Lilly's Law. Dianne Drake

      “I didn’t say anything.”

      Drawing in another deep breath, she continued. “The thing with you, Mike, is that you take advantage because you can. Just look at this place—the desk, Bambi the boy secretary—”

      “Fritz,” he corrected.

      “Fritz and blueberry muffins. You always get away with it. Always have and you expect that you always will. Well, it’s my turf this time, and no more getting away with it.”

      “So what you’re giving me here is the this-town-ain’t-big-enough-for-the-both-of-us speech?” Mike crossed one leg over the other and cupped his hands behind his head. “Get outta town or else.…”

      “Indianapolis has three-quarters of a million people and it’s not big enough for the both of us,” she quipped. “I’ve got a good start here and you’re already messing it up. I own a nice little house, have a good job, and I’m trying to find some roots.”

      “At least you have a house. I’m sleeping underneath my printing press. And I have a boy secretary named Bambi—”

      “Fritz.”

      “Think they’ll mind if I take some of these pillows home with me?”

      “See how you are?” She huffed out an impatient sigh. “Always trying to avoid the subject.”

      “You were talking about your house…I just asked about pillows. Thought it sort of fit into the flow of conversation.…”

      A challenge flickered into his eyes and she saw it. Didn’t want to see it, but it was there, glimmering right at her, beckoning her, like a manly Siren, to come crash on the rocks…one more time. “Shut up, Mike! Just shut up. I came here to have a serious talk with you, but if you don’t want to talk—”

      “Want to talk? I called you, Lilly. Told you I wanted to talk, after, I might add, you threw me in jail over a couple of lousy parking tickets. And you know that was overreacting. Admit it. You blew a gasket and threw me in the dungeon. Payback, right? And you’ve just been waiting for your chance.”

      Lowering her voice so that Juanita, at the other end of the hall struggling to hear, couldn’t, Lilly whispered, “And it feels so good to be on the giving end for a change. Better than I could have ever imagined.”

      “I knew it!” Mike exclaimed, jumping up. Moving closer to the cell bars, just inches away from Lilly, he smiled down at her—an irascibly patient smile, an imperious smile. “So Lilly’s got some fangs now.”

      Standing to meet him eye-to-eye, but still a respectful distance from the bars, Lilly gave him that same smile right back. “No, not fangs. Just the law on my side.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And the knowledge of how to use it.”

      “And you really do intend to keep me here until Monday, don’t you?”

      She nodded. “But I did leave instructions that if you pay the fine in full they can let you out.”

      “So want to loan me a couple of grand?” he asked.

      “Sell the Porsche.”

      “Did that.”

      “And the stock portfolio.”

      “Ditto.”

      She shrugged. “Well, I suppose it looks like we’ll be keeping you here for a while longer, doesn’t it? And I should think that a man with your, shall we say, paltry pecuniary resources would appreciate a few days of free upkeep.”

      “Cruel, Lilly. Really cruel.” He laughed, then lowered his voice as Juanita scooted her chair even closer so she could hear more. “But on you cruel is good. So do you ever let your hair down, figuratively speaking, or are you all judge, all the time now?”

      Instinctively, Lilly reached to her hair and finger-brushed the wild strands around her face. “All judge, Mr. Collier. A judge who came to give you fair warning that she won’t be messed with. You mess with me or my court again, you go to jail again. And that’s the way it’s going to be. And no, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us, but unless you intend to get out, seems like we’re going to have to coexist.”

      “It’s my town, Lilly. Born and raised here and the people know me.”

      She smiled. “If they know you, that makes it all the easier for me.”

      “You really do hate me, don’t you?”

      Stepping aside for the maintenance man to take away the chair, Lilly walked over to the bars, raised her hands and took hold, then pressed her face to the cold metal. “Hate is such a strong word, Mike. The first time I hated you, then I forgave you. Stupid move, I know. But I did forgive you. Then the second time I hated you again, but that time I didn’t forgive you. And now…it’s not hate, really. Just a need to see you in your proper place.”

      Moving to the bars also, Mike pressed himself to them so their faces were almost touching. She could feel his breath, his heat—smell the scent of him mingling with the oxygen she took into her lungs. And for a moment she lost everything—her senses, her bearings—and the only thing that occupied the scant space between them was the memory of how good they’d been together back then. God, they’d been so good…so perfect…their fit, their touch, their rhythm…his hands…his lips…his lips on her breasts…

      Pheromones, Lilly! Look out it’s the pheromones.

      “What?” Lilly yelped, jumping back from the bars as if they’d taken a bite out of her.

      “I said I need a phone…to call my office. Let them know I won’t be getting out, since you intend to keep me in my proper place until Monday, and I used my one call yesterday to call you.”

      Flushed, a bit shaken by the encounter, and looking over her shoulder to see who had shouted pheromones—or was that the pheromones themselves shouting a warning?—Lilly breathed in a deep breath, reached into her purse and handed him her cell phone. Easier to do that than argue with him, since her knees were shaking, which meant her voice was probably shaking, too, and no way was she going to let him hear that.

      “Hi, Jimmy…” Mike looked at Lilly, then said, “Jimmy’s my lawyer.” He spoke into the phone again. “I’ve been thinking it over and I’ve decided to go with Chinese for lunch.”

      Chinese? Lilly heard the word, but she wasn’t recovered enough from her close encounter—thank heaven for the bars—to let it sink in all the way.

      “Wong’s—a number three, with two egg rolls, spicy mustard, and have him throw in an order of fried rice, too. Shrimp fried.” To Lilly he added, “Want anything? The chow mein’s great. So’s the sweet and sour pork.”

      That snapped her out of it—lifted her right up and out of his spell and dropped her back down into the jailhouse. “Hang up,” she demanded, holding out her hand for her phone.

      “Would you rather have Italian?” he asked, backing far enough away from her that she couldn’t reach through the bars and snatch it away from him. “Or Mexican? Jimmy can go anyplace you want. You’ll pay for your own, won’t you? ’Cause lately I’ve been of paltry pecuniary resources.”

      “Hand me the phone, Mike.”

      “I guess she doesn’t want anything, Jimmy. So get me an almond cookie with that and tell Wong we’ll do a make good—another ad.” To Lilly he quipped, “I’m the guy you see on the street corner with the cardboard sign—Will Trade Ad Space for Food.”

      “The phone, right now!” It wasn’t funny. Not him, not her reaction to him, and geez, she knew he’d felt it. How could he not, with the heat they were giving off together—a real blast furnace of lust or pheromones or whatever it was called.

      Want to go to bed with me, Lilly?

      “What?” she shrieked.

      “I