Blackmailed Into Bed

by

Lynda Chance

This is a work of fiction. Names, places,
businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the
author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or
locales is purely coincidental.

***

Blackmailed Into Bed

Copyright © 2011 by Lynda Chance

All rights reserved. This book or any portion
thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author or publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or
reviews.

***

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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.

"What happened?"

"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.

"What's in the bottle, Ms. Sanford?" The
emphasis he put on the 'Ms' was markedly noticeable.

She looked over at the bag in question. "It's
a bottle of wine."

"You haven't been drinking tonight, have
you?" His voice was nonchalant.

"No. Of course not. I brought it with me
because I'm going to spend the night with my friend Renee tonight.
I never drink and drive."

"It looks like it's been open." His voice was
still neutral, bored even.

"Oh, yes. I opened it last weekend. I only
ever have one glass of wine at a time. It usually takes me a month
to finish a bottle." Her voice became strained with nerves.

"You can't have an open container in your
vehicle, Ms. Sanford." Again with the 'Ms.' He drawled it, spread
it out over three syllables.

"I don't have an open container. It's closed.
See?" She pointed over to it.

"Open container means the seal has been
broken, Ms. Sanford. From now on, you might want to remember that.
You're breaking the law." He watched a flush run over her cheeks.
She started to stammer again.

"I'm s-sorry. I didn't know that. I don't
ever break the law." She looked like she was going to cry.

"Don't do it again. Now, pop the hood and let
me take a look." His voice was distracted, already moving on to the
problem at hand. She did as he said. He walked around to the front
of the car and pushed up the hood. He fiddled with something for a
few minutes. He looked around at her and said, "Give it a try." She
turned the key and it started. He slammed the hood and walked back
around to her.

"You definitely need to have it serviced.
It'll hold for now, but it's going to die again. I'm going to pull
around and you can follow me to my house." He turned and started to
walk away.

"W-wait." She yelled at his retreating back.
He slowly turned and sauntered back to her. He raised his eyebrows
in question. "W-what do you mean, follow you to your house?"

He stood there, looking in at her. His booted
feet planted solidly apart. He was blatantly male, his biceps
sinewy and bulging. The weapon strapped to his shoulder solidifying
his stance of authority.

"Well, Ms. Sanford, it's like this. Your bag
is packed. It's Friday night and your daughter is away for the
weekend.
And you don't have a husband
. You
can forget your girlfriend tonight, you're coming to my house." His
words were final.

"I am not. I c-can't believe you just said
th-that." Her voice was shaking.

"Well, I can arrest you for having an open
container-"

She cut him off. "I can't get arrested. I'm a
teacher!"

"I don't want to arrest you. I want you to
follow me to my house and we can decide what the penalty is going
to be for letting me believe you had a husband all this time." He
reached through the open window and touched her for the first time.
His big, rough hand slid to her ear, and his thumb rubbed across
her top lip. Lightning speared through her.

"That's blackmail." It was whispered. The
movement of her mouth brushed her lips against his thumb. She
stared up into his eyes.

"Semantics. I've wanted you for a long time.
You knew I thought you were married. That bullshit lie won't work
anymore. Follow me home. Now." He turned and walked away.

Amy parked her car in his double driveway
next to his pick-up. The drive to his house had been accomplished
in under five minutes. The whole way, she tried to contain the
hysteria so close to the surface. She didn't really think he would
arrest her. But she didn't know for sure. Was that just her excuse
to come here, to be alone with him?

She turned the key off and pulled it out of
the ignition. She sat in shock while he came around and opened her
door. Her hand trembled as he picked it up and helped her out. She
stood next to him. She couldn't remember ever standing this close
to him before. He was always so intimidating with his height and
build. She tended to stay across the room when he and his partner
had control of her kids. Before tonight, she had never touched him.
Not even a handshake. When they were introduced, she had been
standing in front of her students, and never came close. She
remembered smiling at him, but she was too nervous to get close.
Even in a classroom setting, he always looked ready to pounce.

"Okay Amy, inside." He reached across her
seat and grabbed her bags. The car door slammed with a final click.
He took her hand again and started dragging her to the back door.
She looked around in a daze as he unlocked the door and stepped
back to let her enter. She hesitated, then crossed the threshold
into the kitchen. The door slammed shut. She turned to face him,
like she was facing her executioner. Trepidation colored her
eyes.

He lounged indolently against the door. "I've
got you now."

Fear and excitement slid through her. Her
fantasies had never been this bold, this tangible. Her heartbeat
slammed into her lungs making breathing difficult.

She watched him leaning there, his posture
oozing satisfaction. She knew. She always knew he wanted her.

He was so tall. He was at least a couple of
inches over six feet. And she was--well, she was very puny. His
shoulders were wide. His biceps bulging through the sleeves of his
tee shirt. The holster wrapped around his shoulders, the gun
clinging to him, part of him. His jeans molded lovingly to his
thighs, his booted feet were crossed casually at the ankles.

"I don't remember telling you my first name.
How did you know?" She tried to make her voice sound casual. She
was a mess inside.

"I ran your plates." His voice was
clipped.

"Oh. I see. And do I get to know your name,
Lieutenant?" She would be just as cool as he was. She could do
this. Even if her thoughts were racing and her nerves were
screaming.