“You think you’d fare better on your own? In your home, which is no doubt staked out?”
All the blood pooled in her feet, leaving her lightheaded and feeling like she’d fallen into some sort of alternative reality. What had happened to her boring, predictable, safe little bubble of existence?
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Guess you’ll have to learn how to relax and hang loose.”
“What?”
“You know, chill.”
Was this guy for real? Intense, rude, Super-Cop personified one minute, totally unhelpful Surfer Dude the next. She didn’t need this aggravation. “What kind of advice is that? I have no way to get anywhere, I’ve witnessed a murder, men keep trying to kill me, and all you can say is I need to chill?”
She spun on her bare foot to leave. Pain shot through her. Gasping, she looked down at the pool of shattered porcelain all around her. Based on the limp flowers scattered across the floor, the pieces had formed a vase in a previous life. One more thing to feel guilty about. Fortunately, she had the agonizing pain caused by glass shards in the bottom of her foot to distract her. Lovely.
Greg lifted her in strong arms and swung her against his hard chest.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. “I’m too heavy. Put me down.”
“I’m helping.” He said it with the angelic innocence of a five-year-old boy caught putting a bug in a girl’s hair. “You’re injured. And you are not too heavy.”
Disarmed by the close proximity, she clamped her lips shut and shot him a skeptical look. The amused sparkle in his eyes was at odds with the intensity of his gaze. Confusing man.
He juggled her slightly to get through the arched doorway into the dining room and scorching heat suffused her face. She could just hear the gears working in his head, evaluating her weight. He probably thought she sat around eating donuts, bags of chips and fried food. Drowning in embarrassment, she shut her eyes.
In another lifetime, in a different body, she’d love a hunky guy carting her around. Since she was still in this one, she didn’t.
He set her on one of the elegant chairs. “Be right back.”
Probably wanted to run into the other room to catch his breath. Seconds later, he returned with a first-aid kit and knelt at her feet. He pulled out a pair of ginormous tweezers and she flinched.
“Easy, sweetheart.”
Her foolish heart clenched over the casual endearment. Department Don Juan, she reminded herself fiercely. His eyes locked on hers and the helpful little reminder fled the building.
“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Imprudent or not, the fatal combination of his solemn gaze and low voice caused a hairline crack in her defensive wall.
He carefully placed her foot on his bent knee, angling it to the side so he could see what he was doing. She focused on the wall over his head, unwilling to watch him pick bloody pieces of porcelain from her foot.
She sucked in a breath when he pulled out the first piece.
He held it up. “Yep, Grandma’s antique vase died a brutal death.”
Ally winced. Despite his crooked grin, the pain of the loss shone in his eyes. He removed more shards, his gentleness soothing even though it didn’t mitigate the pain. He set down the tweezers and took out a bottle of antiseptic. She tensed. The cold antiseptic burned inside the cuts and she swallowed a sob. A few wraps of light gauze he secured with medical tape and he set her foot down and looked up.
“As to your other issues, my sister keeps a room here with clothes and stuff in it. I’m sure she won't mind if you borrow some of it.”
“Seriously?” Half-laughing, half-groaning, mortified beyond belief to be having this discussion with a ridiculously attractive stranger, she closed her eyes. “Nothing that belongs to your sister would fit me.”
“Why not?”
Good grief. Surely, he wasn’t that clueless. No way on God’s green earth was she explaining. She could only take so much humiliation. “They just won’t, okay?”
He shrugged and rose. “Whatever. At least see if Celia has a pair of shoes you can wear.”
“Fine.” Gracefulness be damned. She surged out of the chair and hobbled from the room, ignoring her throbbing feet.
“Her room is the first one on the left down the hallway.”
Chapter Five
Celia’s room was an oasis of soft pink and cream, a girl’s paradise filled with gilt furniture. A massive canopied bed rested dead center. Ally swallowed a wistful sigh.
Double doors opened into a jaw-dropping closet.
A few clothes? By whose standards? She shook her head. Row upon row of beautiful clothes filled the walk-in closet. At the far end, slanted shelves displayed a dazzling array of shoes.
In a green-tinted haze of envy, she limped forward, trailing fingertips along the shelves.
She might live in a bubble, but she still recognized the designers. Prada, Valentino, Dolce & Gabbana, Fendi, Gucci, Manolo Blahnik, Miu Miu, Versace and more.
What kind of man left a life of luxury and became a cop making diddly squat?
Someone with an amazing story to tell. Someone who’s probably a great guy underneath all his posing and blustering. Gnawing on her lower lip, she focused on the shoes. She didn’t like the idea of borrowing designer shoes but she couldn’t very well walk around barefoot.
Donna Karan sandals caught her eye. Gorgeous cork platforms with gold crisscrossing straps and gold chunky heels. They were nothing like the boring flats filling her closet at home.
She slid them on. Absolute bliss, despite the pain in her foot, and a perfect fit. Biting her lip, she stared at the clothes. Maybe a loose-fitting dress would work.
A blue-and-white print caught her eye and she pulled it out. The fabric fell in tiers from a standing collar to an A-line skirt. She checked the tag. A size eight by Proenza Schouler. She’d never heard of the designer. A size eight over her size sixteen curves. She cringed. Better than a size two, but still.
Chucking her dirty clothes, she pulled the silk dress over her head. The fabric caressed her arms, hugged her breasts and skimmed her hips. She hummed her pleasure. Feeling a bit like Sleeping Beauty approaching the Evil Queen’s enchanted mirror, she tiptoed over to a full-length mirror. She stared at the floor, stomach knotted painfully. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze. Her eyes widened and she forgot to breathe.
The dress bared her shoulders and the hem stopped at mid-thigh.
She looked…she looked…different. She bit her lip. Her shorts and tank top had revealed just as much skin, but the dress accentuated the things she liked about her body. The shoes did amazing things for her legs.
Gathering up her clothes, she tugged a simple linen bag off a shelf and stuffed them inside. With a final wistful glance, she closed the closet doors. Spying an attached bathroom, she detoured to wash up, only to draw up short inside. The bathroom was lined with mirrors. There was even a mirror in the shower stall. She had zero desire to see that much of her self naked, so a thorough scrub in the sink would have to suffice.
She left Celia’s bedroom freshly groomed and feeling light-years away from the girl who’d set out from her town house that morning. Feminine contentment curled through her. She was determined to enjoy every minute of this singular experience. She’d never be able to afford these kinds of clothes on her salary. Not unless she spent an entire paycheck on one outfit. Then she’d be homeless, and what would be the point of beautiful clothes when she had to cuddle up to a smelly old man in an alleyway for warmth?
Ally winced anew at the destruction when she passed through the living room. Greg worked at the sleek granite counter in the kitchen. He turned when she entered the room, her shoes clicking across the tiled floor. His eyes widened, his jaw went slack and irrational pleasure flooded her.
His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat. Twice. “I see you found something to wear.”
A slow smile grew, but she remained silent.
He retur
ned to his work on the counter.
She crossed the kitchen to stand beside him. He was making sandwiches of dense bread piled high with turkey, lettuce, tomato, avocado, mushrooms and some sort of sauce. Her mouth watered. The food smelled amazing.
“Hungry?” His voice was husky.
“Starving.”
For once, she wasn’t self-conscious. Maybe the trauma of having a gun held to her head was to blame, or the amazing clothes. Then again, she hadn’t eaten since her grapefruit, egg-white omelet and yogurt breakfast eight hours ago. Her stomach rumbled.
Greg handed her the laden plates and she carried them into the dining room. She set them down and glanced over her shoulder, catching him staring at her rear end. She could get used to that. Maybe. Okay, so give her five minutes and she’d start worrying about her butt again.
He scooted her chair in as she sat. Ally swallowed. She hadn’t been on a date in so long his behavior felt foreign. Not that they were on a date. She stared at her plate. “Is there really some guy out there who wants me dead?”
“’Fraid so.”
Her ears rang and her pulse pounded like a whole section of drummers partying in her head. “Why?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” His eyes narrowed, the hard-boiled cop banishing Surfer Dude. “Run into any suspicious-looking characters lately? Cross any homicidal maniacs? Borrow money from a loan shark?”
“Funny.”
“You seriously have no idea what’s going on?” He leaned forward, crowding into her space, none of the attraction from two minutes ago in his hard eyes.
Like she was hiding a violent criminal past. Sheesh. He was the policeman. Wasn’t it his job to know these things?
“Yes, I seriously have no idea what’s going on.” She resisted adding, you big jerk. He was trying to help her. “I’m a claims processor for an independent health-insurance company. Trust me, I lead a very ordinary, very boring life. No homicidal maniacs and no loan sharks. Do I look stupid to you?” She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Never mind.”
“You aren’t, Ally. That’s not what I meant.” He rolled a crumb between his fingers, contemplating her. “A claims processor. Huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She leaned back and crossed her arms.
“Nothing.” He grinned. “Testy, aren’t you? And not hungry, apparently.”
Ally looked down at her untouched plate of food. She should eat something. Her stomach twisted. She shrugged and rose. They cleared the table and stuck the dishes inside the dishwasher.
“Let’s head out, Sugar Lips.”
“Where are we going?”
Greg winked. “It’s a surprise.”
She made a quick trip to Celia’s room and grabbed a soft sweater. Greg met her in the foyer with a cheerful grin, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
How he could be so carefree was beyond her. Glass and broken china crunched beneath his feet in his trashed living room and he had a naïve, frightened woman to protect—namely her. He clearly had issues. Serious, thrill-seeking issues.
They stepped into the elevator and his spicy cologne snaked around her, making her eyes cross and thighs tremble. She slid a little farther away. She didn’t need this stupid attraction. Especially now. Figuring out what was going on took priority. Not to mention getting away from Mr. Super-Cop before she did something stupid, like fling herself at him. Queasy self-consciousness crept in and she tugged at the too-short hemline of the slinky dress.
The doors opened onto the garage, but Greg held her back. She leaned on the brass paneling of the elevator and stared at the ceiling panel while Greg did his thing. Deep breathing slowed her racing pulse. Fear and attraction were a toxic combination.
Hopefully, there weren’t any hit men, mobsters or otherwise criminally inclined individuals lying in wait to kill her. How many times could a girl be threatened in one day? She’d surely surpassed her lifetime limit.
Greg hauled her out of the elevator. The He-Man tactics didn’t exactly warm her heart. She stumbled along behind, desperately trying to keep up and maintain her balance. Years of flats and sandals hadn’t happened by accident.
He held the passenger door open, scanning the garage. She climbed in and buckled her seat belt, trying to swallow around the lump of fear in her throat. Greg slammed the door shut. On the driver’s side, he dropped down beneath the window then climbed in without a word.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” He buckled up and started the car.
For the love of… “Do you always crawl around on the ground before leaving?”
“Just making sure nobody attached a little surprise to the bottom of my car. Considering how badly this guy seems to want you out of the picture…” He shrugged.
The dull throb in her head exploded into life with vicious enthusiasm.
The engine rumbled as he pulled out of the garage. He glanced at her, a little frown between his brows. “We’re fine, Ally. We just have to be careful. I’m sure my name has come up with these guys by now. Whatever you know, or they think you know, they’ll figure you’ve told me. Which means keeping either one of us around isn’t safe.”
She moaned, leaning her head against the seat. Her life had become an episode of Southland.
“Relax. We’ll talk more later.”
Tension had crept into his voice and she glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”
“We have a tail.”
“A tail?” Like a cat? That didn’t make any sense. Oh. Duh.
“Someone’s following us?” She threw off her seat belt and spun around to stare out the back of the Camaro, but she didn’t see anything beyond ordinary traffic. “How do you know?”
“Training and experience.”
She shivered, plopping back down in her seat.
“Buckle up, Sugar Lips.”
Chapter Six
Ally latched the seat belt, grabbed the door handle with one hand and the seat with the other. Greg swerved around a car. Glancing back, she spotted a dark sedan maneuvering to stay behind them. Her heart leapt into her throat as Greg narrowly avoided the rear bumper of a delivery truck. They roared down the block, taking the next corner so fast Ally’s shoulder slammed into the door with bruising force.
Before she could catch her breath, he whipped them around another corner. The hard right flung her the other way. They tore down a quiet alley and onto a sleepy residential street. He slowed, taking the next corner at a more sedate pace. Kept all four tires on the pavement even.
Ally’s racing pulse didn’t care.
His gaze locked on the rearview mirror and she turned to peer out the back window. Towering maple and oak trees filtered weak moonlight through their full branches to shine on stately homes. The street remained empty. She straightened, her stomach quivering like unset Jell-O.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Greg smiled. “Too much excitement for you?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. She sank low in her seat, longing for a steaming hot bath to ease the tension from her muscles. Ha. If this was excitement, she needed it about as much as she needed a hole in the head. She winced and rubbed the sore spot on her temple where Boner had pressed the muzzle of his gun. Poor word choice.
Greg pulled into the parking lot of a dumpy motel, the flashing sign illuminating the dilapidated puke-green and pink exterior. The place probably rented rooms by the hour.
Greg disappeared inside the tiny lobby. A few minutes later, he dropped a key in her lap, complete with a key ring in the shape of a miniature rubber…dildo? No way. She leaned closer, gaze tracing the outline of ridges and what definitely looked like the head of a, err, phallus.
“We were in luck. They had one room left.”
“Great.” She stared at the thing resting between her clenched thighs. No way was she touching that key ring. Someone could have used it in desperate times.
“What?”
“Noth
ing.” She tossed him a polite smile then yanked open the door and scrambled out. She had no business being ungrateful. He was keeping her safe. A sleazy motel, complete with gross key ring, was the least of her worries.
Meticulously avoiding the swinging plastic penis, she fit the key into the thin door. The dim interior wasn’t encouraging. Greg shut the door and curtains before hitting the overhead lights. She cringed.
Two beds covered with gray and red shiny comforters squatted over stained gray carpet and were flanked by black lacquer nightstands where large lamps with brilliant-red lampshades perched precariously. Even the walls were a dull shade of gray. Heavy drapes in eye-straining swirls of red, gray and black finished off the décor.
His surprises were certainly…surprising.
“This isn’t so bad.”
She turned and stared. Was he insane?
“I have to admit, I was a little worried when I first spotted this place.” He switched on one of the monstrous lamps and mystery stains on the bed’s shiny cover leapt into high relief. “Yeah, this’ll work great. Which bed do you want, Sugar Lips?”
She flinched and took a step back, her skin crawling. His smile slipped a few notches.
“Come on. This place is perfect. No one will look for us here. Considering my family’s money, they’ll expect me to check into a fancy hotel, not some dive.” Strolling past her, he stuck his head in the bathroom. “There’s even a bathtub. I’ll flip you for it.”
He held out a quarter and cocked an eyebrow. She managed to unglue her feet, cross the room and peer into the tiny bathroom. A healthy assortment of chips dotted an avocado-green bathtub. Rust stains circled the drain—not what she had in mind when envisioning a hot bath.
“You’re going to fit in there how?” She glanced at Greg. Barely an inch separated them. Startled to find him so close, her mouth dried.
Sweet Deception Page 5
