“He’s the chief of police,” I countered. “I’d say he’s not much of a punk any longer.” It wasn’t that I was defending Huck as much as defending my ability to make my own decisions.

He frowned. “Trust me. I know guys like him.”

“Okay,” I replied, turning to head to the small office in the back.

I heard his deep sigh. “Pumpkin.”

His usual endearment had me pausing. He hadn’t pulled that one out in a while because… yeah, I was twenty-six.

“Why did you do it? After what he did?”

What he did was take my virginity and then came by and told me it wasn’t going to work, that I was headed to college in Bozeman and he shouldn’t hold me back. Nothing I’d said in return had swayed him. We were over, and that was it.

I shrugged, took a sip of the coffee, then winced when it burned my tongue. “I wanted to talk to him.”

“Then go to the police station!”

I tried not to roll my eyes. “I didn’t want to have any distractions.”

I’d been distracted. So very distracted when I’d been kneeling over his face. Getting him in bed and cuffed to the headboard had been my plan. The orgasm hadn’t.

But he’d gotten the point when I’d walked out with his dick hard and his wrists cuffed to his headboard. I knew Claire wasn’t his. He knew I was pissed about it. Knew exactly how much. It was supposed to have made me feel better, to give him the proverbial middle finger once and for all.

That hadn’t worked out so well, because it was obvious he wanted me. The way he’d looked at me, almost reverently, had been a surprise. The way he’d touched me made me feel sacred. The way he’d practically devoured my pussy, it had seemed as if he truly desired me. To see to my pleasure.

Like it had been all those years ago.

The only truth I knew was on that piece of paper I’d slapped on his rock-hard, bare chest.

Claire wasn’t his.

His hard dick? He was just a man, and I’d been a woman in lace.

“What the hell do you have to talk to him about?”

I flicked a glance at my dad but stayed silent. No way did he have a right to details of my private life.

He sighed, held up a hand. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

Nothing like a guilt trip.

“I know how you feel about Huck,” I said pointedly. “You’ve made it clear for years.” Ever since we first started dating when I was eighteen.

He said something under his breath, but I’d cut down the short hallway, done with our little chat.

I pushed some invoices aside on the desk and set my mug down.

“What are you doing here on a Saturday?” he asked, having followed.

I looked up at him, then pointed at the pile of papers he’d left for me. It was all completely unorganized because he knew I’d take care of it. “Payroll.”