When she saw the big SUV pull up in the parking lot, Lea — aided by a second healthy shot of rye — fought down rising panic and walked over to the table. “Please don’t break tonight,” she pleaded.
The sturdy if beaten-up oak table didn’t look concerned.
And so she took two of the sets of handcuffs that she’d had since her days with her power-game asshole ex John, but that she hadn’t yet used with Sean and Andy. Before she could have second — or eighteenth — thoughts, she spread her legs and locked her ankles to the legs of the table that were closest to the door. When she heard their muted voices coming down the walkway outside their apartment, she leaned across the table and bound each of her wrists with one of the other cuffs to the top of one of the far legs.
And she waited. Her nake
