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my mom died, my dad and I didn’t get along. He’s not abusive, or a drunk, or any of those clichés. He’s just a disagreeable, cranky bastard that nobody can please no matter how hard they try.”
    â€œHard to live like that, constantly on edge,” he sympathized.
    â€œAnd how. I’ll say this for the old goat—he gave me the extra incentive to work like a dog and achieve my goals so I could become independent.” She paused, remembering. “I graduated from the police academy, and I thought he wouldn’t show. But there he sat, in the third row. After the ceremony he found me, gave me a hug. Said he was proud of me. Dammit.” She dashed a tear from the corner of her eye.
    Shane put down his fork and laid a hand over hers. “He loves you. Plenty of men don’t know how to show it, and that was his way.”
    â€œYeah. I miss the old fart sometimes,” she confessed. “I don’t know why.”
    â€œYou love him, too.” He gave her a gentle smile, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.
    â€œI do. But I couldn’t stay there. Tennessee was calling me home.”
And you were here.
“I worked for a small police department up there for a few years, saved my money. Then I applied for the Sugarland PD, got the job, and packed as fast as humanly possible.”
    â€œMaine’s loss, our gain. Does your dad still live there?”
    She liked the warmth of his hand on hers. A lot. It awakened something inside her that she was sure wasn’t a good idea. “Yes. Won’t budge for the world, even though I offered to help him move back here. I guess he’ll stay there for the rest of his days.”
    â€œYou never know. Pop out a grandkid or two and he might change his tune.”
    She snickered. “Like that’ll happen anytime soon.”
    Shane withdrew his hand and she felt the loss immediately. She enjoyed his touch. Wanted more of it with a longing that almost physically hurt.
    Get over it, girl. In that direction lies a load of heartache.
    Finished eating, they cleared the table. She helped him put away the leftovers and load the dishwasher, then he poured them another glass of wine. Good thing she’d had food, or she’d be tipsy right about now. Not a good thing when in close quarters with a sexy hunk of male flesh.
    â€œReady to learn a little about this D/s stuff?” he asked.
    â€œAs I’ll ever be.”
    She trailed him into the living room where he moved her coat and purse to a big easy chair. His laptop was sitting on the coffee table, along with a spiral notebook and a pencil. He took a seat on the sofa in front of the computer and gestured to the space next to him.
    Nerves jittered again, and she fought to push them down. They were relating so well to each other, and she wanted that ease to continue in spite of the subject matter of their undercover jaunt.
    â€œHere goes,” he said. “What I know about domination and submission could fit into a thimble, so there’s only room for improvement.”
    â€œSame here. I’ve never been into that scene.”
    Opening the laptop, he wiggled the mouse to wake up the screen. Next, the opened the Web browser and typed
Domination and submission
into the search field. And got about a gazillion hits. “Christ. Where to start?”
    â€œWith the basic definition, I suppose.”
    He clicked on one of the first links and they began to scan the information. “Says here that it’s a lifestyle that’s frequently misunderstood as kink when what it’s really about is power. One partner’s need for another to take the reins, be in charge, and the other partner’s need to take care of their sub. Doesn’t have to be about sex,” he said in surprise. “I never thought of it like that.”
    â€œMe, either. I never realized it’s more about caring and trust between partners, and that sex is just a