Dawn Atkins - Lipstick On His Collar

“No, please! I’m okay.” The pain intensified when she raised her voice, so she whispered, “I can’t believe he escaped.”

“I can’t believe I missed him when I searched,” Nick said. His jaw muscle ticked again.

“He was probably in the closet in the study. It’s a walk-in. We keep supplies in there.”

“I’m sorry, Miranda. By not taking this seriously, I put you in danger.” He frowned fiercely, looking so angry at himself that her earlier irritation at his cavalier attitude melted away.

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. I blew it. That was piss-poor police work. You could have been killed.” He spoke through gritted teeth, and he looked as if he wanted to punch through the wall.

“But I wasn’t,” she said gently. “It’s all right. Really.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get the guy,” he said, his eyes so fierce he almost scared her. “I called the precinct. They’re sending out two detectives.”

“You called the police? Why’d you do that?”

“Someone broke into your home.”

“Can’t we keep this quiet?”

“What are you talking about?”

“My family name is well-known and if a crime reporter decides to do a story on this it won’t be good. It’ll upset my family—and they want me to move out of the Palm View anyway. Plus, if he was after my formulas, I don’t want my competitors to know.”

“The guy attacked you, for God’s sake.”

“Actually, I attacked him.”

“You what?”

“I tackled him.”

Nick crooked an eyebrow at her. “Really? You tackled him?”

“He wasn’t that big…and he had my stuff.”

“Then he punched you in the mouth?”

“Not exactly. When we hit the floor, I bumped my mouth on his legs and bit myself.”

“And your eyes?”

“He accidentally kicked me trying to get away.”

“Oh, I see.” Nick hid a grin. “You’re telling me the guy hurt you in self-defense?”

“Pretty much.” Miranda smiled sheepishly.

“And the ankle?”

“My nylons were slippery.”

“I see.” Nick shook his head. “I can’t believe you went after him. Very risky, Miranda.” He sounded stern, but she read admiration in his dark eyes, and it made her feel warm all over.

“Nah. I knew I could take him. He was skinny.” She tried to sound cocky, but a shiver shook her. He could have had a gun in that backpack. “I just acted on—”

“Impulse, right?” He nodded slowly. “I remember.”

Impulse was what had made her burst into the Backstreet and throw herself at Nick. She pushed away that embarrassment. She had enough to worry about now.

“You’re gonna have quite a shiner,” Nick said, studying the right side of her face. He sounded almost proud. He tilted his head to check out her other side. “Two of ’em. Hmm. What about the other guy? You leave any marks?”

“None that will show. I only bit him on the inside of his knee.”

“A shame.”

“Might need a tetanus shot,” she added hopefully.

“Well, at least that.” Nick chuckled, a low sound that, in spite of everything, thrummed through her. “Looks like you’ve got the guts to back up your impulses. Let me see.” He probed the swelling around her ankle.

“Ouch! Quit it!”

“Probably a torn ligament,” he concluded. “I’ll take you for an X ray to be sure it’s not broken.”

“Let’s not. Let’s just put some ice on it.”

“What’s with you, Miranda? No police, no hospital. You need some help here.”

“I’ll be fine. You said yourself it’s probably not broken. Spending hours in an emergency room would be a waste of time. I have a deadline to meet.”

“We’ll ice it down, and if the swelling reduces, all right. But you’re staying off your feet. I’ll get the ice.”

Nick stood, and she noticed the split seam in his pants had widened. Yep. Black silk boxers with a faint Oriental pattern. “Looks like you’re coming apart at the seams.”

He reached behind him. “Damn,” he said. “Charlie’s uniform’s gonna need a major overhaul before I give it back. I lost the stupid cap somewhere on the stairs chasing this guy.”

“We’re both a mess,” Miranda said, smiling up at him. “Thanks for not taking me to the hospital.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, “but I’m sure as hell not going there with my butt hanging out.” He turned and headed down the hall, not even bothering to hold the split seam closed over his great backside.

The nurses’ loss, she thought, feeling a feminine twinge even through her pain. His heavy tread on her wooden floor comforted her.

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