Nice & Naughty (5 page)

“What kind of lowlife dirtbag treats silk this way?” the blonde muttered, cussing under her breath as she held a teeny-tiny pink leopard-print nightie. “What’s the deal? I thought this creep was all about stealing panties. Why would he mess with my nightgowns?”

Forcing his attention away from the curve of her ass as she bent over to scoop armfuls of cotton nighties and sleep shorts, Diego considered the question. It was a good one, the same he’d been wondering himself when she’d walked in.

“Were they in the same drawer?” Unless her drawer was the size of a closet, he already knew the answer was no.

“I keep my lingerie in the armoire, my nighties and pajamas are in the chest of drawers.”

Diego frowned, noting the two pieces of furniture she’d indicated were on separate walls. It’d be easy to assume the destruction was the result of frustration from not finding her panties right off. But it felt like more. This felt personal.

“We’re probably dealing with a kid or some perv with an underwear fetish,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. That’d been his—and the deputies’ who’d written the previous reports—assumption of the case. But he’d learned years ago to listen to his gut over assumptions, his or anyone else’s. “You don’t have much in common with the other victims, though.”

“You don’t think so?” Dumping her armload of delicates into a laundry basket at the foot of her bed, she gave him an amused look with those cat eyes. “I don’t know about that. We’re all female. We all live in the same town. We all wear underwear. Well, there is the rumor floating around this evening that Ben Zimmerman had his undies snatched, too. Now, Ben does have a habit of dressing up as Little Bo Peep for Halloween, and I avoid hoopskirts like the plague. But other than that, I’d say we all have quite a bit in common.”

Diego’d always had a hell of a time resisting a woman with a smart mouth. He eyed the white eyelet bedspread and collection of hardback books lining the shelves on either side of the curved iron bed. The shelf filled with family photos was untouched, other than a leopard-print bra dangling from one frame. Despite the abundance of sexy underwear, he hadn’t come across a single sex toy. And given the feel of the scene, if there’d been one to be found, the culprit would have tossed it in the mix.

Diego glanced back at the petite blonde, looking like an irate fairy as she plucked her lingerie from furniture, curtain rods and shelves where it hung like the fruits of temptation.

She was hot. No question about it.

And he’d seen the look in her eyes. Sexual speculation, mixed with a whole lot of lust. He figured it was close enough to an invitation to move on, even if she had snatched it back pretty damn quick.

Except for two things.

One, she was on the other side of that hard line Kinnison had warned him not to cross.

And two, despite her lusty looks and fabulous taste in what she wore against her skin, she was obviously a nice girl.

And while he might risk Kinnison’s wrath on the first, he never risked the heartbreak that came with messing with the second.

Still...

“You got a boyfriend?”

“Why, Detective, is the sight of my lingerie tempting you?” she teased, her tone flirtatious and light. But he saw that look in her eyes again. The “wouldn’t it be interesting to strip you naked and climb all over your body” look.

Was she trying to kill him? Diego hadn’t been this uncomfortably hard since he’d found a crack in the dressing room wall of the local strip club back when he was a teenager.

“Mixing business and pleasure is against regulations.” And right now, he figured those regulations—and the promotion riding on them—were the only things keeping him from trying to find out just how nice a girl she was. He cleared his throat. “In cases like this, a boyfriend, an ex or a rejected admirer all fit the bill for crimes of this nature.”

He couldn’t help but grin when she ducked her head. Skin that fair sure blushed easily. There. Temptation handled. Now she’d think twice about flirting. Nice girls were easy to handle, he decided.

“No boyfriend, no ex, no rejected admirer,” she told him, her words a little tense. Embarrassment? Then she met his eyes again. His brows shot up. Nope, that wasn’t shyness in the green depths. It was irritation. Did the fairy have a temper?

“I hope you have more to go on than that to solve this case,” she said, separating the clothing she’d gathered into tidy piles on her bed. Panties in this one, nighties in that. Diego swore a drop of sweat ran down his temple when a sheer red thong missed its pile and landed on her pillow. “Then again, rumor has it you might have a few problems with that.”

So she could bite back. When had temper become sexy? Maybe when temper had such great taste in lingerie. Eyeing the tiny roses decorating the red thong, he asked, “Problems with what?”

“Solving the case.”

Diego’s gaze snapped to hers. “What are you talking about?”

Jade tilted her head to one side. The light caught on the row of tiny gold hoops piercing her ear. “Word on the street is that you’re here because you’ve got a problem with your boss.”

God, he hated small towns.

“And you shouldn’t give too much weight to rumors,” he added. “Small towns might thrive on them, but they’re rarely rooted in fact.”

“So you weren’t sent here as punishment?” she asked, her tone as friendly as her face was curious. Whether it was a ploy to garner gossip fuel, or whether she was actually interested, Diego couldn’t tell.

He’d been about to write her off as a sexy nice girl. Sweet, but not much of a challenge. Now he wasn’t so sure of anything but the sexy part. That bothered him. His gift for reading people was one of the keys behind his success.

“I was sent here for two reasons,” he said slowly, measuring just how much to share with the town pipeline. He might be having trouble getting a gauge on the pixie, but he knew how to finesse information. “I’m up for a major promotion. Solving this case is the last step to ensure I get it.”

Diego had no problem lying to solve a case, but it was always easier to go with the truth if possible.

“And the second reason?”

It only took two steps for Diego to cross the room, standing close enough that the scent of her, light and airy, wrapped around him. For a second he forgot what he was doing. Forgot why he was there. Forgot everything except the sudden discovery of just how appealing sweetness could be.

Her lashes fluttered, thick and dark, hiding those expressive eyes. He watched the pulse quiver in her throat, wanting nothing more than to lean closer and press his lips to the soft flesh. To feel her heart race beneath his tongue.

As if reading his mind, she gulped. Then, as if she was trying to make it look casual, she moved over to the armoire, putting breathing distance between them.

Dammit.

“You were telling me the second reason you were sent here,” she reminded him breathlessly.

To find out how many different sounds she could make while he brought her to orgasm? Diego gave himself a mental head slap and tried to shake off the sexual fog.

“The second reason? Because I’m good,” he promised. Her eyes widened, fingers clenching the wicker handles of the laundry basket so hard it made a loud snap. Grinning, Diego nodded. “I’m damn good. I close cases, and I put criminals away. Whoever did this, their ass is mine.”

And there ya go. Toss in a little intimidation, and he’d be home by the end of the weekend. Before he did anything stupid, like give in to the need to find out if the pretty little blonde’s naughty side was reserved for her lingerie.

“You promise?” she asked, looking around the mess of her bedroom. “You’ll find out who did this. And why?”

Diego didn’t do promises. Growing up, he’d had too many broken to ever want to cause someone else that kind of disappointment.

He looked around the room. The deputies who’d been called in on the previous burglaries had dusted for prints and come up bust. Despite the shift in M.O. from snatch-and-run to destruction, there was no reason to think this time’d be any different. This was either a copycat with a grudge against Ms. Carson, a totally unconnected case, or all the other thefts had been smoke. Which meant the green-eyed pixie was the real target.

He’d have to work the case as if all three were fact. But his gut said it was the latter. He just had to find enough evidence to pull all the pieces together. And he would. Because that’s what he did.

But the pretty little blonde was looking at him as if he had a superhero cape tucked under his leather bomber jacket. Diego was a good cop. A damn good one. But no one had ever considered him a hero.

It was weird. And very appealing.

And probably his downfall, since he couldn’t resist leaning closer and reassuring her.

“Babe, I guarantee it.”

5

T
HREE
HOURS
AFTER
he’d made that promise to Jade, Diego tossed his gym bag onto a creaky bed in a cramped room and sighed. His stomach ached from cookie overload. His head hurt from holding back his investigative instincts and trying to follow Kinnison’s damn rules.

He would bet his Harley that Kinnison didn’t realize how badly he’d screwed over his recalcitrant detective. Dumping him in a town so small, they didn’t even have a cheap motel. Instead, he was stuck holing up in some old guy’s spare room. Because, apparently, as much as the ladies of the town might like the safety of having a man around their home for a few days,
it wasn’t proper.

So now, he eyed the twin bed with its threadbare Speed Racer comforter and stingy pillow. It looked as if he’d have a backache to round it all out.

And what did he have to show for it?

Five interviews with four victims and one interested party—namely, a grizzled old woman by the name of Mary Green. Two tins of cookies, one of fudge and a questionable fruitcake—again from Mrs. Green. And a lecture on the lost art of saying please and thank-you.

What he didn’t have to show was any more information. None of the women had been home during the thefts. None had recently been involved in any sort of conflict, either alone or with each other. They didn’t wear the same brand underwear, do laundry at the same place or shop together.

Other than living in the same small town, and as Jade had pointed out, all wearing feminine underthings—which had been painful for all parties to learn during his interview with Ben Zimmerman—there was no common thread.

Not even the type of underwear stolen. Everything from white cotton to something named after spankings—which neither he nor the mayor had been willing to ask about. If the selection left behind at Jade’s was anything to go by, the thief had added supersexy to the collection.

Jade.

Diego dropped to the bed, wincing as springs that were likely as old as he was creaked loudly. It all came back to her. Every victim he’d talked to, he’d thought of her. Of how devastated she’d been when she’d seen the destructive mess in her bedroom. The other burglaries had been obvious, all with an open dresser drawer, rumpled contents.

The other victims were older. Not elderly, but all over forty. Except Jade.

Finally, now that he was alone and out from under the constraints of rules and protocol, Diego let his instincts have free rein. Risking his eardrums to another squeak from the bedsprings, he lay back on the bed, folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

In the course of his questioning, he’d asked each of the victims about their ties to one another, and to Jade. As he’d expected, they all knew one another. But he had been surprised at the effusive praise they’d all had for Jade—even Mrs. Green of the rock-hard fruitcake.

The familiar tingle sped down his spine as intuition, finally cut loose from regulations, flared to life.

That was it, he realized.

Respect.

Unlike Jade, the other victims had been shown respect.

Not just in the lack of vandalism they’d faced. But in the clear purpose of their break-ins. Their underwear had been found on display, but more as a joke. In a rolled-up newspaper left on the diner counter, in someone’s mailbox, hanging from the barber pole. He didn’t think the display of Jade’s panties would be quite as unassuming and nonthreatening.

He didn’t know how—yet. But Jade Carson was definitely the center of this case.

Both because the boring, by-the-book investigation logically suggested it, and because his spine was tingling.

That wasn’t all that was tingling. He still had the remnants of a horny hangover. Unlike most hangovers, two aspirin, hot coffee and a nap wouldn’t do anything to relieve this particular tension.

Nope. This tension required one of two things.

Jade.

Or a more of a hands-on, do-it-yourself kind of remedy.

Not willing to give in to his body’s screaming urge for one or the other, he got to his feet. Maybe he could pace off some of the pressure.

On his third trip around the sparse bedroom, his cell phone rang. Diego pulled it from his belt, glanced at the display and rolled his eyes.

The captain could tell it to voice mail.

Diego tossed the phone on the bed and kept on moving.

His pacing ended at the tiny, narrow window. He glared out at the view. With the black sky aglow with overexuberant Christmas lights, the tiny town was like something off a postcard. Or one of those irritating movies with their saccharine moral messages.

Then his gaze shifted. He stepped closer to the window, angling himself along one wall, and located Jade’s cottage on the next street.

His body went into hyperalert mode.

The same way it did when he knocked on a door and was greeted with the barrel of a shotgun.

Two hard thumps of his head against the wall weren’t enough to keep him from looking again.

At his direct view right into the lingerie sprite’s bedroom.

It was too far away to see details. The room was a shadow. But Jade? She was vividly clear. Her skin glowing as if she was fresh from the shower, she wore a tiny pair of candy-cane-striped shorts and a tinier tank top.

His mouth watered when she bent down to touch her fingers to her bare toes, making the fabric of her sleep shorts stretch across the best ass he’d ever had the pleasure of peeping at.

She slowly rolled her spine upright. Arms stretched overhead, she twisted to one side. The candy-cane-striped material pulled tight over breasts gloriously full for a woman so tiny. She twisted to the other side, then she slid her foot up to her knee, straightened her leg, and caught ahold of her calf.

He almost whimpered when, her hands wrapped around her ankle, she raised her foot overhead.

Damn, she was limber.

When she did the other side, his body hardened to a painful state. He needed to stop. He was a cop. Not a peeping pervert.

Before he could force himself away from the window, though, she bent over again. Then, in a sleek move, she flipped into a headstand. Her tiny tank top slid up her torso. Diego’s mouth dried up like the Sahara. The top bunched up just above—below? Which was it with her upside down?—her breast.

He wasn’t sure what to wish for. That the fabric finish its slide south. Or that it stop, safely there so he could keep his professional sanity.

Slowly, as if she knew he was watching and she wanted to torture him, she spread those gorgeous sleek legs of hers into the splits. Diego’s dick was so hard, he was afraid he’d bust his zipper. The woman was doing upside-down splits.

Before he could cry, or explode, she dropped back to her feet. A quick finger tousle of that pixielike hair and she padded over to the bed. Then, because someone somewhere had the tiniest bit of mercy for his sanity, she snapped off the light.

Show over, the room pooled black.

Diego threw himself on the rickety bed with a groan. Who said Christmas wishes—especially the kind that earned a guy a truckload of coal—didn’t come true.

* * *

P
ERCHED
SO
LONG
on the wooden stool that her butt was numb, Jade leaned her elbows on the high library counter, scrolling through photos on the computer. Her focus in life might be fashion first, followed closely by empowerment in all its forms. But if five years in the library had taught her nothing else, they’d taught her the art of research. There was very little by way of information that Jade couldn’t find.

Including, it seemed, photographs and information on a certain sexy detective. She sighed as she enlarged a newspaper shot of Diego Sandoval in track shorts, sneakers and little else. His bare chest was partially obscured by the
T-shirt he was using to wipe his face, but the grainy black-and-white photo did lovely justice to the rounded muscles of his biceps and shoulders.

Oh, baby
. She waved her fingers in front of her face. She’d been right. He was built beautifully. Like a male underwear model.

He came across as a loner. All the information she’d found, which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot, seemed to support the message of a guy who did life solo. But he participated in the Cops and Kids Olympics?

Winning, she noted after forcing her gaze off the photo and on to the text, in four different events. Her eyes actually teared up when she saw one event was swimming and they hadn’t included a photo of him in swim trunks. Or—she licked her lips—maybe he’d worn a Speedo like the guys in the real Olympics. He had one, after all.

His name was mentioned in a few crime-beat articles, his commendations touted in the county newsletter, and that was about it. No Facebook page. No Twitter account. Nothing else coming up on Google. So unless she tiptoed across the line and checked one of those pay-to-stalk sites, that’s all she was getting to aid her in figuring him out.

That, and her own impression.

Which was admittedly clouded by lust.

Still, she got the feeling that Diego Sandoval was exactly what he said. A good cop, who was definitely sexy as hell. And his sexiness had nothing to do with vanity, she figured. No, he seemed to regard his sexy body as a tool.

A tool she’d love to use a few times.

Without taking her eyes from the photo, she reached for her tea. She grimaced as the rich honey-laced caffeine slid down her throat. Lukewarm was so...tasteless. Boring, even. Honey was best heated up. Maybe drizzled over a set of rock-hard abs. She’d bet it tasted extra sweet licked off that body. Was he one of those “service me and be grateful” kind of guys? She didn’t think so. She’d got the “best sex of your life” vibe from him. Which meant he’d be the kind who’d reciprocate with the honey licking.

Oh, to be licked by a man who knew what to do with his tongue. Who could use it gently, in soft swirling enticement. Or roughly, with voracious hunger. Or, oh, please, yes, with plunging strength, in a scream-inducing rhythm.

“Sweetie, are you sure you should be in this morning? You could have taken the day off, you know.”

Crap.

Her face flushed and breath a little shaky, Jade ripped her gaze from the computer screen and her mind from its fantasy over Diego Sandoval licking warm honey from her naked body.

“I’m fine, Mom. I don’t like laundry enough to take an entire day off to do it,” Jade said, trying to lighten the worry lines etched in her mother’s forehead. Opal Carson had seen enough stress in the last five years. She didn’t need to be worrying about creeps fondling her daughter’s undies.

“Still, you don’t look like you got much sleep.” Opal frowned up at her daughter from her motorized scooter. “You could have taken a half day, slept in a little.”

“I’d rather be here, keeping busy,” Jade said with a cheerful smile, hoping to redirect the conversation. “Besides, if I stayed away today, I’d have to come in tomorrow. And tomorrow’s crafts day.”

She gave an exaggerated shudder, rubbing her hands over the billowing sleeves of her shirt as if trying to overcome the horror.

“You know how I feel about crafts day, Mother. Don’t make me face glue sticks and glitter. And sequins. Oh, the sequins.”

Opal’s lips twitched and she shook her head. “It’s beyond me how a girl as creative as you could hate crafts.”

“I have no imagination,” Jade said, shrugging as she slid from the stool. Time to quit drooling in the name of research and get to work.

“Darling, you have the best imagination of anyone I know.”

“That’s because you’re the best mother of anyone I know,” Jade said, coming around the counter and bending to plant a loud kiss on her mother’s cheek. “And I’m not at all biased.”

“Jade—”

Dammit. Tension spiked through Jade’s system, swirling through her temples as if it wanted to take up residence and start pounding away. Before it could, and more important, before her mother could voice whatever motherly concern had her frowning at her middle child, a voice interrupted.

“Excuse me, ladies?”

Jade turned, automatically stepping aside so her mom could maneuver the scooter around the desk to face the speaker.

Well, well. Look who was turning into her very own knight in leather armor. Detective Sandoval stood just inside the entrance, the morning sunlight filtering in behind him doing nothing to soften his bad-boy edginess.

She offered a wide, welcoming smile. It was only her mother’s presence that kept her gaze from dropping to the front of his jeans to see if they fit as well as she remembered. Checking out a guy’s package was definitely a nonparental event.

“Good morning, Detective Sandoval. This is my mother, Opal Carson.” Just a little breathless, she introduced them with a wave in what she figured was her mom’s general direction. Her mom might have been perched on the roof for all she could tell, though, she was so fixated on the sexy detective. “Mom, this is Diego Sandoval. He’s the detective that Mayor Applebaum brought in to deal with the underwear thefts.”

“Detective, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Ma’am,” Diego greeted, shaking her hand with a quick smile that flashed enough warmth and charm to make Jade wish she was the panting type.

“I hope you’re taking this case more seriously than the rest of the town.”

“I take every case seriously. This one is no different.” He had that perfect “just the facts, ma’am” tone. “I won’t stop until I’ve found the creep who broke into your daughter’s house.”

His words were intent enough for Jade to settle against the counter, pretty sure her mother wouldn’t send her to the Religious Studies section to get a bible for him to swear on.

“And you’re good at your job?” Opal asked, making her daughter groan.

“The mayor has access to my service history. He’s spoken with my captain, who I’m sure gave a full and honest reference.” He paused, an indecipherable look flashing across his face. Then he tilted his head toward the phone on the counter. “I have no problem with you taking your questions to the mayor. Actually, I’d appreciate it. The quicker people cooperate, the quicker I’ll solve this case.”