The Power and the Glory. Kimberly Lang

      Amazingly enough, he winked at her. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re on a first name basis already.”

      She averted her eyes and tried to look unconcerned. Her arm brushed against his hip and her hand lightly touched his thigh as Brady slid his hand into his pocket—only to be stopped short wrist-deep by the cuffs. No amount of wiggling and maneuvering helped. The phone was deeper in his pocket than he could reach, but the pocket wasn’t wide enough for both their hands and the cuffs to fit inside.

      Brady cursed under his breath. “Do you mind just reaching in there and getting it?”

      “Are you serious?” He wanted her to stick her hand down his pants? No, just in his pocket, she corrected.

      As if in answer, his phone started to ring.

      Her face felt like it was on fire and she cleared her throat. No big deal. We’re adults. It’s a strange situation and we must work together. That’s it.

      But sticking her hand in this man’s pocket …?

      Brady cleared his throat as a hint and angled his body toward hers as the phone continued to ring.

      It was a bit of a contortionist’s trick, causing her to twist her hand at an odd angle to slide it inside his warm pocket. She had to step close to him to accomplish the maneuver and being that close was quite overwhelming to her system.

      She was careful to keep her hand as far to the outside as possible, but Aspyn couldn’t help but notice the strong ridge of muscle that ran down his thigh. What on earth did he do in his spare time to get thighs like that?

      Thankfully her fingers found the phone a second later, and she pulled it out quickly before her entire body combusted from embarrassment. Or other causes.

      Brady’s smile as she handed over the phone didn’t help, and she turned away as he answered in a symbolic attempt to give him privacy. She was the one, though, that really needed that time to regain her composure. It was all she could do not to fan her face.

      She overheard Brady laughingly tell someone he’d been unexpectedly detained and make a promise to explain and reschedule later.

      “You okay, Aspyn?” he asked, putting his phone in his left pocket this time.

      Pull it together. “I’m fine.” For someone who practically—if accidentally—just got to second base. “I’m sorry to mess up your lunch plans.”

      “I believe you when you say this wasn’t your idea. You might want to inform—Kirby, was it?—that the next person he handcuffs might not be as understanding.”

      “Does this mean you won’t press charges?” Being arrested for trespassing or disturbing the peace—the normal charges protestors faced—was one thing. Unlawful restraint of a senator’s son was a whole new level of trouble. And there was no way a judge would believe she was just an innocent bystander.

      “Hadn’t planned on it.”

      Relief washed over her. “Thank you. I promise I will personally wring Kirby’s neck for this.”

      “I just don’t know what he hoped to accomplish by it.”

      “It got your attention, didn’t it?” Brady looked at her in surprise. “Do you know how hard it is to get someone’s attention in this town? Especially when you’re not already someone important?”

      “I can imagine. But that justifies handcuffing people because …”

      She didn’t bother to try to hold back her frustration. “Our whole lives, we’re told to get involved, only to find out that no one really wants us to. We’re told to make our voices heard, but no one seems to be listening. And it’s not just this protest or even just this organization. Most of us have been activists for years, and we found out pretty early on that no one really wants to hear what we have to say.”

      Brady nodded slowly. “I can imagine that’s frustrating.”

      “Oh, it’s more than frustrating,” she snapped at his patronizing tone before she could stop herself.

      “But a protest doesn’t open lines of communication, either. It disintegrates into a matter of who can shout the loudest.”

      “But,” she countered, “we have to hope if we shout loud enough and long enough, someone might eventually hear us, because what we’re saying needs to be heard. Have you seen what mountaintop mining does to Appalachia? What a rain forest looks like after it’s been cleared? Have you ever cleaned oil off seabirds?” Brady shook his head. “Well, I have. I know in your mind that might not justify this—” she shook their joined hands “—but I understand Kirby’s intention. I don’t approve, but I see his rationale and what motivated him.”

      He fell silent for a moment and Aspyn began to worry a little. Maybe she’d gone overboard. “I’ll put in a good word for you with Louise. It won’t get you a meeting with the senator, but it might—and I stress might—get you a meeting with someone on the staff.”

      “You’d do that?” Amazed didn’t even begin to describe how she felt.

      “Sure. But not because of this stunt,” he clarified. “I don’t want people thinking this is a good idea.”

      “Of course not. Thank you.”

      His face softened and those green eyes held dangerous warmth. “I can’t guarantee anything, but someone with your passion and sincerity deserves a chance.”

      Wow. Aspyn didn’t know which was more shocking—the idea she’d managed to at least get a foot in the door or the fact Brady Marshall thought she was passionate and sincere. The compliment tickled her down to her toes.

      She’d seen Brady on TV campaigning with his father, and he always seemed rather aloof and unapproachable. This man, though, was so not what she expected. When he smiled at her again, the tickle became a tingle, and the reminder she was handcuffed to him and alone in a windowless room came rushing back.

      Complete with full-color visuals.

      She cleared her throat. “I, um—”

      Officer Richards returned then, sparing her from saying something stupid. “We get more sit-ins than handcuffing, so I don’t get to use these much.” He worked the giant handles experimentally.

      Brady stood and pulled up the sleeve of his coat and unbuttoned his cuff to roll it back out of the way. “Not exactly the confidence I was hoping for. I’d like to keep my wrist attached.”

      The officer just grinned. “Who’s first?”

      “Ladies first.” Brady moved their arms to the center of the table. “Aspyn?”

      She pushed up her sleeve and slid her bracelets up, away from the metal cuff. “I’m not sure I want to be first. I like my wrist, too.”

      Despite the banter between the men, Officer Richards handled the bolt cutters with ease and soon her wrist was free. She rubbed the red mark circling her skin as another squeeze of the enormous handles let Brady pull his wrist free as well.

      Brady moved on immediately, rebuttoning his cuff and shaking the officer’s hand. Whatever “moment” they’d shared, it was over now, and Brady was back to the rather stiff and aloof man she’d jumped in an elevator with. It seemed a shame, like a loss. “Thanks. Unless you need something from me …” Officer Richards shook his head. “Good. Bye, Robert. Aspyn, it’s been … interesting meeting you.”

      “And you. I hope the rest of your day is uneventful.”

      “That would be nice.” Then Brady was gone, and the room felt big and empty.

      Aspyn grabbed her bag and inched toward the door. “Have a nice day, Officer—”

      “Not so fast.”