Tori Carrington - The P.I. Who Loved Her

She’s washing the bloodstain from the wedding dress.

Or at least she was trying to. Judging from the puddles of water on the countertop and around her bare feet—were her toenails really painted fluorescent purple?—she had been trying for some time with little luck.

If anything could have cooled him down, her intentions did. He put the brochure back onto the table. “What are you doing, Liz?”

She shrugged off his question as she wiped her damp forehead on her shirtsleeve. “Thought I’d do a little laundry this morning.”

He was frustrated, not only by her evasion of his question, but by the way his libido was so acutely focused on her tight little behind and the delectable curves of her flesh. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets, wincing as the coarse denim pulled tighter across certain strategic areas.

“Uh-huh.”

She looked at him then, her hazel eyes filled with amusement while her hands kept up their rapid motion. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to get rid of bloodstains, would you?”

Mitch pinched the bridge of his nose. “Try sponging on some peroxide.”

Her luscious mouth curved into a smile.

“I was raised with four brothers, remember?”

She turned back to the sink, giving him full rein to do what he would with the view. “How could I forget? Your brothers hardly left us alone for a minute.”

“That’s because they were all in lust with you.” And so was I.

Her throaty laugh made him want to groan. “I can’t imagine Jake being in lust with anyone.”

“Yeah, well, you never saw the shrine he built for you in his room.” Mitch quickly reached his patience level, which was odd, because he hadn’t known he had one. He stepped forward and grabbed her arms, forcing her to face him.

“Liz, what in the hell are you doing back here? And just what…what in the hell is going on?”

The surprised shadow on her face made him want to groan all over again. Now that she had returned to her natural hair color, the electric shade of her eyes was enhanced, making it nearly impossible to look anywhere else.

Nothing about this woman was constant, smooth. Not her personality, not her actions, and certainly not her physical traits. Her nose sloped, her chin was an angular work of art with a tiny little dimple in the middle. But it was her too-wide, lavish mouth that had always done him in.

“Mitch?” she practically purred, and, if anyone could purr, Liz certainly could.

“Hmmm?” he hummed distractedly, falling into the hazel depths of her eyes.

“I hope you realize you’re going to be the one to mop up the mess you’re making.”

Mess? He hadn’t made a mess yet, but give him a couple more seconds, and—

He blinked, watching as her hands dripped water on the floor.

“I just spent the morning mopping up the basement after a pipe burst. I don’t much want to clean up the kitchen floor, too.”

He released her so fast, she nearly toppled to the floor. He remembered the wet hip boots in the mudroom.

“I hope you turned off the electricity before you went trudging through that water,” he grumbled, trying to get a handle on himself. He was supposed to be trying to convince her to get into her car and head for the road, not entertaining thoughts of getting her between the sheets.

“What electricity? Old Man Peabody kept the water on, but it’s going to take some money to get the electricity switched back on.”

Mitch glanced at a one-eyed propane burner on top of the obsolete stove, and a lantern near a cot in the corner. “So that’s why you took your old job back at the diner.”

She tilted her head and slid her gaze over him suggestively. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, or am I going to have to guess?” She tugged on the bottom of her T-shirt, pulling it tight against her breasts in a provocative way, though she was likely preventing the scrap of material from revealing more than was decent. “Or did you just come out to hassle me?”

“It depends on your definition of hassle,” he said, not trusting the spark of mischief that compelled him to grin. “If you categorize wanting to know what you’re doing as hassling you, then we have a problem.”

“The only problem I’m having now is getting the stain out of that dress.”

Mitch stared at the sopping wet material puddled on the chipped tile floor. “That’s just it. Why would you want to get the stain out?” He eyed her. “Unless, of course, you intend to use the dress again.”

He didn’t miss her amused expression. She turned from him and hoisted the dress up onto the counter.

He stepped closer until he was nearly flush with her backside. The subtle scent of wild cherries drifted over him, inciting another uncomfortable response in the lower half of his body.

“Tell me, Liz, why is it there’s a car parked out back that costs more than some houses and you can’t afford to have your electricity turned on?”

His breath stirred her honey-blond hair. He felt satisfied at her soft sigh.

He reached around her and touched the satiny material of the wedding dress, purposely skimming his arm against hers. “And why are you trying so hard to wash that stain out?”

She turned in his arms, staring up at him as if she just now realized how close he was. The tips of her breasts grazed his chest and this time he sighed—or choked, more accurately. A reaction she didn’t miss if the teasing smile on her lips was anything to go by.

“What’s the matter, Mitch? Are you thinking that this time I didn’t just run out on my groom? That maybe this time I did away with him?”

He narrowed his eyes. Despite the way she trembled, she was acting too casual, too self-composed. “Well, that would certainly answer a lot of questions.” He caught a lock of her blond hair and twirled the silky strands around his finger. “The first being why you came back to Manchester.”

A SHIVER swept down Liz’s neck despite the late June sunshine that drenched the kitchen through the window above the sink. The combination of hot sunshine on her back and one hundred percent Mitch McCoy at her front was a lethal one. She pressed her rear against the sharp edge of the counter.

“I already told you why I came back.”

“No, Liz,” Mitch shook his head. “You didn’t tell me why. You said what it would take for you to leave. More specifically, that things had to settle down in Boston before you could move on.” His gaze shifted to her mouth and she had to fight not to lick her suddenly dry lips. “What I want to know is what things need to settle down and why.”

Liz felt incredibly, wickedly, exposed standing like that in front of him. Hardly a thing in her old bedroom upstairs fit. And despite her affected nonchalance when he’d commented on her apparel, the first thing she’d wanted to do when she’d spotted him in the doorway was cover herself from his searing gaze. The problem was the only other things that fit were her wedding dress and—thankfully—her old waitressing uniform.

She rode out a shiver that began at the tips of her toes and flitted all the way up to her scalp. Who would have thought that after seven years Mitch would still make her want to strip naked and run through the cornfields with him?

“Don’t worry, Mitch. I’m no longer the damsel in distress you once had to rescue at every turn. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself now.”

His green eyes darkened. “This isn’t a matter of stealing a candy bar from Obernauer’s, Liz. Or your filling Peabody’s firing-range cans with cement. Answer my question.”

Her smile was decidedly playful. “Is that why you came all the way out here? Because you think I’m in some sort of trouble?”