the back porch and
the dock Christmas lights, I stroll that way, meeting the parallel
path and turning toward m house. Forcing my mind away from Trace, I
spend the five minute walk concentrating on work.
    Something is very wrong in Madison, but I
don’t know what. Not yet, anyway. In the normal course of events
there isn’t much activity in our little town off the main flow of
the Chattahoochee. But a few days ago, someone turned in ten
thousand dollars found on the riverbank, and I have reports coming
in all the time of strange activity on the river. Boats running
without lights, and lights where there shouldn’t be any. Of course,
by the time I arrive on the scene each time, there are no sign of
anything. I regret I haven’t taken the incidents more
seriously—didn’t until the money showed up. Very stupid of me. We
don’t have much in way of crime in my town. The major stuff takes
place over in River City or down in Panama City.
    My back porch comes into view and I quicken
my pace. The house is a replica of Walker’s, down to the peeling
paint. I’d caught the look on Trace’s face when I’d entered the
house and was familiar with the layout. For a minute, he had
actually wondered if I have something going on with his
brother.
    I imagine my smile is bitter. No way. I’ve
learned my lesson about screwing the town bad boy. Then there’s the
small matter of conflict of interest. Hello? Cop and criminal? Very
bad combo. Walker seems to have it in his head I’m off limits,
anyway. We make for an odd friendship, but it’s real. Trace doesn’t
have a friendly bone in his body. Not that I blame him.
    So why does his presence turn me on so much?
Even now my pussy is wet and throbbing. It’s a sensation I’m not
used to. The few men I’ve spent time with over the years never
turned me on the way Trace did when I was eighteen. I’ve started to
think that maybe I just have a very slow fuse. I groan. Apparently
not. I obviously have a thing for men who redefine the term bad
boy.
    I pause at the bottom step and look up at the
stars. Why did he come back? He is such a threat to my self
control. I’ve spent ten years paying penance for what happened
between us. Ten years dating the right kind of men. Okay, maybe
they were a little boring, but I’m a cop and they aren’t criminals.
A definite plus. Shaking off the funk, I jog up the steps and open
my back door.
    I don’t bother with a light and stalk
straight through the kitchen to my bedroom, tugging my shirt off
over my head as I go. A bath is just the thing to ease the tension
strumming through me, and maybe I’ll use my new waterproof vibrator
for good measure. I peel off my