ONE WEEK—and another ticket—later, Cassie was still jerking awake at night, certain her stalker had found her. Just last night she’d opened her mouth to scream at the weight holding her down, only to find Miss Priss sitting on her chest. The cat she could handle.

      She had also handled the town—by snubbing her nose every morning at her fellow shop owners on Magnolia Street. Specifically, anyone and everyone going in and out of the Tea Room right next door, most of the waitresses at the Rose Café, and anyone else who stopped to point and whisper.

      This didn’t include the Downtown Deli across the street, mostly because the deli was new, and therefore the legend of Cassie Tremaine didn’t live there. And also because Cassie had discovered a weakness for pastrami on rye, along with the thirtysomething owners Diane and Will. Silly Diane and Will, they actually seemed to like her.

      Cassie’s building had been cleared of old debris and cleaned. They still had to paint, refloor and decorate, but that was the fun part. Since she was the one in town at the moment, she would handle most of that, happily. She loved to decorate and organize, and loved to paint. Which was a good thing, as Kate was notoriously bad at it, and was never offered a paintbrush.

      She and Kate had spent hours teleconferencing over the stock for the store, with Kate sending naughty sample after naughty sample. The UPS girl, a very cute little thing named Daisy—only in Pleasantville—had continuously asked what was in all the boxes she kept delivering. When Cassie had finally broken down and told her—Daisy was simply too sweet for both this town and its gossip mill—Daisy had nearly swallowed her tongue.

      In spite of it all, or maybe because of it, Cassie felt like a little girl at Christmas. One night, during a wicked early summer storm, she sat in the deserted building, surrounded by boxes and Miss Priss.

      The cat hadn’t relented—she still hated Cassie—but she refused to be left home alone. If Cassie did leave her at the house, she paid for the mistake dearly as Miss Priss wasn’t above leaving “deposits” to show her annoyance. Yesterday it had been in her slipper, which Cassie had unfortunately put her foot into, so she’d caved like a cheap suitcase and took the damn cat wherever she went.

      Rain beat against the windows of the building, while thunder and lightning beat the sky. She’d lost power about thirty minutes ago, but undeterred, she’d lit a lantern. In her mind’s eye, she could see the store, envision the displays, the music, the lights—everything laid out the way she and Kate had planned—and the work was so therapeutic, she didn’t want to stop. Unafraid—a nice change—she sat alone on the floor making copious notes to share with Kate during their next phone call.

      Bare Essentials. Even the name was perfect, and she jotted a note to talk to Kate about what type of sign they should have made to hang out front. Everyone in town would assume the worst, of course, and to make sure she fulfilled those thoughts, the shop would carry a variety of items for shock value alone. Maybe they could create an interesting window display with cock rings and anal plugs….

      Time flew by as she opened boxes, spread the samples out this way and that, made notes, even tried some things on.

      Miss Priss had long ago fallen asleep in a box. Outside, beyond the shuttered windows, traffic had dribbled to nothing.

      Cassie, wearing a simple, basic black camisole—the design was so exquisite, she absolutely loved it—was sitting on the floor with the last box. She pulled it close and opened it. Inside she found a note from Kate. “Think the lovely patrons of Pleasantville will like these?”

      Cassie grinned as she laid out a selection of body jewelry. She could see the looks now, especially when the Pea-ville matrons were confronted with nipple and clit rings.

      Cassie herself had once had her belly button pierced, but it had gotten in the way of certain photo shoots so she’d let it grow in.

      But a nipple ring…if she wasn’t such a chicken when it came to pain she’d have the real thing. Since she never would, that left the clip-on variety. She opened up a package that held a pretty, delicate-looking silver hoop, slipped a spaghetti strap off one shoulder and bared a breast. With her fingers she plucked her nipple into a hard bead and applied the jewelry.

      With a hiss, she let out a slow breath. It was a clamp of sort, but surprisingly, it didn’t hurt at all. And looking down at herself, she had to smile. “What do you think, Miss Priss? Pretty hot, huh?”

      “Does my vote count?”

      With a scream, Cassie leapt up, instinctively reaching out for a weapon as she did. That she grabbed Big Red—her nickname for a twelve-inch long, three-inch thick, glow-in-the-dark red dildo—didn’t matter. The sucker was heavy and she could wield it like a baseball bat no problem.

      “Whoa, just me.”

      In the back of her mind she recognized that incredibly sexy voice.

      Not her stalker.

      Not a Joe Blow off the street.

      But dangerous, none the less. And she was standing there in a camisole with her faux-pierced nipple hanging out. Keeping hold of Big Red with one hand, she used the other to cover her breast. “You.”

      “Me,” the sheriff agreed, partially