Tempt Me (7 page)

She absently worried her
wedding ring with her finger and studied the toes of her heels. “I
still don't think ...”

Hearing the boards creak,
she looked up and saw that Cole had moved around the counter. She
swallowed. “You know what I think?” he murmured.

“
What?”

He passed a hand down her
hair, tangled his fingers in it. A jolt of longing shot through her.
Hell. It had been so long. Too damn long.

“
I think you think
too much.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

Oh.

Heat. Hunger. They
flooded through her and she pushed off the counter, pressed her body
to his, her hands going to his waist.

She did think too much.

And she was wearing that
wedding ring again—here she was worrying about him being on the
rebound and she was wearing her wedding ring, five years after her
husband had died. He should turn around and walk back out—forget
the damn date.

But instead, he had his
hands fisted in her hair, that thick, dark hair. And she had her body
pressed against his, that lush, warm body...oh, shit, she was like a
fucking drug. Groaning, he tangled a hand in her hair and tugged her
head back. She opened for him, and when he plunged his tongue into
her mouth, she bit him lightly.

Banding an arm around her
waist, he whirled her around and pressed her up against the counter.
Greedy for the feel of her, the touch, he raced his hands along those
ripe curves, palming her breasts in his hands. The warm, heavy weight
had him shuddering. He wanted to see that amazing, soft body of hers,
see it, feel it, cover it with his.

Instead, he pulled away,
pressing his brow to hers. “You think too much,” he said
again, in a remarkably calm voice. “Now, about that date. A
nice, friendly, casual date...”

Her eyes, sleepy and hot,
stared into his. She blinked, and then to his surprise, she started
to laugh. She shifted, resting her head on his shoulder. “Hotshot,
I have a hard time thinking straight when I look at you and you want
me to play nice, friendly and casual...after you kiss me like that?”

“
Well. I'm
not your type, remember?” He stroked a hand down her back,
absently toying with the laces of the corset she wore. It was black
today, a new sort that he hadn't seen before, worn over a shirt
with long puffy sleeves. It almost looked more like a cross between a
vest and corset, fitting below her breasts. Again, it did things for
her body that should have been illegal. “You know, you're
going to give me a fetish if I keep seeing you in these things.”

Rocki tipped her head
back, smirking at him. “Maybe you've already got one.”
Her eyes dropped, lingering on his mouth. Then she sighed and eased
her upper body back. “So. A date. Friendly. Casual.”

“
Yeah. Friendly.
Casual.” Dipping his head, he nibbled at her lower lip. “At
least until I can convince you that maybe I
am
your type after
all.”

C
hapter
Five

“
What do you
think?”

Lacey lounged on the
couch in the dressing area, munching on Cheetos. Her left eyebrow,
pierced through with a silver hoop, winged up. “Darling, what I
think is that I was mishearing things. You told me on the phone last
night that this
date
was just going to be
nice
and
casual
, yet here you are wearing the prototype piece you spent
months working on.” She popped a finger in her mouth to lick
off the crumbs and then added, “And damn if you don't
look hotter than hell. If I was into girls, I'd do you.”

Rocki snorted. “You
are such a brat. By the way, you get crumbs on that couch, I'm
beating you.” She sighed and looked back at her reflection.
“Damn it, I'm changing.”

“
No.” Lacey
remained sprawled on the couch. “You're not. Leave it
alone already, you look amazing.”

Rocki groaned and looked
at her reflection. The new piece wasn't exactly a typical
corset. It had the basic look of a Victorian corset with the longer
rounded bottom, but she'd raised the neckline and straps to it,
and to the straps, she'd designed it so she could add or remove
sleeves. So many of the corsets she designed couldn't exactly
be worn on their own in the winter without a jacket over it or a
blouse under it, but this one could. She fingered the necklace she'd
added. It was dark metal, looked like tarnished silver, but wasn't.
It was the only jewelry she wore. She'd taken her wedding ring
off and locked it away in her safe. She didn't always wear it,
and she needed to stop—she sure as hell couldn't wear it
on a date.

She ran a hand through
her hair and swore. “Damn it, I'm primping. That's
it—I'm changing.”

“
Nope.”

She made a face at Lacey.
“Am, too.”

“
If you do, I'm
wiping Cheetos all over your couch,” Lacey said, smirking. “And
I won't clean it up. I'll just sashay right out of here,
and you'll have to clean it before it stains.”

“
You would not.”
She turned around and glared at her friend. “And who the hell
uses the word
sashay
?”

“
Wellllll...I just
did.” Lacey gave her an innocent smile and reached into the bag
for another handful of the messy, cheesy snacks. She popped them into
her mouth and then waggled her orange fingers at Rocki. “Change.”

Rocki groaned and covered
her face with her hands. She wanted to think her friend was just
bluffing. But Lacey wasn't exactly big on that. Hell, the wench
had hauled her
on the fucking stage
at the auction. Bluffers
didn't do that sort of thing. “I'm going to get you
back for this,” she warned. Then she turned back around and
studied her reflection once more. Rocki didn't bluff, either.
“Just wait.”

Lacey sighed. “I
know. But it's for a good cause.”

Out in the shop, the bell
chimed.

“
Well, at least
you've got a customer to distract you,” Lacey said
cheerfully, licking the cheese off her fingers. “And if you're
distracted, the couch is safe from me. For now.”

“
You're so
mature.” As she passed by, she kicked Lacey's ankle.

“
Bitch.”

“
Tramp.” On
her way out in the shop, Rocki was grinning.

The smile faded as she
heard the bell of her shop and she looked to the door, saw it
swinging shut. Damn it ...

Automatically, she looked
around, wondering if she'd let somebody steal from her.
Normally, she didn't leave the store front unattended, but
she'd been so busy worrying about that
nice, friendly
date...

Her gaze landed on the
white box sitting in front of the door.

It was long and white,
the type of box roses come in. She knew because Brant had loved to
send her flowers. Her heart jumped into her throat. Somehow, she
didn't think it was from Cole. Rocki rushed to the front of the
store and shoved the door open, moving onto the sidewalk. But it was
too late. She saw nothing but the typical foot traffic common on a
Friday evening.

Retreating back into the
store, she stepped carefully over the box and stood there, staring at
it, arms crossed over her midsection.

“
Hey, I'm
going to...”

As Lacey's voice
trailed away, Rocki looked up.

Lacey frowned, staring at
the box. She knew Rocki too well to assume the box held anything
good. “I assume you don't think those are flowers ,”
Lacey said quietly.

“
No.” She
nudged it with her toe.

Lacey nodded. “Okay.
Is there a reason why?”

Rocki stared at Lacey.
Lacey knew. She knew all about what had happened years earlier.
Swallowing, she edged around the box, keeping a good eighteen inches
between them, like she thought a viper might strike. She had the
cards locked up in her office. “Watch the store for a minute?”

Her mouth tightened, but
Lacey nodded, her gaze returning to the box. “Just one thing—am
I going to kick your ass in a few minutes?”

“
Possibly.”

Okay.

This was unexpected, Cole
thought, pulling up behind the unmarked car parked in front of
Rocki's shop. He was an attorney, after all—he'd
seen plenty of unmarked police cars.

Although, hey, he had to
think calmly—her husband had been on the force. She probably
had a lot of friends ...

Shit, if she'd been
hurt, he was going to fucking kill somebody.

Okay, calm just went out
the window, he admitted as he made it inside in under sixty seconds
flat.

To his surprise, he knew
the cop he found there, too.

It was Clayton Morgan,
standing close to Rocki, his expression surly, his russet hair
standing on end. “Okay, Rock. One more time, and damn it, if
you leave anything out, I'm paddling you.”

Fury punched through
Cole, hot and vicious. He kept his voice level, though, as he said,
“Unless I'm mistaken, I'm pretty sure cops
generally don't get to paddle citizens. Or did they redo the
law, Detective?”

Three heads turned his
way, two redheads and one brunette. He glanced at the beautiful
brunette but kept his focus on the cop, one brow lifted.

Morgan raked him with a
quick look and snorted. “Hell, what is the DA doing here,
Rock?” Then he shook his head. “I'm not yet here
officially—Rocki's a friend, Stanton, so don't get
your boxers in a twist.”

“
Not yet?” He
shifted his gaze to Rocki then, saw the strain in her eyes, and the
pallor. Concern wrapped a tight, brutal grip around his heart.
Closing the distance between them, he reached up and cupped her chin.
“What happened?”

The shop looked okay. She
looked fine—other than pale and unhappy. He stroked a thumb
over her satin skin and waited for her to look him in the eye.

A tight smile came and
went. “Ugly shit. I...well, I don't want to...”

He looked past her then.
Saw the white box sitting on the counter. The lid hadn't been
put all the way back on. It wasn't the blooms that bothered
him, in and of themselves. They were brightly colored, and
beautiful—and he'd spent enough money on flowers in his
life to know that they weren't
cheap
flowers, either.

No, the disturbing fact
was that every last one of them had been cut from the stem, carefully
placed away from it in the box. Carefully, he reached inside his coat
pocket and pulled out a pen, using it to nudge the lid completely out
of the way. Once he had, he counted the flowers. Two dozen in all.
And all of the blooms had been removed. Shifting his gaze to Rocki,
he saw that she was staring determinedly at his chest, like she'd
been intent on
not
looking at the flowers. “I take it
you didn't do the snip and clip there,” he said.

She swallowed and gave
him a game smile. “Not much for horticulture.”

“
Don't see
the fun in it myself.” He looked at Morgan. “So...what's
the deal?”

Morgan raised his
eyebrows. “I'm curious why it's your business,
Stanton.”

“
Clayton, yank the
stick out of your ass. He's here to pick me up for a date. He
sees you, and apparently you know each other.” Rocki rolled her
eyes. “Do the math, genius.”

The cop stiffened. “Hell,
you're dating a
lawyer
.”

Rocki sighed. “Well,
not officially. Not yet. You see, we haven't had the date.”
Then she shifted her gaze to Cole and added, “Besides, I didn't
know he
was
a lawyer.”

“
Does it matter?”
Cole asked softly.

“
Hell, yes,”
Clayton snapped.

Rocki smiled. “Not
so much.” Then she looked at the flowers. “Clayton...what
do we do here?”

He glared at her, then
abruptly groaned. “A lawyer. A fu...a lawyer, for crying out
loud.” He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair before
studying the flowers again.

That was when Cole
noticed something else—two white envelopes on the counter.
Clayton tapped them with his pen and glanced at Rocki. “I'll
call around, see what I can find out. But you need to come in, at
least fill out a complaint about this. You know that.”

She glanced at Cole. With
a tired smile, she said, “Maybe that official date is going to
have to wait.”

“
Maybe. But I'll
drive you to the police station.”

That tired, strained look
on her face pissed him off, Cole thought a few minutes later as he
wove in and out of the early evening traffic, following Clayton
Morgan to the police department. Pissed him off, and worried him.