Bending the Rules

by Susan Andersen

  Reviewers love New York Times bestselling author

  SUSAN ANDERSEN!

  “This start of Andersen’s new series has fun and interesting characters, solid action and a hot and sexy romance…. The introduction of the heroines of the future stories whets the appetite for more.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Cutting Loose

  “Snappy and sexy…Upbeat and fun, with a touch of danger and passion, this is a great summer read.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Coming Undone

  “Deft characters, smart dialogue, laugh-out-loud moments and sizzling sexual tension (you might want to read Chapter 15 twice) make this hard to put down…. Lovers of romance, passion and laughs should go all in for this one.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Just for Kicks

  “Andersen again injects magic into a story that would be clichéd in another’s hands, delivering warm, vulnerable characters in a touching yet suspenseful read.”

  —Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Skintight

  “A classic plot line receives a fresh, fun treatment…well-developed secondary characters add depth to this zesty novel, placing it a level beyond most of its competition.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Hot & Bothered

  “Sassy, snappy and sizzling hot!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Janet Evanovich on Baby, I’m Yours

  “Lively and fun!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Susan Elizabeth Phillips on Be My Baby

  “Sizzling, snappy, sexy fun.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Crusie on Baby, Don’t Go

  Dear Reader,

  I love Opposites Attract stories. And if they punch your buttons as well, have I got a hero and heroine for you!

  Poppy Calloway was raised by hippie parents in a home full of love, artistic expression and the belief that one gives back to the community whenever possible. Far from a material girl, she’s perfectly happy scraping a living out of designing menu boards and making greeting cards. She feeds her soul by bringing art to at-risk kids.

  Jase de Sanges comes from a long line of career criminals. He was on the verge of joining the family tradition himself when a cop named Murphy intervened to show him there was more than one direction in which to steer his life. Now he, too, is on the job—a detective who’s made by the book his personal mantra.

  So when Jase and Poppy are charged with guiding three teenagers caught defacing property through the cleanup process, you can bet they approach the task from different angles. The free-spirited artist who sees the best in people and the bend-no-rules cop who expects the worst have nothing in common.

  Well, except for that pesky attraction that’s sunk its hooks deep and refuses to turn loose. And it turns out that’s just for starters.

  As always, I hope you enjoy!

  Happy reading.

  Susan

  Susan Andersen

  Bending the Rules

  To

  The Last Thursday of the Month Bunco Babes

  both past and present

  For

  good friends, great food and

  make-your-cheeks-hurt laughs

  You guys rock!

  ~Susie

  Also by

  Susan Andersen

  Cutting Loose

  Coming Undone

  Just for Kicks

  Hot & Bothered

  Skintight

  Bending the Rules

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Dear Diary,

  I will never understand why people paint their walls white. If it were up to me I’d color the world.

  June 13, 1992

  “SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

  Anchoring herself against the ladder she stood on to paint the Wolcott mansion’s morning room wall, thirteen-year-old Poppy Calloway looked at her friend Jane, who had asked the question. All but swallowed up by a man’s paint smock, her slippery brown hair falling out of the banana clip she was using to hold it off her face, Jane gazed back at her from the west wall where she had painstakingly painted the woodwork around the bank of mullioned windows. Through the panes behind her, rain clouds blew across the sky over the Sound. The Space Needle, however, had a halo of pure azure above it.

  “It looks wonderful, Janie,” she said, admiring the velvety cream-colored wood against the deep melon wall. “Doing trim is the hardest.” Blowing a blond curl out of her eyes, she flashed Jane a grin. “Which is why I gave the job to you.”

  A wry smile lightened Jane’s solemn expression. “So I’m the chump of the Sisterhood?”

  “Nah. I just knew you’d do it right.” Then she turned to their redheaded friend, who was eating a Milky Way and dancing to Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” over by the boom box they’d brought with them to Miss Agnes’s mansion. “You planning on actually giving us a hand sometime today?”

  Generous hips swiveling, arms moving in rhythmic counterpart, Ava met Poppy’s gaze across the room. “In a minute. I’m communing with Kurt Cobain.”

  “You’ve been communing with him since you bought the Nevermind tape—what?—six months ago? Do it with a roller in your hand.”

  “Aw, Pop. You know I’m not good at the physical stuff.”

  “Hello!” She eyed the fluid movement of Ava’s body. “Aren’t you the one who dances good enough to star on an MTV video?”

  Dimples punched deep in Ava’s cheeks as she smiled in delight. But almost immediately she made a scoffing sound. “Yeah, right. Like they’d ever put my fat ass on one of those vids. Those are for skinny girls like you and Jane.”

  “Well, lose the candy bar and pick up a paintbrush—maybe you’ll burn a few calories.”

  “Poppy,” Jane remonstrated.

  She merely shrugged and turned back to her own painting, feeling both guilty and impatient. She knew that was mean, but sometimes it was just hard to dredge up the proper sympathy. Ava’s weight was a constant source of unhappiness for her friend. Yet she never did anything about it.

  Still, she felt bad and watched from the corner of her eye as Ava trudged over to an empty paint tray and squatted to pour paint into it.

  “Dancing burns calories,” Ava muttered as she brought the tray over to start rolling color onto the lower part of the wall where Poppy’s roller hadn’t reached.

  “That’s true. It just doesn’t help paint the walls.” Still, Ava had a point and she offered the first olive branch that popped to mind. “That Courtney Love is all wrong for Cobain.”

  “I know!” Ava rubbed her cheek against a plump shoulder, dislodging the bright strand of hair that had swung forward to stick to the corner of her mouth. Dimples peeped again in her round cheek when she flashed a look up at Poppy. “I think he’s just killing time with her until I’m old enough to marry him instead.” She nodded sagely. “Men need sex, you know?”

  “I’m sure t
hat’s the reason.”

  “Without a doubt,” Jane agreed.

  “But you can have Cobain,” Poppy added. “I’m holding out for the Sheik.”

  Ava and Jane howled, because that was the fantasy man they’d invented last year during a backyard campout. Secretly, Poppy had to suppress a shiver. Because the dark, larger-than-life, lean-fingered man of their combined imaginations was her private ideal.

  A regular real-life boyfriend wouldn’t be too shabby, though.

  “Are you girls ready for a break?”

  At the distinctive sound of Agnes Bell Wolcott’s deep voice, all three of them turned toward the door where she stood, decked out in designer couture from her snow-white, exquisitely coiffed hair to her expensively shod feet. They’d met Miss A. at an event at Ava’s house two years ago and shortly afterward, she’d invited them for tea at the infamously ugly Wolcott mansion as a thank-you for spending time with an eccentric old woman known in certain circles for her adventurous travels, beautiful wardrobe and exquisite collections. She’d given them their first diaries at that tea and it was then that they’d started referring to themselves as the Sisterhood, after Miss Agnes said their connection to each other reminded her of such. They’d been coming for tea at least once a month ever since, and often dropped by—either as a group or individually—simply to talk to her in between times.

  When Poppy had Miss Agnes to herself, conversation often turned to philanthropic endeavors. The older lady’s enthusiasm for “giving back” left an impression on Poppy. There was just something about Miss A. that made you think about things in ways you’d never done before, and Poppy wouldn’t be surprised if she was sporting the same fatuous, pleased-to-see-her smile now that she saw on Jane’s and Ava’s faces. To make up for it—conscious as she was about her dignity these days—she said sternly, “If you’re going to be in here, you need to put on a smock.” She nodded toward the pile that her parents had supplied. “I will not be responsible for ruining that outfit.”

  “And I will not ruin the beautiful lines of my Chanel with a paint-spattered lab coat,” Miss A. said crisply, stepping outside the doorway so she was safe from wet paint but still in their line of vision.

  Poppy grinned at the old lady’s acerbic tone. One of the things she adored about Miss A. was that she never insulted their intelligence by pulling her punches. “There’s a plate of homemade oatmeal-chocolate-chip-walnut-raisin cookies for you on the sideboard in the dining room,” she said. “Mom said since I was no doubt my usual pain-in-the-patootie self trying to get you to agree to painting this room, the least she could do was supply a little sugar to sweeten the deal.”

  “How lovely of her. She obviously knows you well.” The latter sentiment was offered in a dry tone, yet accompanied by a fond smile. “I’ll tell Evelyn to add some to our dessert platter. Speaking of which, are you ready to break for lunch or would you prefer to finish your wall first?” She studied the completed one that was a deeper, more dramatic shade of the pale melon that Poppy and Ava were applying to the adjacent wall and nodded approvingly. “Divine color, by the way. It’s going to look amazing with the draperies. You do have a wonderful eye for this sort of thing, don’t you?”

  “She’s got the best eye,” Ava agreed. “And if you don’t mind, Miss A., we’ll finish this wall first.”

  Slipping a foot from the ladder rung, Poppy gave her friend an affectionate nudge with her toe. For she knew how much Ava loved Miss A.’s luncheons; knew, too, that she was sacrificing the immediate gratification of sitting down to one for her. She looked back at the older woman. “It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes, if that’s okay.”

  “Darling, I’m getting free labor and beautiful new walls. You take all the time you want. I’ll just go tell Evelyn.”

  She disappeared down the hallway and Poppy turned back to her painting with renewed energy. She knew the old lady was indulging her by letting them paint the room when she could afford to have it done professionally every month of the year if she wanted. That was the thing, though. Agnes didn’t want the bother of it; she cared about the beauty of her collections, not the rooms they went in.

  Even so, Poppy couldn’t prevent the satisfied smile curling her lips. “I’m gonna talk her into letting me paint the parlor next.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jane said from her position in front of the baseboard where it angled around the corner. She rose from painting the trim and stretched out her back. “That’s where nine-tenths of Miss A.’s collections are kept. It would be a killer undertaking just to move everything.”

  “Still. I’m gonna do it. I’ll wear her down—just wait and see. Dad says that’s what I do best. And once I do?” She smiled dreamily. “We’re going to paint it a lovely creamy yellow.”

  Jane and Ava exchanged glances. “We,” Jane said. “Well, lucky us.”

  “Yeah,” Ava agreed. “Sometimes there’s a definite downside to this Sisterhood business.”

  But her two best friends picked up their painting tools and went back to work.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Of all the rooms in all the field houses in all the parks in Seattle, he had to walk into this one?

  WHAT THE HELL IS he doing here?

  Poppy did her best to continue her conversation with the manager of the Ace hardware store. But the man had a tendency to drone on at the best of times and with the new arrival striding through the milling crowd of business owners as if he owned the joint, it was difficult to focus her attention. Her gaze kept wanting to follow his progress. That was de Sanges, right?

  She just barely swallowed the self-derisive snort that tickled the back of her throat. Because, please. This might be the last place she expected to see him, but of course it was.

  Considering their one and only encounter, however, she didn’t feel a burning need to beat herself up for allowing her mind to shy away from the admission.

  Still, the truth was, it had taken no more than a glimpse to recognize the tall, lean, muscular body she’d seen only once before. She’d documented the prominent bony nose, those sharp cheekbones and that black-as-a-crow’s-feather hair. Was familiar with those long, white-nailed fingers and the dark olive skin that she had a feeling owed more to genetics than exposure to the sun.

  And

  Oh

  My

  God

  Really remembered those dark, chilly eyes. Which she’d watched go hot for a few insane minutes last fall as they’d stood toe-to-toe in Miss A.’s parlor.

  Whoa. She firmly corralled her wayward thoughts. Don’t even go there, girl. Okay, so it was Detective Sheik, as Janie insisted on calling him. Big deal. But her face went hot and her mouth went dry, and she had to fight like hell not to squirm at the memory of Ava saying that for a minute there she’d feared Poppy and de Sanges—a man none of them had even met until that afternoon—might start going at it hot and heavy in the middle of the parlor.

  Because her friend had been right. Poppy had never experienced anything quite so visceral as what she’d felt that day with the tall, dark cop.

  “Everyone seems to be here,” Garret Johnson, the president of the Merchants’ Association, said over the babble of conversation in the Park Department’s field house conference room. “Let’s take our seats and get this meeting under way.”

  Eking out a breath of relief at having the plug yanked on that particular memory, she watched de Sanges from the corner of her eye until he pulled out a chair at the rectangular table. Then she took a seat at the opposite end.

  It would have been even better if she could’ve nabbed one on the same side. That way she wouldn’t be able to see him at all without making a concerted effort. But Penny, the owner of Slice of Heaven Pies, beat her to the last chair on de Sanges’s side. Oh, well—too bad, so sad for her. Taking a seat across from the other woman, she exchanged idle chitchat for a few moments until the president rapped his knuckles on the wooden tabletop to call the meeting to order.

&nbs
p; “Okay, as everyone knows,” he said the instant the last holdout conversation fizzled into silence, “we’re here today to decide what to do about the three boys who were caught tagging our businesses. But before we get into that, I’d like to introduce everyone to Detective Jason de Sanges from the Seattle Police Department. He’s on the mayor’s special task force to reduce burglaries and has kindly agreed to sit on our panel. Detective.” He turned toward the cop and Poppy automatically turned in her seat to look at de Sanges as well. “Allow me to introduce you to our motley crew.”

  He went around the table performing introductions and, when he came to her, said, “This is Poppy Calloway. She’s not actually a merchant, but she’s on so many of our ‘boards’ that we consider her an honorary member of the association.”

  It was a standing joke, since she designed the menu and Today’s Specials black or white boards for several of the business owners here today.

  De Sanges nodded and looked at her for a suspended instant with those dark, uncompromising eyes. “Ms. Calloway and I have met.”

  Everyone present turned to stare at her and she could almost taste the rampant curiosity and speculation. “Don’t look at me as if I were a suspect in one of his cases,” she said dryly. “You all heard about the theft we had at the Wolcott mansion a few months ago. Detective de Sanges came out to take a report when we were dissatisfied with the response we got from the first officer on the scene.”

  De Sanges had been dissatisfied as well—that Ava had used one of her many contacts to have him brought in. So he hadn’t been there voluntarily, and he and Poppy had definitely gotten off on the wrong foot when she’d taken exception to what she’d perceived as his lack of concern over a break-in at the mansion that she, Jane and Ava had only recently inherited from Miss Agnes’s estate. Well, could you blame her? He had all but said he’d been yanked off a real job in order to look for their silver spoons.