Covert Makeover. Mallory Kane

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СКАЧАТЬ her legs, Sean admired the long expanse of thigh that was revealed below the short, tight skirt.

      “Mr. Majors, I’ll let Ms. Brooks know—”

      He waved his hand. “I see her.”

      As he passed the redhead, she smiled pertly at him. He nodded without taking his eyes off Sophie Brooks.

      Her straight blond hair hid her face as she wrote something in a leather notebook, then typed a few sentences into a small laptop that sat open on her desk.

      Her phone buzzed as he approached. She answered it, listened for an instant, then slid her gaze up his body, giving her head a little toss as she met his eyes. “No, that’s fine. I’ll take him.”

      Sean smiled.

      She frowned, set the phone down and stood.

      He heard the swish of ultrasheer nylon and to his surprise, his body reacted.

      Damn. What the hell was wrong with him? He was working, and nothing interfered with his job. Certainly not a beautiful woman. Miami was filled with beautiful women. Besides, he had absolutely no interest in women right now, beautiful or otherwise. He had his job and his daughter. He didn’t need anything else.

      But, oh, those silk-clad forever legs.

      With a great deal of effort, he managed to keep his eyes on her face.

      She smoothed her hands down her skirt and swallowed, her eyelids flickering. Did she sense the battle that was raging inside him?

      Knock it off, Majors. His jaw tightened. He was here for one purpose. He had to let Rachel Brennan know about the second ransom note.

      “Ms. Brooks?”

      “I’m Sophie Brooks,” she said, holding out her hand.

      He took it briefly. Her fingers were cool, which didn’t surprise him. He’d have been surprised if they’d been warm. She was the epitome of cool. Her demeanor was smooth, sophisticated, unflappable, except for that tiny movement of her throat when he’d met her gaze.

      “Please sit,” she said.

      He gestured. “After you.” Cursing at himself for his weakness, he stole one last glimpse of her crossing those legs.

      She moved an album of wedding invitations from the small table in front of her.

      “I need to speak to Rachel Brennan,” he said, eyeing the pink slipper chair, then sitting carefully on the edge of it and propping his elbows on his knees.

      “Ms. Brennan isn’t here. Can I do something for you, Mr. Majors?”

      “That depends. Are you familiar with the Botero kidnapping?”

      Sophie Brooks’s gaze snapped to his, the clear blue of her eyes suddenly turning opaque. He could have sworn something inside her shut down.

      She fiddled with the pen she held, then pulled a notepad toward her and began drawing swirling circles and loops on it.

      “Yes, of course. An awful thing to have happen right outside our doors,” she commented, her eyes on the paper.

      Doodling. Sean exhaled shortly. “Right. Not to mention how bad it must be for Sonya and her father and the people who were injured,” he said dryly.

      For a second there, she’d reminded him of his ex-wife, self-absorbed and heartless. But he supposed he was giving the woman too much credit, expecting her to be concerned about someone she may have never even met. She was an employee of a fancy wedding planning salon. It was natural that her biggest concern would be for the reputation of the salon.

      But she’d heard the censure in his voice, because her pen stilled and she compressed her lips. “Certainly. I heard your security guard regained consciousness. How is he?”

      And he heard the faint hint of disapproval in hers, as if the kidnapping were Johnson’s fault and, by association, his. “They’re running tests. I’ll see him this afternoon.”

      Her lashes lowered for an instant. “Yes, I understand you’ve gotten his physician to order no visitors until after you’ve talked with him.”

      More disapproval.

      “What can I do for you, Mr. Majors?”

      Sean assessed her. She appeared to be in complete control—poised, her legs crossed, her back straight. Maybe too straight. She seemed ill at ease. “You design the invitations for Weddings Your Way, right?”

      Her throat moved and she blinked.

      She was thrown off by his sudden change of subject. Sean made it his business to assess the people he came in contact with. It came in handy. Those tiny reactions told him Sophie Brooks wasn’t a hundred percent unflappable.

      “Yes,” she said evenly. “I help the bride choose the perfect invitation to introduce the most important event in a young woman’s life.” She paused. “Is that relevant?”

      “We’ve actually met before. You designed the invitations for my wedding.”

      Sophie did her best not to react. So that’s why he looked so familiar. She knew she’d seen him before. She’d caught a glimpse of him on the day of Sonya’s kidnapping, felt the sense of déjà vu, and thought perhaps his even, rugged features reminded her of a movie star. In the chaos of the tragedy, she’d forgotten about him.

      But now she remembered vividly—his athletic, loose-limbed grace, his broad shoulders and lean hips subtly set off by his tailored suit, his nearly perfect features. His wedding to a blond debutante four years ago had been her first assignment for Weddings Your Way.

      “Of course.” She held his gaze. No way was she going to admit she remembered him after that long. In truth, his odd teal-colored eyes had fascinated her, as had his harsh, handsome face and his confident sexuality. She also recalled how much in love he’d been. She smiled. “How is your wife?”

      His eyes changed then, from soft teal blue to the dark shadows of a storm cloud. “I have no idea,” he said flatly.

      Before she could stop herself, she glanced down at his left hand. No ring. Not even a tan line. “I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t be. It wasn’t because of the invitations.” His lips smiled wryly. His eyes didn’t.

      Sophie sent him a small sad smile. “Nevertheless—”

      “When will Ms. Brennan be back?”

      Back to business. Sophie watched as he deliberately refocused on his reason for being here. He tensed and subtly arched his shoulders, then glanced at his watch, a shadow of worry flickering across his face.

      Something had happened. Her intuition, honed by her years with the CIA, kicked in. She tensed.

      “It could be quite a while. I assure you, I am authorized to act on her behalf in any matter.”

      He nodded, and his hand moved toward his jacket pocket. In СКАЧАТЬ