beside an LCD. But the pole?
Was it for
fitness—a hobby—or to practice for a dancing gig on the side?
Either way, it’d be hard to say no to a demo.
“ I was going
over a part,” Samantha explained, sweeping a bundle of pages up off
the coffee table, “when I glanced out the window and spotted a
suspicious looking Caucasian parked outside.”
Pushing aside
that image of her body arched, a shapely leg hooked around that
pole, he sauntered over. “I meant to be obvious, by the
way.”
Her look
said, That’s good coz you
were .
An
old-fashioned desk stood against the far wall. The timber was dark
and had an old-world smell about it. In another time, it might have
taken pride of place in some big banker’s office. Reminded him a
little of the one he’d left behind at his old job, not that he’d
ever used it much.
Samantha
dropped the script on the desktop before she leaned back against
its ledge. He liked her mussed hairdo—sexy. Wild. She might have
just jumped out of a late-model convertible after a high-speed
chase.
“ Anyone ever
mention that you’re a darker version of Ryan Gosling?”
He cocked a
dubious brow. “All the time.”
“ I can see
you playing a hard-nosed detective, a toothpick hanging between
your teeth while you interview some mysterious femme
fatale.”
Assuming the
role, she hitched a shoulder up under her chin and sent over a
seductive pout.
His own lips
twitched. “Needs work.”
“ We have
time.” She pushed off the desk. “Who knows? You might end up seeing
me as an asset.”
Chase set his
hands low on his belt. He didn’t like the glimmer in those starry
green eyes. Or, more correctly, he liked it too much. He’d be
clear.
“ This—what
I’m doing here for you—it’s a one time only thing. This is strictly
short-term.”
Her brows
knitted. “Why?”
“ Because I
have a full-time job at the club and—”
“ I mean why’d
you give away the P.I. bodyguard gig?”
That took him
aback. He narrowed his eyes at her. “I ask the questions,
remember?”
“ Sorry.
Except…I’m curious. I’ve known you five minutes, but it blazes out
like a neon sign. You are so suited to this Sam Spade
stuff.”
“ Why don’t
you leave the assumptions to me,” he said.
But he wasn’t
upset. Samantha wasn’t rude so much as sharp. He understood the
urge to enquire, dig deeper. He’d known that same curiosity all his
life.
“ I have a pot
on,” she said, heading off. “Can I tempt you?”
Focusing on
the legs streaming beneath that flouncy, bouncy skirt, he followed.
“Always.”
In the
kitchen, he accepted a full cup and wandered over to straighten a
listing timber photo frame hung on the wall. Decked out in some
kind of costume, the girl in the picture was accepting a bunch of
flowers on stage. Brown hair cascaded around slender shoulders all
the way past her waist. She was at least a head shorter than the
rest of the kids. The smile was bright and just as infectious as it
was today.
Lifting his
cup, he took a sip. And another. Whoa . This coffee was
good.
“ End of year
drama performance,” she explained, pouring herself a cup. “Heard of
Shakespeare?”
He set a palm
on his chest. “To be or not to
be.”
She grinned.
“Needs work.” After splashing cream into her cup, she joined him.
“We performed Twelfth Night. I played a female who dresses up as a
male.”
“ So, the
fetish goes back a ways.”
When she
didn’t answer, he glanced across—and looked harder. He must be
seeing things. Was that remorse glistening in her eyes?
“ Last week,”
she began, “guess I lost my head a little. I didn’t know what to do
next. I’m sorry I broke into your club.”
He grinned.
“You’re sorry you got caught.”
“ Are you
sorry you caught me?”
No. Or, not
yet.
Still the
answer stuck in his throat because suddenly she was standing too
close. A few inches more and her chest would be brushing his shirt.
Her floral scent was playing tricks