Nobody But You

by Julie Kenner

  He aimed a wolfish grin right at her. “What? And mess up the view?” He shouldn’t torment her—he knew that. But damned if he could help himself.

  “If you think this is going to make me too embarrassed to go with you—”

  “Sweetheart, I’m never that lucky.” At least his plan to keep her paying his fee had worked. He’d suggested she might want to forget the search for Al. And, just like he’d expected, Jacey wasn’t about to do what he suggested. Sometimes reverse psychology was a wonderful thing.

  She glared at him for a few seconds, snapped out a curse that seemed out of place against her freckles, then backed toward the kitchen door. “Don’t get any ideas about sneaking off to find Al,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Grinning, David sat down at her kitchen table to wait, and realized that, miraculously, he was actually looking forward to her return.

  The kitchen door swung closed behind her and Jacey breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. Before she’d escaped, she’d been sure she was going to die of mortification right there, half-exposed to David Anderson, who’d probably feel compelled to try artificial respiration or CPR.

  Now in the hall, Jacey scurried toward her room. So much for keeping the upper hand in their relationship. Exposing her panties to the hired help tended to put a damper on professionalism.

  Not that he’d been the consummate professional. A gentleman would have just kept his mouth shut. But no, David had to go and announce that he’d seen her underwear.

  If she hadn’t already known David Anderson was a jerk, this would have confirmed it for her.

  At least she’d worn undies that were in one piece without holes or overstretched elastic. She could only imagine what David would say if she’d straddled him in that condition.

  She slammed open the door to her room, went inside, then slammed it shut. She might be embarrassed as hell, but she was determined to get it out of her system before she went back in the kitchen and faced the jerk. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d managed to color her mood for the rest of the day.

  In her room, she perched on the edge of the bed and took ten, slow cleansing breaths. She needed to keep her focus. She had a specific goal, and this morning was about finding Al, not about the fact that she was stuck with David. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. Tasha might be right about his butt, but the rest of him wasn’t nearly as nice.

  Standing up, she headed for her closet, then opened the door and inspected the baggy jeans, sweatpants, and sundresses that stared back at her, perfectly pressed on color-coordinated plastic hangers. Nothing screamed lover’s reunion right off the bat, so she started flipping through the outfits, pushing each hanger aside with a yay, a nay, or a maybe. After ten minutes of that, she had zero yays, a truckload of nays, and about six maybes. So much for a versatile wardrobe.

  The problem was that she needed to find something attractive, yet still casual. Nothing that screamed I-was-an-idiot-where’ve-you-been-for-the-last-six-months. Instead, she wanted to go for a more subtle I’m-hoping-we-can-work-this-out, isn’t-it-funny-we-ran-into-each-other-on-your-front-porch-while-I-was-on-my-way-to-work kind of look.

  After much pondering, she finally narrowed the choices down to a pair of black capri pants and a tiedyed halter that Tasha had given her last Christmas, or a Laura Ashley jumper that looked great over her favorite pink cotton T-shirt. Her first instinct was to go for the jumper. Conservative. Comfortable. Definitely more professional. She frowned. On the one hand, she wasn’t intending to interview Al for a job. On the other, she was going with David. And their relationship was strictly professional. Plus, he was driving her straight to work afterward.

  Still…

  She nibbled on her lower lip as she eyed the little capri outfit. Not her style, but it was the perfect date outfit, already given the Tasha seal of approval. And she was heading off to meet Al.

  Besides, so far, David had seen her soaked to the skin or in dilapidated sweatpants. He probably thought she was among the fashion challenged. Not that she cared what he thought—it wasn’t like she hoped to spark anything between them—but still. A girl had her pride, after all.

  She stripped off the sweatpants, then pulled the short, black pants up over the now infamous panties. She slipped on the top that knotted in the front, showing the tiniest bit of midriff. Fortunately, her tummy was in fairly good condition, despite her severe allergy to exercise.

  Finally dressed, she slipped on her favorite white sneakers, then gave herself a once-over in her full-length mirror. Not bad.

  After one last twirl in front of the mirror to check for holes and rips, Jacey was ready to face David again. For good measure, she took one final look, gazing down the angle of her nose at her reflection as she practiced the withering look she’d give him if he dared to even think about her little underwear fiasco.

  Good. She had the evil eye down pat. Chin held high, she headed back into the kitchen, sure she was the picture of walking dignity.

  Not that he noticed. When she walked in, he was standing up, his back to her, as he talked on his cell phone. So much for grand entrances.

  “I am not going to do that, Millie,” he said.

  Millie? An unreasonable, unwelcome little twinge of something twisted in Jacey’s stomach. Not jealousy. She had no reason to be jealous. David could see all the women he wanted to—certainly she didn’t care. Her stomach was simply reacting in irritation to his boorish behavior. It wasn’t polite to argue with girlfriends in someone else’s house. Especially when he was on that someone else’s time.

  Jacey was paying him by the hour. Heck, she owned him, and there he was, arranging his personal life. Infuriating.

  “No,” he continued, as she tapped her foot on the tile floor. “Just drop it, okay?” He paused, his back still to her, and she could see the tension in his shoulders. Then a deep sigh as his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Love you, too.”

  The little bug that wasn’t jealousy nibbled at her insides again, and Jacey stood up straighter, hoping that somehow perfect posture was an antidote.

  David turned around, his eyes opening a bit wider as a genuine smile touched his lips. “Wow. You look…nice.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Sorry. I just…” He waved the words away. “Forget it. You look great. Really. I’m sure Al will appreciate it.”

  She supposed as compliments went that one was acceptable. She nodded toward the phone in his hand. “Girlfriend?” she asked, then immediately wished she’d undergone an emergency tongueectomy.

  “Don’t I wish. Girlfriends you can argue with, family you can’t.” He headed back to the table and shoved his chair into place, even as an unreasonable wave of relief crested over her. “So,” he said, his voice curt and businesslike. “You ready?”

  She nodded, wondering about the change in his attitude. Something had gotten under his skin, but she wasn’t sure what. Then again, if his family was anything like hers, she’d probably found the reason. “Sure.”

  “Good.” He headed toward the front door. “So after Al’s, I’m driving you to work. Santa Monica, right?”

  “Unless Al wants to drive me.” She hadn’t considered the possibility before. Starting in about half an hour, she might be spending the rest of the evening with Al. She took a deep breath, waiting for a little tingle of anticipation that never came.

  “Sweetheart, that’s what you hired me for.” He caught her eye, something unrecognizable there making her gasp. “If he wants you, he can damn well have you.”

  Chapter 4

  “I’m a big girl, Mr. Malone,” she said, pulling out a cigarette and waiting for me to light it. “I don’t need a chaperon.”

  We were outside Big Sal’s restaurant on La Cienega. I’d made the mistake of telling her that Big Sal was my one lead. Like all dames, Mallory’s nose always ended up where it didn’t belong. Tonight, it had ended up here.
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br />   “Maybe I disagree.” I fished in my pocket for a matchbook. Not that I needed it. The sparks between us were enough to ignite her cigarette. And a whole hell of a lot more, too.

  I passed the match over the striker, and the flame glowed in the fading light as she leaned forward to ignite the tip of her cigarette. She took a long drag, then exhaled, the smoke curling up into the night as she regarded me.

  “This ain’t no place for a dame.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said, harping on her theme.

  “Maybe you can,” I said. “But there’s a lot of cats who are wearing Chicago overcoats after rubbing Big Sal the wrong way. Call me sentimental, but you’re too much of a looker for me to stomach seeing you iced.”

  “Then help me,” she said, gliding toward me. “Come in with me.”

  “I’m not a sucker for pain,” I said. Unfortunately, I was a sucker for this particular dame, and the hell of it was, she knew it.

  “Please, Monroe,” she crooned, those deadly lips curving into a pout. “For me.”

  I was behind the eight ball on this, no doubt about it. Even though my gut said no, my mouth said yes. I took her arm and Mallory and I headed across the street toward Big Sal’s, and right into the belly of the beast.

  “Look out!”

  Jacey’s terrified squeal got David’s attention, and he slammed on the brakes in just enough time to avoid rear-ending the blood-red Porsche revving its engine at the corner of Laurel Canyon and Ventura Boulevard.

  “Are you insane?” she yelped, her voice barely a squeak.

  “Sorry. Distracted.”

  “I guess so.” She raised an eyebrow. “By anything in particular?”

  Yeah. A dame named Mallory who’s starting to look a lot like you. But he didn’t say it. Instead he shrugged. “Just thinking about your case.” He’d also been thinking about the way her ass looked in those tight little pants. He’d come close to suffering apoplexy when she’d walked into the kitchen. Considering that up to that point he’d seen her only in a shapeless dress and even more shapeless sweatpants, she probably should have issued a warning before foisting those kind of curves on him.

  “Think any harder and my case won’t matter since we’ll both be dead. Which would be a shame, because that means this car would be history.” She leaned forward and rubbed the dashboard. “The owner may be a nutcase, but the car is very, very cool.”

  He swiveled in his seat. “You like cars?”

  “Are you kidding? I love them. Especially classics. What is it? A fifty-three?”

  He looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “How did you know that?” He’d spent eight years restoring the Studebaker Starliner, doing every bit of the work himself except for installing the engine.

  She just shrugged.

  “Actually, it’s a Studillac,” he said. She might think she knew about cars, but he’d bet the contents of his wallet that she had no clue she was driving in a Studebaker with a Cadillac engine.

  “Really?” Her eyes were bright, and David had the sinking feeling that he’d just lost twenty-six dollars and two lottery tickets. “That’s so cool.”

  “You know what a Studillac is?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

  She didn’t elaborate, and David began to suspect she was bluffing.

  “I thought it had more power than a typical Studebaker,” she said. “Those fifties caddie engines are something, aren’t they?”

  David just sighed. Apparently, Jacey didn’t bluff.

  “Are you an Ian Fleming fan, too?”

  Okay, the woman knew her car trivia. Ian Fleming had mentioned the car in one of the Bond books, and David had thought it sounded pretty damn cool. “Bond’s okay,” he said. “Mostly I’m a fan of the car.” He loved the sleek lines, the louvered hood, the striking whitewalls. Hell, the car was just plain cool.

  “You wouldn’t know it from the way you drive. You’re going to ding her, and then you’ll be sorry.”

  “I’m an excellent driver.” He spoke in his best Rainman voice, but she didn’t seem to get the joke.

  “Yeah? Well, your definition of excellent leaves a lot to be desired.”

  The light changed, and he thanked God for small favors since that meant he could ignore her and just drive. The trouble was, it was getting harder and harder to ignore her.

  When he’d caught a glimpse of her panties, it wasn’t as if he’d seen her naked. Hell, he’d only seen a tiny flash of pink and a whole lot of fleece and cotton. Instead of being provocative, her bulky sweatpants and oversize shirt had left everything to the imagination. But right away, David’s imagination had started working overtime. Then she’d marched in wearing those pants, and overtime had turned into overactive.

  And the most intriguing thing was that Jacey didn’t even seem to realize how enticing she was. Despite the way the pants accented her curves, the outfit was still completely modest. Even that hippiedippy top. It showed a bit of stomach, sure, but not one iota of cleavage. A damn shame, really.

  And now she was talking like she’d spent half her life wandering around car lots. Mentally, he shook his head. Amazing. She might be a total pill, but there was something about Jacey Wilder. A lot of layers, that was for sure. The woman was an enigma, and one with serious heat potential.

  Not that he was going to be the man exploring that potential, not even for a quick reconnaissance. She wasn’t interested in him, she was interested in Albert. Albert the hotel-hopping, Harvard dweeb.

  Of course, David reminded himself, he didn’t give a damn who Jacey was interested in. Millie might be ready to send out wedding invitations, but the truth was he didn’t even know the woman. Okay, he knew she liked cars and art and she was a bit of a back-seat driver. But other than that, he didn’t know a thing. Only what she looked like, what she smelled like…

  His body tightened, and he shifted in the seat, wishing for a bit of camouflage. Oh, yeah. Jacey was nice all right. And it was always the nice ones that got under a guy’s skin and landed him in trouble. Big trouble. Thinking about things like marriage and kids and mortgages. Things David had no interest in. Not now. Not anymore. Hell, maybe not ever again.

  Better to stick to the hardcore career women with their stiletto heels and no-nonsense, Palm Pilot, got-you-scheduled-in-for-Friday approach to dating. Women who wore Victoria’s Secret under their designer suits, and whose blood ran hot despite their oh-so-cool demeanor. Women who were so wrapped up in their own careers they weren’t looking for him to buy them a ring. Like him, they were simply looking for a good time.

  Much better. Much safer.

  Unfortunately, there was never a stiletto-heeled career woman around when you needed one. And at the moment, he needed one badly. Unless Al swept Jacey off her feet and offered to drive her to Santa Monica, David was stuck with her for the afternoon.

  Scary. Very, very scary.

  He was three streets past Van Nuys Boulevard when he realized he’d been obsessing over Jacey instead of watching for his turn. Damn. He managed a quick U-turn and backtracked to the street.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’re still not paying attention?”

  “I’ve got things on my mind.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  Like you.“Nothing we need to be talking about.”

  “If it has anything to do with what goes on in that head of yours, I don’t want to know anyway.”

  “If you have such a low opinion of me, then why did you hire me in the first place?”

  “You already nailed that one, remember?” she said. “You’re cheap.” She rolled one shoulder in something resembling a shrug. “And I don’t have a low opinion of you. Elliott Talbot does. And from what I can tell, you agree with him.”

  “I suppose you have a different take on me?”

  No answer, and he turned his attention from the road just long enough to see that she was frowning, apparently considering his question. “Well?” h
e prompted.

  “I guess I do,” she finally said. “I mean, you’ve definitely got major quirk potential.” She held up a hand. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” He flashed her a smile, grateful they were having this conversation since it reminded him of what a pain in the ass she was, even if she did have curves in all the right places.

  “But you’re also pretty on the ball. I mean, my check hasn’t even cleared the bank, and here we are on our way to Al’s house.”

  Not exactly effusive, but coming from her, it surprised him nonetheless. He waited, expecting her to say more. Nothing. “So you’re impressed?” he asked, then grimaced. How pathetic was that? Fishing for compliments from his client.

  “Yeah. I guess you could say that.” Apparently exhausted from doling out praise, she sighed and leaned back, her hand stroking the restored upholstery.

  He frowned. He’d expected the part where she basically called him a loon. Hell, he got that reaction enough. Like his ex-wife, the women he went out with either found his quirks endearing or frustrating—and often the same woman started with the one and quickly moved to the other.

  So he didn’t expect much in the way of understanding from women. He was what he was, and it was as simple as that. He sure as hell didn’t intend to change just to please a woman. He’d tried that for Susan and it had been a fiasco, leaving them both frustrated and, at the end of the day, divorced.

  But the other thing—her praise of the way he did his job—that was new. And he had to admit it felt kind of nice.

  “You’re not going to miss the turn again, are you?”

  Or maybe he spoke too soon. With a grimace he turned to her. “No, I’m not going to miss my turn again,” he said, mimicking her tone. “But if you want to be useful, why don’t you dig the map out of the glove compartment?”

  She leaned over, a grin tugging at her mouth.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “Just that you’re getting the map now. For all you know, you already missed the turn. I would have printed the map off the Internet. Then you can highlight the route and tape it to the dashboard.”