Floored

OK, fine. I'll confess. While my house was being robbed, I was in the shower indulging in my favorite fantasy (the one with the gladiator and the handcuffs.)

But where is the justice in the world when the first cop on the scene is the former bully next door? How dare that arrogant jerk grow up to be six-foot-three inches of solid muscle with gorgeous blue eyes! Even more aggravating is the way he still taunts me about being a goody-two shoes and teases me about being vanilla–I'm not the innocent girl I was back then. And I'm determined to prove it . . . right here in my kitchen.

But now I can't stop thinking about him. Or his handcuffs. Or his dirty mouth. Or the way he still likes to boss me around these days, only with a lot less clothing. (Another confession—I like it too.)

But we're totally wrong for each other… aren't we?