Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ he said finally. “Ring me up.”

      “You’ll need a shirt. And I’ll call the tailor to mark your pants.”

      “I’m in your hands.”

      Carlotta raised one eyebrow. “Gee, Detective, that almost sounds like trust.”

      “I trust you—when it comes to clothes.”

      She recognized the danger of discussing trust while the voice of her fugitive father still resonated in her head, so instead she pulled a smile from thin air. “You should. I promise you’ll look so good, no one will recognize you.”

      He frowned. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      “How’s your brother?” he asked as they walked back to the clothing racks.

      “Good,” she replied and meant it. “I think Wesley has a crush on his probation officer.”

      “At least that’ll keep him motivated to check in every week.”

      “That’s what I’m hoping.”

      “Does he plan to keep working for Cooper Craft?”

      She nodded, then sighed. “As gruesome as it sounds, this whole body-moving business seems to agree with him.” Then she remembered a phone call she’d gotten from her friend Hannah just before her father had called … if it indeed had been her father. “And now my friend Hannah has jumped on the body-moving bandwagon.”

      “The girl with the pierced tongue and the dog collar?”

      “Yeah. She has a thing for Coop, I think.”

      “Funny, but I gathered that Coop had a thing for you.”

      It was her turn to blush. “I hadn’t noticed.”

      A dubious light came into his eyes. “Liar. Women know when men have a thing for them.”

       Buzz, buzz.

      “I’m not interested in Coop,” she said quickly. Although the man had saved her when Wesley’s six-foot python had cornered her in her bedroom. And she recalled the appreciation in his eyes to find her standing on her dresser wearing skimpy lingerie.

      “I guess that means you and Ashford are back together,” Detective Terry said lightly.

      Peter Ashford, her first love, the man who had dumped her when her parents had gone missing and the scandal had burst over the front page of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Peter had gone on to marry a debutante—the good customer of Carlotta’s who recently had been murdered in their palatial home in Buckhead, the wealthiest area in Atlanta. Many, Jack Terry included, had assumed Peter had killed his wife, but in the end, he’d been exonerated. And had expressed interest in picking up where he and Carlotta had left off years ago.

      “No, Peter and I aren’t together,” she murmured, selecting a cream dress shirt and holding it up in front of him. She could feel the heat emanating from his body.

      “Really.” Jack cleared his throat. “I actually thought about asking you to go to this awards thing … with me.”

      Startled, she looked up. “You did?”

      He suddenly looked as panicked as she felt. “But … considering the investigation into your father’s case has been reopened, that might not be such a good idea … right?”

      He didn’t want to be seen with a fugitive’s daughter. That would be a conflict of interest and not good for a distinguished detective’s career. The same reason Peter Ashford had dumped her and ripped her heart out years ago when she’d needed him most. Did her father know how much he had damaged her and Wesley’s lives? Did he even care?

      “Right?” Jack repeated, his expression anxious. He wanted her to let him off the hook.

      “Right,” she said brightly. “Now let’s get the tailor down here and make sure that when your date opens her door, you take her breath away.”

      He gave an uncomfortable little laugh and Carlotta tamped down her own unease as she called the house tailor. The day was wearing on her—first the mysterious phone call, then Jack Terry dredging up all her troubles, plus this weird physical attraction that had sprung up between them. But the attraction was probably born of the knowledge that nothing could possibly come of it … there were simply too many obstacles.

      While she described to the tailor what services they would need, she swung her gaze to Jack and was unnerved to find him blatantly studying her. She squirmed under his gaze and stumbled over her words. The man was too perceptive for his own good—if she spent much time in his company, she wouldn’t be able to keep secrets from him.

      She hung up and gave him a shaky smile. “He’ll be right down.”

      “Carlotta, is something bothering you?”

      Damn those cop’s instincts. For one crazy second, she wanted to confess about the phone call, to see if he could trace it and….

      And what? Hunt down her father and drag him back to Atlanta to stand trial on the investment-fraud charges, now trumped by charges for being a fugitive? And her mother for aiding and abetting? Would it really be better to have her parents in prison than to have them on the run? Either way, they would be unavailable to her and to Wesley. And if her parents were imprisoned, the stain on the family name would be even more permanently set.

      “No, I’m fine. Now … let’s get you out of those jeans.”

      His eyes lit with mischief. “Whatever you say.”

      She smirked and pointed toward the dressing room. “I meant you need to put on the pants before the tailor gets here.”

      He frowned and moved toward the dressing room, reluctance in his step.

      Carlotta shook her head, but when the dressing room door slid open a bit, she couldn’t resist a naughty peek at Jack’s reflection as he shucked his boots and jeans, revealing white boxers and long, powerful legs, more tanned than she’d expected. Unexpected heat struck low in her stomach.

      Plus ten points, she noted idly, wondering what the Alabama boy did in his free time to acquire that tan. Somehow she doubted it was playing tennis.

      “See something you like?”

      She glanced up to find him grinning at her as he stepped into the pants. Carlotta straightened. “Don’t flatter yourself, Detective.”

      His rolling chuckle sent vibrations over her warm skin. The arrival of the tailor saved her from more embarrassing banter. Suddenly she wanted to put distance between herself and Jack Terry. The man triggered dangerous urges—the urge to tell the truth being the least hazardous of her impulsive reactions.

      She stood back as the tailor, a distinguished older gentleman, took over. To her amusement, Jack seemed uncomfortable to have the man touching him.

      “Do you dress right or left, sir?” the man asked as he knelt to mark the hem СКАЧАТЬ