Jill Shalvis - New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess

Muttering beneath her breath, not looking at him, she finally freed herself and awkwardly maneuvered down the stairs.

“Becca-”

“Goodbye, Kent.” She rode off without a backward glance.

“At least let me fix your damn helmet!” he yelled, terrified for her. “Come back here.” But before he could blink, she was gone, and he was alone in her condo.

The realization galvanized him into action. He went after her, skidding to a halt at the top step. “Becca! Wait!”

The cool Sierra breeze hit him full on the chest, and in regions south that made him yelp.

Still naked as a jaybird.

A jogger moved past, giving him an alarmed look before she picked up her pace.

Terrific. He raced back to the bedroom to shove his legs into his pants. No shirt, it was still on Becca, which slowed him down some. She was long gone, and clearly wanted to be alone. She was confused, and the truth was, so was he.

He was a man who liked to fix everything himself, but this time he didn’t have the tools.

Or did he?

IT TOOK LITTLE EFFORT for Kent to find what he was looking for in her bathroom.

Less effort to haul the trash can from beneath the sink and start loading it full of everything he considered to be at the root of the problem: lipstick, mascara, hair-styling gel…whatever beauty element he found, he trashed.

Grabbing the can, he stalked outside, grumbling about the danger of mountain bikes, even though he’d ridden one for years. He intended to fill the dumpster, only to be halted on the front step by a bony finger to his chest.

An old woman, imposing for all her barely five-feet, stood glaring at him, her blue-silver hair glittering in the light of the porch, her finger still drilling a hole in his middle.

“Hold it right there,” she commanded, her voice a curious mix of squeak and rage. “Mrs. Fritzle, landlord, and I’m making a citizen’s arrest!”

“What?”

“I’ve called the police, young man. You aren’t going anywhere until they get here. Now get your hands up. Up where I can see them!” She emphasized this command with another hard poke of her finger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” But the digit she had against his now aching chest told him she wasn’t.

“What have you stolen from that sweet, little Becca, you…you hoodlum? ”

Baffled, Kent stared down at this little roadblock. “I haven’t stolen anything, I’m a friend of hers.”

“Uh-huh.” She peered into the trash can that he still held in his hands. “Makeup?” A frown creased her already very creased face. “You’re stealing makeup? Oh my God, you’re not one of those…what do they call ’em? Those men that want to be women, wearing panties and stockings and high heels and the like?”

Kent blinked, opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a sheriff’s jeep whipped around the corner.

“Officer!” the woman screeched, jumping up and down with an agility that defied her age, because she had to be at least eighty. “Here he is! Here he is! The burglar!” Settling down, she turned her sharp gaze back to Kent. “No hurry though, he’s not dangerous, he wears women’s panties and makeup!”

Kent sighed and promised himself he would not, absolutely would not, hold his inevitable arrest against Becca.

IN A SMALL TOWN where the local population is small, everyone knows everyone.

Everyone talks about everyone.

And everyone embellishes everything.

Incline Village was no different.

It was no surprise then, that the news of Kent’s questioning at the police station was the big talk at the lab the next morning.

It was also no surprise that when Becca walked in, the sudden silence was loaded with barely repressed curiosity.

Sighing, she hung up her coat and turned to face the inevitable. “Where is he?”

Dennis grinned. “The women’s panty-wearer?”

Everyone laughed except Becca, who crossed her arms and glared at Dennis.

He gave in. “He’s holed up in his office pouting.”

“Pouting?”

“Well, sulking at least. He wasn’t happy with me for spreading the news.”

Becca sighed again. “I’m not even going to ask how you found out.”

Dennis lifted his eyebrows suggestively. “Dating the receptionist at the sheriff’s station. Comes in handy.”

“I don’t suppose it occurred to you to keep it to yourself?”

“What, and miss the laughs when I told everyone that our straight-laced boss wears your panties?”

“He does not wear-”

The door to Kent’s office on the other side of the lab opened. At the sound, even Dennis had the good sense to scatter with the rest of the gang.

“Traitors,” Becca muttered, but managed to hold Kent’s even gaze as it landed unerringly on her.

“Nice of you to show up for work today. Glad you’re all in one piece,” he said politely. He leaned his rangy frame against the counter of a work station and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

A casual pose, not such a casual man.

He wore jeans beneath his lab coat and there was something about the authority that the white jacket implied, combined with the casual sexiness of his jeans and T-shirt. Especially since she now knew exactly what lay beneath those jeans.

The memory of his hard, warm, muscled body, and what it had done to hers, made thinking difficult. And then she got a good look at his rugged, unrelenting…and indeed sulking face.

For some insane reason, she had the urge to wrap her arms around him and melt away that dangerous expression. But she couldn’t. Too much had happened. “I was just going to-”

“Come here.” His tone was quiet, low. Turning his back on her, he headed into his office, clearly expecting her to follow.

“Yeah, that’s just what I was going to say.” With yet another heartfelt sigh, Becca walked into his neat, roomy office.

She found him silent and distant, staring out the windows at the bright spring sunshine. “How are you?” she asked.

“Gee, great, thanks. Nice day, isn’t it?”

Rolling her eyes, she moved closer. “I suppose that’s guy talk for ‘I’m mad as hell’.” He remained silent and she let out a regretful breath. “Kent…I’m sorry.”

His broad shoulders and taut back still faced her. “Sorry you ditched me, or sorry you forgot to mention you have the neighbor-from-hell?”

“Both.”

“At least they didn’t arrest me. I might have had a hard time with my cell mates, being known as the panty thief.”

She bit her lip. “You certainly would have been popular.”

“Everyone in town is assuming I’m a kinky pervert disguised as a chemist.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

He didn’t move, didn’t look at her, didn’t do anything but stare blindly out the window. Regret brought her forward, until she stood directly behind him, between his tall body and his desk. She set a hand on his taut back. Beneath her fingers, his muscles tensed, and it became impossible not to slide her fingers over him, wondering if the touch soothed him as much as it did her.

“I was throwing away your makeup,” he muttered. “In case you were wondering.”

That was a surprise; her makeup had been in its usual place this morning. She had no idea what the exact details had been, other than Mrs. Fritzle had decided he had been trying to steal from her, but had returned whatever it was to Becca’s apartment. “Why were you throwing away my-” She remembered what she’d said about the makeover being the only reason he’d noticed her. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. ”

“No one really thinks you’re a…”

“Panty-loving pervert?” He shook his head. “I was trying to make a point. And I never even touched your panties other than to take them off you before we-”