Dear Sir, I'm Yours by Joely Sue Burkhart Page B

husband, Samantha, not knowingly with deliberate malice. Colonel Healy assures me someone else is the culprit.”
    “But—”
    “Go home and take care of your children,” Miss Belle repeated. “Don’t come here again until after the funeral. I have some investigations to do. I’ll see you in a few days.”
    Standing on the porch with the old woman, Rae watched Samantha drive away, calmer now that she had allies on her side with a clear plan. The old lady waved and sighed, turning back inside. “Let’s hope I can figure out who really killed him before the grand opening. I refuse to give up the best cook in Missouri to the police, even if she were guilty!”

Chapter Eight
    Dear Dr. Connagher:
    Remember how I said in my last letter I felt like I was having an affair with you, even though I haven’t seen you in…two years now? Nearly three. Has it truly been so long?
    I committed adultery with you in my mind last night, and the guilt is eating away at me.
    As you probably suspect—if you were truly reading these letters—my marriage to Richard is rocky at best. We fight a lot. I’m starting to realize there’s a huge difference between “control”
    —as in, “I like control, Rae,” as you said in your office—
    and “controlling”.
    He’s a subtle bastard when he manipulates me. Most of the time I don’t even realize it until later. More guilt. More shame. Why don’t I stand up for myself? If it truly bothers me, why not say something? But it’s the little things that weigh on me. I feel selfish and childish when I complain he doesn’t listen to me: my opinions, my objections, my preferences. Not to mention my preferences in the bedroom.
    The whole reason I left you was my fear that I’d let you do anything you wanted to me, even if it hurt, simply because that’s what you wanted. Yet in nearly two full years of marriage, Richard has never made me feel like you did in your office that day.
    Not once.
    In efforts to “spice things up”, we decided to explore “fantasies”. I agreed to live out his fantasy. I let him tie me up and blindfold me. And do you know what happened next?
    I giggled.
    Seriously, it was funny, like a joke. I wasn’t scared or intimated, let alone turned on.
    How could he think to pull off some kind of dominant role like that? Did he really think I’d feel trapped, out of control, scared? Of him? Needless to say, the little fantasy scene didn’t go so well after that.
    Lying awake in the darkness, I remembered that day in your office. What it felt like to be held face down on your desk, truly trapped, where whatever happened was totally out of my control. I was powerless against you, and not because of any bonds you used.
    I let myself picture it. Tied up, blindfolded, helpless for you.
    My heart pounded, I broke out in a sweat, blood rushing in my ears, muscles tightening, clenching. Oh, yeah, turned on, definitely, for you, only for you. Despite the years and distance between us, I felt closer to you that moment than my pissed-off husband lying a few feet away.
    In my mind, I let you do anything, everything you wanted. I loved it. I needed it. I cried and moaned in my sleep, and I cried when I woke up because it was all a dream.
    This morning, Richard left for work without saying a word to me. And here I am, writing you. I’ve come to a terrible realization, Conn. I guess I like control too, but only when you’re the one with the bonds.
    I realized something else, just now as I type this. Richard never asked me what my fantasy was so he could make it happen for me. And that tells it all, doesn’t it.

    He couldn’t give it to me anyway, because my fantasy is you.
    ~ Rae

    Conn stared at her without saying a word. She tried to read his reaction, but his face was locked down hard. He was gorgeous, as always, dressed all in black. Instead of a suit, though, he’d gone with black jeans, thick black boots, topped with a black leather jacket that made her shiver.
    He