Stephanie Bond - Body Movers - 2 Bodies for the Price of 1

“What?” His nose flared and she sensed that he too felt the unwelcome sexual energy bouncing between them.

To break the moment, she narrowed her eyes. “No way are you going to deny me the pleasure of seeing you buttoned into a tux.”

Jack frowned. “Sadist.”

She smiled and dropped her shoe, trying to compose herself as she pushed her bare foot inside. Her father would call back … of course he would. She wobbled and Jack reached out to steady her.

He gave a little laugh, his gold-colored eyes narrow with sudden concern. “Are you all right? You seem on edge.”

Carlotta stared at his big hand on her arm, reminding herself that if Jack Terry appeared concerned for her well-being, it was only because he was trying to get on her good side in the hope that she would lead him to her parents.

She pulled away. “I’m fine, Detective. Follow me.”

During the ride down the escalator, Carlotta’s neck burned with a fiery itch. She was certain Jack Terry could tell she was keeping something from him.

But the brawny detective appeared preoccupied himself. He wore what she was coming to recognize as his off-duty uniform: black T-shirt, worn jeans and black cowboy boots. And, she conceded begrudgingly, he wore it well. His rugged profile, close-cut dark hair and bronze skin made for a compelling view, yet he seemed completely unaware of women’s heads turning as they stepped off the escalator and headed toward the men’s department.

“So, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“The bigwig department dinner.”

“Oh. An awards thing.”

She lifted an eyebrow as she led him toward the formal wear section. “Are you receiving an award?”

The blush that stained his cheeks spoke for him.

“You are,” she said, elbowing him. “What kind of an award?”

He cleared his throat. “Distinguished duty.”

“Distinguished, huh? Did you do something in particular to earn this recognition? Like save a kid from a runaway car?”

“Guess the department couldn’t think of anyone else to give it to.”

“That must be it,” Carlotta agreed, humoring his modesty. She angled her head and swept her gaze over the considerable length of him before pulling a jacket from a sleek wooden rack. “Black would be the obvious choice for a tux, but with your eyes and coloring, I’d go with charcoal gray. What are you, about a forty-four long, athletic cut?”

Jack looked surprised, then nodded. “Hey, I saw you this morning at a bank ATM on Piedmont.”

She frowned. “My bank is on Piedmont, but I wasn’t there this morning.”

“Really? Wow, the woman looked just like you, then.” He laughed. “No wonder she didn’t wave back when I honked. I thought you were ignoring me.”

“Apparently it was someone else ignoring you this time.” She held out the jacket for him.

He shrugged into it and she sighed in satisfaction as the luscious fabric slid into place, hugging his shoulders perfectly. She adjusted the lapels, dismayed at the little tremors of pleasure she felt when her hands met the brick wall of his chest. Avoiding his gaze, Carlotta steered him toward a mirror. He looked ill at ease … and slightly gorgeous, she realized with no small amount of consternation. Jack Terry was easier to dislike when he was rumpled and wearing one of his infamous ugly ties.

“What do you think?” She made wary eye contact in the mirror.

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Just okay? Jack, this is one of the finest suits that money can buy.”

“I’m almost afraid to look at the price tag.”

“Don’t,” she agreed. “But a suit like this is an investment—you can wear it to formal dinners, to weddings.”

“I’m not much on weddings.”

“Funerals, then.”

“You’re not convincing me.”

“Look,” she said, smoothing a hand over his shoulder, “sometimes you just have to buy something because it looks so damn good on you.”

His eyebrows went up and a smile curled his mouth. “You think it looks damn good on me?”

Her cheeks warmed. “I do.”

For a few seconds, that sexy buzzing thing bounced back and forth between them.

“Then I’m convinced,” 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.”