Читать книгу Don't Tempt Me… - Dawn Atkins - Страница 8

SCORE. HE WAS IN. He had the job.

Of course, he’d practically sworn to be Sawyer’s love slave with the looks and dripping hints he’d delivered. The worst part was that it had come out so easily. Like butter, like cream, like sliding into bed with a hot, hungry woman.

Something about her dug at him—the yes-no vibe she gave off. Flirting, then backing away, as if she’d stepped too far out on a tightrope on a dare.

He wanted to reassure her. Yeah, you’re hot. Yeah, I’d jump you if I could.

He liked her. She had this bizarre business, but she seemed sincere. Forget liking her. He had to keep personal reactions under control. Constant awareness, attention to detail and neutral detachment were the secrets to successful undercover work. The less personal he got, the better.

Except she wouldn’t trust him if he didn’t connect with her, so he had to engage in some repartee. Within reason. Work it for the case. He’d given her mixed messages, too, which wasn’t fair and hadn’t helped.

God he hated being undercover.

It made him feel out of control. He hated checking the rearview, doubling back over every story for consistency and cracks. Hated pretending to be someone he wasn’t, hated living with his lies. For now, he contented himself with his success.

Telling Sawyer he needed a bite, he headed out to his Jeep to phone his partner, grab a burger, then return so she could go over his duties.

He crossed the lot, liking when the mild October breeze kicked up, promising change, just like the case. Adrenaline rushed his pulse and he felt primed for action. Easier to ignore that lust-pumped charge he’d gotten over the fact he’d be hanging around Sawyer for a while.

Lot of good that did him when he had to avoid dessert at all cost.

He climbed into his Jeep and took off for Jade’s, the squad’s favorite bar and grill just down the street.

“Got the job,” he said when Mark picked up his call. “Tell the lieutenant.”

“You lucky dog.”

“What are you talking about, Trudeau? You’d hate this assignment. Gloria’d hassle you about the overtime and you’d miss your kids.”

“But Sawyer’s hot,” Trudeau said.

“So?”

“I’m just saying, if the case calls for you to get sweaty with her…”

“Are you nuts?” The idea sounded so damned good he had to sit down. He could picture those muscular legs wrapped around his ass, that curly hair falling over his face, that snapdragon mouth against his, that pink tongue doing things…

“I’m trying to live through you,” Mark said. “Except you don’t do jack shit worth hearing about, letting alone tracking with binoculars.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve got a great life. And a wife you don’t deserve.” Mark was deeply devoted to Gloria, despite the studly bullshit he trotted out for the squad. No one bought it, but it made Trudeau feel invincible, when, in fact, he could be felled by a mere blink of his wife’s lashes.

“I’m saying, make an effort, West. Quit hanging with us so much. Or at least bring over a woman when you do.”

“I will, don’t worry.” He’d dated two women since he’d decided to look for a wife. Laura, then Theresa. Both nice enough, but the minute he’d dropped them off after a date, he’d felt the relief of a duty done, and they’d slid from his mind like minnows down a creek.

Lately, he’d spent his free time throwing back brews with squad mates at Jade’s or over at Mark’s. Gloria made the best rib sauce and a terrific pecan pie. Their place was homey and Rick loved their kids. He should get back to the wife search, though. He’d do that. Sure. One of these days soon.

“Alex wanted me to tell you he beat the top boss on Dragon of Doom 3.”

“He didn’t download the cheats, did he?”

“Nope. Worked it out on his own. Couldn’t disappoint Uncle Rick with his rules for every flippin’ thing, including video games.”

“Good for him. I’ll check it out when I’m over next. This weekend, maybe?”

“What are you, thirty? You act like an old married drone. When I was your age, it was a different woman every weekend. If Gloria hadn’t gotten pregnant, I’d have—”

“You’d have begged her to marry you. She’s the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass.”

Maybe that was what was missing in Rick’s search for a wife—a woman who made him feel the way Trudeau felt. The man nearly glowed when Gloria came into a room, even if it was just to rip him a new one, which she had to do from time to time. The man was in sore need of female guidance.

Truth was that Rick wanted what Trudeau had—a settled place in the world, a wife and kids to work for, someone to help him sort out what mattered from what didn’t. Something Brian had never had the chance to have.

“So now that I’m in,” he said, getting back to work, “I’ll be checking out all the shops, verifying IDs, seeing who’s connected. Looks like some of the photography customers came from the wife, not Darien, and are straight photo shoots, nothing crime related.”

“Interesting. It’s good you’re inside. We can figure this out a hell of a lot faster.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And on that other thing, you’ll be surrounded by naked women, West, so drool a little. Pretend you got a pair.”

“The equipment’s intact, not to worry,” he said. His reaction to Sawyer was proof. He grimaced, especially because he got a rush when he thought about getting back to her now.

He hung up with Mark and headed into Jade’s, determined to keep his mind on the job and forget how hot Sawyer was, no matter how many ways she reminded him with her twisty hip-walk and her teasing smile and flirty remarks and her tight backside, and that great set of—

Stop it.

Maybe he’d learn something from her, like he’d said, though he hated how personal portraits got. Samantha Sawyer sure knew what she was doing in the studio. She’d turned the shoot with that lowlife Balistero into a tender moment. And Rick couldn’t see her shooting porn, not from what he’d seen so far.

On the other hand, sociopaths were skilled liars, so he’d stay on guard. Remain clearheaded, neutral and completely controlled. Evaluate all evidence, examine all options, ask and answer all questions.

And stay way clear of dessert.

“IS THE BOOKKEEPER spelled T-A-B-O-R or E-R?”

“O-R,” Samantha said on a sigh. “I promise I won’t quiz you later.” Since Rick had returned from his lunch break, he’d asked a million questions about the center, dragging the twenty-minute orientation into a ninety-minute ordeal. It was as if he thought he’d have to run the place without her. Just now he’d honed in on the fact that Darien loaned Samantha his bookkeeper.

“Let’s get going, Rick,” she said, “so I can introduce you to the other shop owners.” The day was nearly over and she’d promised to help Valerie after work.

On the way out the door, Rick paused to rattle the loose counter. “I’ll bolt this first thing tomorrow.”

“The construction crew should handle it, but thanks.” He was obviously trying to reassure her of his usefulness. His tone had changed over lunch. When he’d left, there had been flirtation in the air, but he’d returned all facts and figures.

Which was best, she realized as the time passed. Rick’s role as her assistant—and a photographer at that—was far more important than any sex they might share. Samantha would find her fantasy lover elsewhere.

She led the way to Healing Touch, Mona’s massage studio, where there was an AC problem. The delicate bell over the door tickled Samantha’s ear as always, pouring calm through her. She associated the sound with her once-a-month gift to herself of a Mona massage.

Mona’s was the smallest shop, consisting of a tiny reception area, two small massage rooms, a restroom and overlarge closets—Darien and his storage space.

Mona emerged from the first massage room. “Hello,” she said, smiling at them. Short and curvy with open brown eyes, she moved in an eddy of palpable warmth that Samantha loved. Her massages melted worries and fears, along with knots and kinks, and it was worth every word of her usual lectures about Samantha accepting herself as she was to experience Mona’s tension-melting skill.

“This is my new assistant, Rick West. Rick, Mona Munro. We’re here to deal with your air problem.”

“An assistant already? How wonderful.” Mona shook Rick’s hand, then slanted Samantha a look. She hadn’t believed Samantha would actually hire anyone. She thought Samantha was clinging to the excuse of being too busy. If you’re going to break out, sweetie, break out.

“I act fast when the time’s right,” Samantha said, returning her look. Now she had an assistant. Soon, she’d find a man. Hit a brunch at the Phoenician or cruise a singles watering hole and reel one in. No problem.

“It’s this way.” Mona led them to the second massage room.

Samantha breathed in the lemon–ylang-ylang of the candle burning on the counter beside the CD player in the cozy, golden-hued room that featured a massage table covered in saffron sheets.

“The air just sinks. No movement,” Mona said to Rick, waving her arms through the air above the table.

Rick looked up, studying the register, arms akimbo. “I’ll see what I can do.” He scooped off his shoes and climbed onto the table, reaching up to twist something on the vent, which made his forearm muscles tighten and glide.

And look at that backside, so tight and round. Why, Handyman Rick, I think my wiring needs tightening, my pipes need, well, what pipes need. Fix me quick with your special tool. Samantha sighed.

Rick banged the vent slats with the heel of his hand.

“So, an assistant and a handyman,” Mona murmured.

Samantha looked at her friend, Rick’s body rising between them. “He’d do whatever I need him to do,” she said.

“Oh, well. That’s wonderful.” Mona grinned.

Samantha blushed and changed the subject. “So how’s Mr. Regular?”

It was Mona’s turn to blush. “Still regular.” Chuck Yardley, aka Mr. Regular, came for a massage five days a week, feigning rugby strains, but really to get to know Mona, who refused to budge on her no-dating-clients rule.

Samantha understood her reluctance. Sleazy massage parlors gave legitimate therapists a bad name. Samantha had a similar problem with callers who asked for vulgar photos, using words she preferred not to think, let alone hear.

But Mona could easily send Chuck to another therapist and go out with the guy. She claimed her people instincts went amok once chemistry kicked in and she had a rat of an ex-husband to prove it. So poor Chuck forked over hundreds a week in unnecessary rubdowns in a vain effort to coax his reluctant sweetheart that he was safe to date.

Rick tested the outflow, then looked down at them. “That should do it.”

Mona tilted up her face. “Mmm, feels better already.”

While Rick climbed down, his back to them, Mona mimed licking her finger and touching it to Rick’s behind, then yanking the digit away as if burned.

Samantha fought a laugh.

Rick reached the floor and turned. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” Mona said, her eyes twinkling. “I just mentioned how nice it is that you’re so handy. I mean besides being an assistant.”

“Whatever Samantha needs,” he said, winking at her, teasing, turning her nerves to hot wires.

“Yes, she mentioned that.” Another look from Mona.

Samantha had to clear her throat to speak. “Rick’s also a photographer. He helped me with a shoot earlier.”

“Even better. Photographer, assistant and handyman. Ideal in every way.” Then Mona quit teasing and honed in on Rick’s back, studying it with a clinical eye.

“I hope to learn a lot,” Rick said, glancing from Mona to Samantha, clearly puzzled by Mona’s change of focus, but when she grabbed one of his shoulders and ran a knuckle down his spine, his eyes went wide. “What are you doing?”

“I’d guess mostly Swedish with a little shiatsu,” Mona pronounced, prodding him with a bent knuckle. “Maybe some trigger-point work. You’ve got a slight curvature…. That sore?”

“A little, yeah. I was in a car wreck in high school.”

“That explains it. Makes the intercostals go into spasm.” Mona grabbed both of his arms, bent at the elbow and pulled them to first one side, then the other. “Get a lot of kinks?”

“Some.”

She manipulated his shoulder and he said, “Ohh…yeah,” his body sagging with relief. Watching Rick’s ramrod-straight frame dissolve into relaxed pleasure made Samantha want to melt.

“Better?” Mona released him.

He turned from side to side, testing his range of motion. “Yeah. Better.”

“I’ll get my book.” Mona glided out of the room.

“She’s getting her book?” Rick asked.

“To schedule you a massage. That felt good, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…”

He seemed so flummoxed by the idea she had to smile. “Then imagine a whole, entire hour.”

Mona returned with her dog-eared planner. “How about four tomorrow?”

“We’ll be too busy, I’m sure,” he said, looking at Samantha for a way out.

“There’s always time for a massage, Rick. Consider it an employee benefit, since I don’t offer insurance.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” Rick said, twisting at the waist to prove it.

“Mona won’t settle for fine. By the time she’s done, you won’t know your own name or even where you are.”

When he blanched, she almost laughed, but she hid her reaction and turned to Mona. “Also, Rick will be following up on the wedding-planner mailing. Do you want me to include a coupon?”

“Sure. I’ll put something together.” She turned to Rick. “I’m glad you’re on our team.”

“Yeah. Me, too. And if you have any other problems, let me know. I’ll drop in regularly, see what else needs doing.”

“Sounds great,” Mona said.

Samantha thought it was nice how he was taking charge, accepting responsibility for extra duties already. Maybe a little too conscientious, but, so far, a good hire.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Rick said as soon as they were outside the shop. “I can pay for the massage.”

“Mona gives me a discount. And you’ll need it. I’ll be working you hard.” She put her hand to her mouth and stood stock-still.

Rick chuckled. “I’m going to let that one alone.”

She smiled her gratitude, liking the wicked look on his face all the same.

“I don’t know that I like the idea of Mona making me forget my name or where I am,” he mused.

“Why not? Haven’t you ever been swept away?” she asked.

“Not on a massage table,” he said in a tone that made her heart pound.

“I know what you mean,” she said, though she really didn’t. She’d never been that lost in a physical moment. She wanted to be. With Rick. Forgetting everything but him and what he was doing to her. Rick, Rick, oh, Rick.

She sighed, then realized they were standing outside Valerie’s display windows, which held the naked mannequins she’d agreed to dress.

“Venus in a C-cup, huh?” Rick said, reading the shop name from above the nude figures. “This whole place is something else.” He shook his head, as if mystified by it all. Again she had to wonder why he’d wanted this job.

The atmosphere was so not Rick.

For a moment they stood side by side staring at the naked women with their plaster hips thrust provocatively forward, fingers extended, inviting, teasing. In her mind, she saw Rick staring at her instead of them, sliding his hot, green gaze over every trembling inch of her naked and needy body.

“I’d ask what you’re thinking, but I bet I’m better off not knowing,” he said, his low tone vibrating through her.

She turned to him. I’m thinking, you…me…naked…now.

But she was spared that bold response or a clever retort when Val burst out the door of the shop. “Thank God you’re here! My inventory finally arrived.” She stopped short at Rick.

“Meet my new assistant, Rick West. Rick, Valerie Sumner. He’ll be helping you with any tenant issues. We’re heading over to the salon right now to—”

“Terrific. You can both help. The shipment barely got here and I cannot under any circumstances miss Lindsay’s twirling tournament. Plus, you have the windows to do, Sammi.” She nodded at the displays.

Samantha looked from her frantic friend to Rick to her watch. It was already four. “You don’t need to stay, Rick. Blythe’s plumbing can wait for tomorrow.”

“I’m happy to help,” he said.

“That’s excellent,” Valerie said. “Come on.”

They followed her through the shop to the back room where men were adding a pallet of goods to the towers of boxes and crates that jammed the space.

Val named the items in each column and then indicated where in the store they belonged. “Lingerie sets there. Garters and stockings on hooks on the walls. Single thongs and panties in rows on that counter, folded. Expensive vibrators in the display case. Edible underwear, oils and genital jewels on the counter.”

Genital jewels? She and Rick exchanged startled looks.

“I’ll finish checking the order, bring out the boxes and handle the inside table displays,” Val finished. “Holler if you have questions.” She was already heading for the back room.

“Do you have questions?” Samantha asked Rick, opening a box and lifting out a red nylon bra with the nipple area cut out. She held it by its straps.

“Just one. How do you stand these things?” He held the matching thong by its thinnest strap.

“You get used to it,” she said, going for breezy, feeling hot and excited and very nervous. She’d only begun wearing thongs in the last few months.

“Looks like a match,” he said, dangling the panties below the bra, which she realized she held in front of her own breasts. “Very nice,” he added softly.

“Cut it out,” she said, fighting the warmth of his words. Heavens to horny, she had to get a grip. She thrust a two-part hanger at his chest and gave him the sexy bra. “Clip them together and hang them here.” She brushed a hanger on the circular chrome rack, setting them all to clanging.

“You’re the boss.” He grinned.

They set to work and she decided chitchat would keep her from lapsing into any more fantasies. “So, you were in the army? Did you like it?” she asked him.

“Huh? The army? Yeah, sure.”

Sounded like mixed feelings to her. “I imagine the discipline would be difficult.”

“It was good for me. Made up for my misspent youth.” He smiled.

“You were wild in high school?”

“No more than most, I guess. How about you?”

“I was your standard Goody Two-shoes. I lived in a little town with little ideas and parents who fit right in.”

“Small towns can be nice.”

“Not to me. I couldn’t wait for college.”

“To go wild?”

“Exactly.” But she laughed. “Only it didn’t work that way. I met a guy and before long you’d never know I’d left Copper Corners. All we did was study and watch TV.” Spending time with Barry had been no more exciting than League Night at the Copper Corners Bowl-A-Rama, but she’d let herself get sucked into living life his way for too long.

“No more, though,” she said. “I’m not letting life trickle through my fingers. I intend to splash around, make big, messy waves that practically drown me.”

She realized Rick was watching her closely. Almost as if he were taking mental notes on her. Unnerving. And flattering, too. “What kind of waves are you interested in making?” he asked.

Sexy waves that peaked and crashed and climaxed, of course, but she couldn’t say that. “With my work, for one thing. And my personal life, too.”

“If your personal life’s anything like your work…wow.” His moss-green eyes heated to a sparkling emerald. He was hinting, but she couldn’t quite read his intentions.

How should she respond? Yeah, baby, I wear out my men like paper plates. Wanna be next? But that was way over the falls.

“Yeah. Well…these things take time. I only started taking boudoir shots six months ago.”

“Sure.” He paused, taking in her answer. “So how’d you get into that?”

She was relieved he was going with chitchat. “Boudoir work? Or photography? I always loved taking pictures. Begged for a thirty-five-millimeter for Christmas when I was seven and after that spent all my allowance on film and developing. Puzzled the hell out of my parents.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“They thought getting in people’s faces was too pushy. When I won awards in high school, they were impressed, but bewildered.” It had broken her heart that they were so lukewarm about her passion. “How about you? How’d you get started?”

“I was young, too. When my pop would go hunting, I’d tag along to shoot pictures. He thought it was peculiar, but he liked the company when my older brother was too busy.” He was quiet for a minute and crushed the boxes he’d emptied, sending his wintry scent to her on a puff of air.

“So when did you go professional?” she asked, hanging up a black satin underwear set.

“I fell into it. Needed money, saw an ad in a magazine. Put myself out there and assignments came my way. How about you?”

“It was a hobby until late in college.” She put a white satin ensemble on the rack. “I thought I’d be a psychologist or social worker, until I took this portrait-photography class on a lark and it was like lightning and thunder striking at the same time. It was a way to combine my curiosity about people with my interest in art. I was absolutely electrified by the idea. I never looked back.”

“I can see that.” I see you. He had an unnerving way of pulling her in tight. Nice, really, and it made her feel like they’d known each other longer than the couple of hours that had passed since he’d shown up at her counter. “Photography can take hold of you for sure,” he added.

“You love it, too, huh?”

“Half the time when I was freelancing, I’d forget to bill the magazine.” He smiled wistfully.

“It shows. Your work is remarkable. That vulture shot…”

“Yeah. I waited all day for that one.”

“All day? That would kill me.”

“That’s how it is with wildlife. You have to be patient. You have to know the animal’s habits and you have to be willing to wait.”

“That’s positively brutal. And unpredictable. I like to plan out a shot, get everything just so, full control.”

“But what about the surprise factor? You know the shot at Canyon de Chelly?”

“With the surreal blue sky and gold light?”

“Yeah. For that my batteries were almost drained and I had one frame, but the scene stopped me dead. That one ran in Arizona Highways.”

“I’m not surprised.”

He gave her an unguarded grin of pride. “I was lucky.”

“No. When you’re good, you make your luck.”

They looked at each other, connected by the shared love of taking pictures. She’d never dated a photographer before. Interesting….

You can’t date him. You hired him.

“So, how did you get into sex shots?” This question came out a little hard and startled her.

“Boudoir shots,” she corrected. “Or intimate photos. If you’re going to work with me you need to use the right vocabulary.”

“Sure. Do people ever ask for something more?”

“You mean like Joey? He was ready to strip, huh?” She started to laugh, but he interrupted her.

“I mean more graphic.” His eyes dug in, diamond-sharp with focus, and she felt stung.

“You mean, do I shoot porn?” Angry, she slid her locket back and forth hard on its chain. It was bad enough she got those awful calls, now her new employee was asking her the question. “Absolutely not. I believe the human body is beautiful. Sex, too. And I won’t exploit either one. I would think that you would already get that. And let me add that if that’s what you’re looking for, then—”

“Sorry. No. That’s not what I want. And I get it. I’m sorry I asked.”

He wore the strangest expression, as if she’d just passed some test she didn’t know she’d been given. He looked relieved.

So strange. He’d insulted her and he was relieved she’d snapped at him.

Worse, she was glad. She wanted him to like her. Part of her wanted to slip into a comfortable intimacy with this man. Part of her held back, sensing there was something he wasn’t telling her that she needed to know.

And the rest of her just plain wanted him.