Sudden Engagement

by Julie Miller

  “I’m sorry. What were you wearing? Saying?” She shouted the correction, dismayed at how thoroughly her body had betrayed her rational mind. She stood up and circled the center island, struggling to dispel the lingering tension in her body.

  “Ginny.” The quiet word sounded like a sigh of pleasant surprise.

  Great. That’s all his ego needed, to know that her libido had temporarily overridden her logic and she’d been fantasizing about him.

  “Business, Taylor,” she warned him. And herself. “We have to keep it strictly business between us.”

  “I will if you will.” She heard the laughter in his promise, wondered if it was at her expense. “As I said before, I have a proposition for you.”

  She carefully steered her brain away from the more lascivious definition of the word. “What kind of proposition?”

  “Let me buy you breakfast. I’ll get take-out. You can meet me at my office, and then I’ll take you over to the Ludlow Arms.”

  The fact that he’d added the last didn’t disappoint her. She was pleased that he’d remembered her earlier request. The offer took some of the sting out of her current embarrassment. But then this was Brett Taylor talking, and when he’d said proposition…

  “What’s the catch?” she asked.

  “You tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “Damn you, Taylor!” The heat in her cheeks was sudden and intense. The indignation in her throat muffled any articulate response.

  She slammed down the receiver, canceling out the sound of his seductive laughter.

  When she crawled into bed that night, she clutched a pillow to her stomach and wrapped her body around it. She felt chilled and raw and completely out of her league after her midnight chat with Brett Taylor.

  When she finally fell into an exhausted sleep, she’d left the light burning beside her bed.

  “MMM. I guess I was hungry.”

  Brett watched Ginny across the desk as she stuffed the last bite of a French-toast stick into her mouth. Then she proceeded to lick the gooey syrup from her thumb and first two fingers. One at a time, she pulled them between her lips and teeth with a delicate suction.

  He put the disposable coffee cup to his mouth and swallowed a gulp of the warm liquid, thanking God for whomever had invented the desk, so that he could sit there and mask his body’s response to the innocent, carnal movements of her mouth.

  It didn’t take much to feel the tightening in his jeans. He’d been off-kilter from the moment he realized why she’d sounded so breathy and distracted on the phone last night.

  Making a joke out of it hadn’t helped a bit. After hanging up, he’d spent an uncomfortable night trying to keep his mind from imagining what she slept in. Skimpy lingerie or practical cotton? It didn’t matter. In his mind, he’d undressed her from a dozen different outfits with the same result—her sweet naked body, delicately proportioned and softly feminine, standing in shy perfection before him.

  “Glad I could finally make good on my invitation,” he managed to say. With casual efficiency, she cleaned up the paper wrappers and napkins, and carried the sack of trash to the wastebasket.

  Man, he was a sorry celibate. Of all the women in the world who could be keeping him awake at night, it had to be this thorny rose of a woman.

  With angelic hair and sensuous lips.

  With fire cooking beneath that icy veneer.

  And with the patience to listen and understand, without judging him for who he was and what he’d done or hadn’t done.

  That wounded spot, deep inside his heart, healed a bit under her care, just remembering how she’d been last night with Frank Rascone. Gentle and patient, with the right combination of push and give to get the job done without hurting the old man.

  And the way she reached out to him afterward, with concern and compassion. He’d called her last night, hoping to recapture that soul-deep connection he’d felt. Hoping she’d admit to feeling something, too.

  Today, though, he put on his game face, gearing himself up to hold his own against his fake fiancée, played this morning once again by the sensibly efficient Detective Rafferty.

  He finished off his coffee, crushed the cup in his fist and followed her to the wastebasket. “Ready for the Ludlow Arms?”

  “Let’s do it.” Today her professional uniform consisted of a peach-colored blazer over navy slacks. Despite the crisp lines of shoulder pads and lapels, the jacket’s soft color highlighted the creamy complexion of her skin, making a mockery of his efforts to be as businesslike about working together as she was.

  If he didn’t quit noticing those little feminine details she tried so hard to hide, he’d never make it through this pretend relationship unscathed.

  Grabbing his keys and cell phone, he led the way to the door. But he never made it outside.

  “Brett?” The trailer door opened with the strident request. “Oh, Brett.”

  He backed up a step to brace himself as Sophie Bishop threw herself into his arms. She reached around his waist and tucked her nose into the collar of his shirt. He felt her sobs pushing in an erratic cadence against his chest before he felt the moist heat of her tears on his neck.

  Automatically, he curled his arms around her and patted her shoulder. “Hey, it’s all right,” he offered, not sure what he was promising.

  “It’s all so horrible,” she hiccuped. “I haven’t done anything like this since Mark died.”

  Acutely aware of Ginny standing in mute courtesy behind him, he felt an unaccustomed discomfort at the pressure of Sophie’s body pressed so tightly to his. He eased some space between them and nudged her chin up with the tip of his finger. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  With his focus split between the two women, he was only vaguely aware of the door opening a second time. Sophie pushed aside her tears with the palm of her hand and worked her mouth into a brave smile. “The arrangements for Daddy. My God, Brett, how could this happen?” She reached for him again, collapsing into tears.

  Eric Chamberlain reached out and laid his hand on Sophie’s shoulder, adding his solace to Brett’s. Brett noticed an unexpected catch in the other man’s voice. “She’s talking about the funeral arrangements. The police released Alvin’s body this morning. She wants to have a memorial service tomorrow.”

  Sophie tipped her head back. Through a sheen of tears, her brown eyes beseeched Brett. “You’ll come, won’t you? I know Daddy wasn’t a popular man, but I need you there for me.”

  “Of course I’ll come. All the Taylors will, I’m sure. Even Cole, if we can find him. You’re important to us.”

  She sniffed back tears and smiled. “Thank you.” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. From the stiffening of her body, Brett knew the precise moment when Sophie recognized Ginny behind him. “Detective Rafferty.”

  At last she pulled away, smoothing the knit of her dark navy dress. Brett backed up a step to include Ginny in their circle. With her unique blend of authority and compassion, Ginny extended her hand. “My condolences, Ms. Bishop.”

  Sophie shook hands. “Thank you. I understand you’ve been assigned to my father’s case. I trust you’re doing everything you can to find his killer?”

  Ginny nodded. “Right now we’re going through the list of anyone who would have had a motive to kill your father.”

  Sophie pulled back, straightening her shoulders with a poignant pride. “I imagine that’s quite a long list.”

  “Not so many as you might expect. It’s a long way to go from disliking a person to actually killing him.”

  Eric slipped his arm around Sophie’s waist, perhaps warning her before he shifted into his sharklike attorney’s voice. “The way it was done, it had to have been premeditated. You’re looking for opportunity as well as motive, aren’t you?”

  Brett clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, damning the man’s right to be here. But Ginny sounded unruffled by the subtle accusation of incompetence i
n his observation. “There was some planning involved, yes. I’ve been reading up on the method, in fact. I believe the inspiration for the plan comes from Edgar Allan Poe.”

  Sophie raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  Brett was curious to hear Ginny’s explanation, too. “‘The Cask of Amontillado.’ It’s standard reading in any high-school American lit course. The story lays out an identical murder scenario to your father’s death.”

  “Tell me more.” Sophie’s curiosity seemed to briefly override her grief.

  But Eric intruded on the intellectual meeting of female minds. “Sophie, you don’t have to deal with this right now. Let’s let Detective Rafferty do her job.” He scaled his gaze from Ginny up to Brett. His lips curled into a charmless smile. “With your help, of course. Which comes first with you two? The job or the wedding plans?”

  Brett’s hands stayed fisted this time. It was one thing to play the game with him, but to involve Ginny… Suddenly he felt Ginny’s hand on his arm, a tiny anchor of civility to latch onto. He looked down to see the subtle warning in her cobalt eyes. He covered her hand with his, promising to keep his temper, marveling how she could keep her own reactions in check.

  “We were just on our way out.” His glance included both Sophie and Eric. “Ginny wants to look around the Ludlow again. I’m her tour guide.”

  Taking the hint better than Eric, Sophie backed toward the door. “You will keep me posted on anything you find out about my father’s murder, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Ginny released Brett and reached into her pocket. “Here’s my card. You can call me or my partner, Merle Banning, anytime, if you have a question, or if you think of something that might help us with the investigation.”

  “I’ll do that.” Sophie dropped the card into her purse and tilted her lips to kiss Brett’s cheek. “I won’t keep you. I just needed to know you’d be there for me.”

  Ignoring the glare in Eric’s eyes, Brett nudged her chin with a playful fist. “Always, kiddo.”

  She slipped her hand through the crook of Eric’s arm. “Would you go on to the car? I’ll be right there.”

  The obvious dismissal flushed Eric’s cheeks. But apparently, he couldn’t deny her request. With little more than a grunt of, “Later, Taylor,” he shoved open the door and marched down the steps.

  Sophie turned to Brett and straightened the collar of his chambray work shirt. Her long fingers brushed across his shoulders, smoothing out wrinkles and staking a familiar claim that, with Ginny standing by his side, made him want to squirm. “I apologize for Eric’s rudeness. He’s just trying to protect me. He always has.”

  “No problem,” Brett lied, taking her hands and pulling them away from his shoulders before releasing her.

  “I almost forgot. Congratulations on your engagement.” She looked down at Ginny, her smile for him thinning into a taut line. A test. He read Sophie’s expression as clearly as a billboard. He prayed Ginny could read it, too. “You’re stealing one of the finest men I’ve known away from our little neighborhood.”

  Ginny locked up at the suddenly personal turn in the conversation. Like always. Several appropriate responses danced on the tip of Brett’s tongue. If she didn’t lose that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look every time the subject of their engagement came up, they’d never be able to pull this off.

  As the seconds ticked into aeons, Brett opened his mouth to speak. But Ginny found her voice. “Stealing’s such a strong word.”

  She hooked one hand around his bicep, entwined her fingers through his and curled her body along the length of his arm. With her snuggled so close, he felt the imprint of a small, firm breast at his elbow. And when she laid her head against his shoulder, that delicate scent of freesia stirred from her hair.

  Articulated with throaty precision, even her words suckered him into believing the authenticity of the impromptu embrace. “I’d like to think he volunteered to become my husband.”

  With her face tipped up, her lips mere inches away, he bought into the wordplay. “Willingly.”

  Then, because the tentative confidence sparkling in those clear blue eyes was impossible to resist, he angled his mouth and kissed her. He felt her strain against his arm, stretching her body up to meet him. Her lips moved beneath his, equal partners for the first time.

  His body hummed with excitement, her bold move fanning to life the embers she had forged in his feverish dreams. He caught the nape of her neck with his right hand, twisting to catch the fall of silky curls between his fingertips.

  A polite cough filtered through the potent desire clouding his brain. It took Sophie clearing her throat a second time for him to remember himself and forcibly pull his lips from the sweet heaven he’d just discovered in Ginny’s willing kiss.

  It was easy to smile when he turned to apologize to Sophie. “Sometimes we get carried away.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  A breeze of cool air chilled his arm as Ginny started to back away. A quick glance at her rosy cheeks warned him that she, too, had temporarily forgotten their audience. He tightened his grip on her hand so she couldn’t release him entirely.

  Perhaps it was the strain of her father’s funeral, and the investigation surrounding his death that seemed to make it impossible for Sophie to smile along with him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. At ten o’clock.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  After Sophie left, he felt the inevitable tugging on his hand. “She’s gone now. You can let go.”

  But he wasn’t ready to let Ginny escape. It had been real. To his body and heart, that kiss had been for real.

  He spun around and grasped her by the shoulders, delicate points of muscle and bone that fit easily into his hands. He dared her to admit the same. “You had me believing you.”

  She writhed within his grip, the flat of her hands pushed against his chest. “I’ve been working on my acting skills.”

  The flippant remark left a sour taste in his mouth. But like the keeper of a frightened bird caught in a trap, he let her go.

  Her haste to open the door insulted his sense of honesty, inflamed a craving inside him for her to feel something, anything, of the misplaced need he felt for her.

  Coming up behind her, he pushed the door shut and trapped her there. The curve of her rump butted against his thighs, her shoulders heaved against his chest. But he was bigger and stronger and refused to budge. He held her there, feeling her heat, inhaling her scent, sensing her anger and distrust like an undeserved slap in the face.

  Hating himself, he whispered into her ear. “Is it really so impossible for you to admit there’s something between us?”

  Her struggles stilled instantly. “It doesn’t make any difference, Brett. When this investigation is over, you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine.”

  “You don’t know that,” he argued. “You won’t even give us a chance.”

  “You said I shouldn’t lie to myself.” She threw his own words back at him with clear, logical cunning. “Okay, so maybe I feel some attraction to you, some kinship because of Mark and Amy. But that’s it.”

  “Kinship?” He spun her around, pinned her with his hands at her shoulders, his hips pressing into hers. “I don’t feel…”

  “I’m no good at relationships, Brett.” She curled her hands into fists between them, clutching up handfuls of chambray, softly beating her message into him. “I can barely act my way through one, much less deal with one in real life. So I am not going to care. I am not going to give in to passionate kisses or any other damn thing that’s going to hurt me ever again. You included.”

  He shook his head, denying the sheen of tears held in check in her eyes. Not believing what she’d just admitted.

  “You’re a coward.”

  “Yes.”

  She boldly held his gaze. He searched her flushed cheeks, her shining eyes, her trembling mouth, for any sign that he’d misheard her. He searched inside himself, in his memory, in his heart, for any cl
ue she might have dropped that would explain this deep, irrational fear. But he discovered he knew as little about Ginny now as he had that first day down in the subbasement of the Ludlow Arms.

  He released her and stepped back, holding his hands out to either side of his body in apologetic surrender. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  “It’s not up to you to do anything.” The way she hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, made him regret giving rein to his frustration, made him wish she’d allow him to give her that comfort she sought for herself. “I came to you to help me find my sister’s killer. Not to fix my love life.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brett granted Ginny her silence as they walked to the Ludlow Arms. Other than a perfunctory request to put on a hard-hat once they crossed beneath the yellow crime-scene tape blocking off the entrance, he, too, had little to say.

  He wasn’t sure what he felt for her beyond respect, lust, fascination, admiration. Hell, he’d been thinking with his hormones instead of his head. Tough as Detective Rafferty might be on the outside, she was more fragile than he’d ever have guessed on the inside.

  Someone had hurt her. Badly. Scared her enough that she wouldn’t trust her own feelings anymore. Maybe it had been the epitome of arrogance for him to assume she had any of those feelings for him. She’d need someone solid, reliable, as good as his word, to help her through whatever she needed to get through.

  Brett was smart enough to know the job description didn’t fit him.

  “What are those for?” Ginny had asked to go up to the fourth-floor apartment where the Bishops had lived. After climbing the relative stability of the first two flights of stairs, she pointed out the red X’s spray-painted on some of the risers going up to the third floor.

  Construction sounded like a safe enough topic for them to discuss. “They mark where the support structure is weak. You can crash through to the bottom of the stairwell if you put too much weight on those particular timbers.”