Bedroom Eyes (13 page)

Remembering the odd statue he’d spotted under her bed when checking for intruders, Tony wondered if the respectable lawyer, in addition to masquerading as a shoplifter, also dabbled in the occult. It made as much sense as any explanation he could think of to answer the question why she would have a wild-looking, winking statuette hidden beneath her bed.

Thank God! Rolo Polo had just made a break, no doubt for the bathroom. He hadn’t taken his earlier path straight to the beverage counter. Tony was out of his car before Rolo Polo’s backside had disappeared into the depths of the store.

Once inside, he frowned, hit by the number of possibilities. The store was huge. Tony wondered how they found enough books to fill it up. His idea of book-buying was picking up the odd western at the corner drugstore, the one that used to be a K&B before they sold out to that eastern outfit.

New Orleans, Tony thought, squinting his eyes and scanning the first bank of bookshelves for sight of Penelope, was changing.

And so was he, he realized, riding up the escalator to check the second floor. Chasing after a woman who hadn’t thrown herself at him. His friends wouldn’t believe that possible for Tony Olano. They knew him as the guy who collected the Brenda-in-39B’s of the world.

Tony knew himself that way, too, which was one reason it was really strange to be in a bookstore chasing after a lawyer who wore her starched blouse buttoned all the way to her neck.

Chapter 10

Candle magick, so it seemed, could produce some fairly powerful results. There were many fine points to consider when practicing the variety of spells, such as type of candle and whether one chose to melt bits and pieces of hair and body clippings into the wax to create a powerful poppet.

Not one mention of frog’s testicles, though.

Penelope tucked a foot under her and considered her reading material. The list Mrs. Merlin had sent her shopping with made as much sense as what she read now. Did people really believe this stuff?

She picked up the next book, a paperback that claimed to reveal the best way to learn to see auras. Mrs. Merlin nattered a lot about Penelope’s aura. And she’d said something about Tony Olano being too violet to have pressured her the way David had last night.

Only last night.

Penelope touched her hand to the side of her cheek and, skipping the introductory chapters, flipped to the section that discussed violet.

She read of violet as the dominant aura of people who were intense and on the go. Natural leaders. Visionaries. Sensual as all get-out.

Well, now at last she’d found a statement that matched her objective observations.

Tony Olano
defined
sensual.

Penelope smiled and snuggled more deeply into the comfy chair. She pictured him sitting beside her, both of them deep in a book. He had one arm around her, gently stroking the side of her neck. She leaned into the rocklike shelter of his chest, safe, cozy and infinitely at peace. Rather than the New Age books she had taken off the shelf, in her fantasy she perused a favorite M. F. K. Fisher recently reissued. Visions of menu ideas danced in her head as she turned the pages of the witty and literate work.

And his reading material?

Penelope let her mind drift further into her fantasy. What would the man of her dreams be likely to read?

Hmm. A well-thumbed copy of
War and Peace
? Somerset Maugham? Dickens, perhaps?

She frowned, unable to fully form that piece of her dream world. An image of Tony flipping through a racing sheet flitted into her mind and she stirred, unhappy with the thought.

The book on auras slipped from her lap and landed with a plop on the floor.

Thrust back into her surroundings, she blinked and bent forward to retrieve the book. Before she could curl her fingers around it, a hand, large and powerful and sprinkled with fine black hairs, closed over the paperback.

Her eyes traveled upward, over the now familiar path of toned forearms and biceps boasting of a man at home in a gym.

The cruder the gym the better, Penelope added to her mental inventory, snatching her book from Tony Olano’s hold.

He grinned and said, “Come here often?”

Penelope casually shifted the volumes on auras and candles until they all lay face down. “Sure,” she said. “You?”

“A regular.” He dropped gracefully into the chair that sat at a right angle to Penelope’s, stretched out his long legs, and opened the book he carried. He said not another word, apparently lost in his reading material.

Penelope glared at him. It was just like him to show up, then pretend to ignore her. She peeked to see what he was reading but couldn’t make out the title.

She picked up her book on auras, holding it so the brightly lettered cover didn’t show. After turning a few pages without seeing a word, let alone an aura, she snapped the book closed. Her field of vision had been captured by Olano’s tanned and muscled calves and the way he swung his left foot idly back and forth as he read.

Below the khaki walking shorts, his legs had the perfect amount of curly black hair, thick enough to be intriguing but not so dense as to be unattractive. Penelope couldn’t help but wonder what his chest looked like. A hint of the same black hair showed above an open button of his short-sleeved shirt.

In another moment she’d be off into one of her fantasies. Trying hard to brake that temptation, Penelope decided to interrupt Tony. If he persisted in following her, he’d have to put up with some idle conversation. Leaning forward slightly and donning what she hoped would pass for an appealing smile, she said, “So, what are you reading?”

He grunted, placed a finger halfway down the left-hand page, then looked up briefly. His eyes seemed darker and more intense than the times she’d seen him before. The circles under his eyes were slightly puffy and more purplish blue today than they’d been yesterday. No doubt he’d found some Brenda-in-39B clone and stayed out all night partying. Penelope sniffed and repeated her question.

He hesitated, glanced around, then answered,
“Social Adjustment of Delinquent Youth Housed in Psycho-Socially Challenged Foster Homes.”
The long title rolled off his tongue as if he were guest lecturing at a conference.

Penelope raised her brows. “Impressive,” she murmured. And she was impressed. She had half-expected him to be reading some dumb-jock sports book. Or a mindless western.

He shrugged. His finger still poised on the page, he said, “What about you?”

Now he had her. She wished she could answer with a title half as impressive. “I’m doing some research,” she finally said. “In a topic you wouldn’t be interested in.”

“No?” He shifted forward, drawing his legs closer to his chair. Dark eyes burned into hers, alight with a fire Penelope longed to have the courage to explore. “Try me.”

She laughed nervously. “I . . . uh, I’m expecting a houseguest who’s into auras and such things, so I’m reading up on them.”

He nodded and said, “I thought Tolstoy would be more your cup of tea.”

“Oh, but he is!
Anna Karenina
is one of my favorite books ever. But research is necessary.” She pointed to his book. “You obviously agree with that statement.”

“What?” He looked surprised, then said, “Oh, of course. Like my research into the sociology of juvenile delinquents.”

“Are you writing a paper?”

“Right.” Tony drummed his fingers on the open book. “Yeah, right, a paper.”

“For which journal?”

He frowned, the tempo of his fingers increasing. “I really haven’t decided.”

Penelope nodded. “It’s important to pick the best in the field. Then, if they don’t accept it, you can work your way down the list. Don’t you find that to be true?”

It was Tony’s turn to nod. Which he did, looking as brainy as he knew how. Shit! This woman had him twisted into doing, saying, thinking, and feeling things he’d no business muddling with. Writing a paper for publication? Wouldn’t his college professors love that one! Of course, they’d be even more amazed he remembered the name of one of his textbooks, the name that had rolled so easily off his tongue when Penelope had asked him the title of his book.

Penelope must have asked him another question, a question he’d obviously missed. Well, at least she had decided to talk to him. “What was that?” he asked.

A flicker of something akin to annoyance appeared, then dissolved, on her face. The lady wasn’t used to having to repeat herself. “I said, what is it that you do, Mr. Olano? Besides following me around the city, that is?”

Her question brought him sharply back to his purpose. He wasn’t hanging out in this bluenose bookstore to flirt with a woman who normally wouldn’t give him the time of day. He was here on a mission. He quickly checked the floor spread below. Good. Rolo Polo had resumed his post in the foyer.

He brought his gaze back to the woman seated beside him. She waited for his answer, an expectant light in her dusky blue eyes. Her lips were parted the teeniest bit, suggesting breathless anticipation of his answer. Yeah, right, Olano, he told himself wryly. He cast another dark glance, the one he used to such good effect with women like Brenda in 39B, and answered, “Research.”

She folded her hands over her book. “Research?”

Tony liked his answer. He grinned. “Yeah, you could call me a professional researcher.”

She’d scooted closer to him in her chair. Clearly she was trying to check out his reading material. He edged the book to the far side of his lap. Then she sat back and smiled at him, a genuine, lively, pleased smile. Tony knew, watching her smile at him that way, he’d do whatever it took to win that smile again.

“I think it’s lovely that after you left the police force you turned to helping children stay out of trouble.”

She spoke softly. “It’s nice to meet a man who cares about helping others.”

Tony shifted in his chair. He’d been present when Hinson told her Tony had been a cop. God only knew what details he’d filled her head with after Tony had left them alone. No wonder she looked at him most of the time as if he were some sort of criminal leper.

“Many people simply would have spiraled downward,” Penelope was saying. “You know, given up under the weight of the disgrace.”

Tony saw concern in those big eyes of hers. He took hope. A lot of women liked to rescue the troubled, the downtrodden. He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “You didn’t see me a couple of months ago. It was tough. What did you call it? A downward spiral?” He threw in a deep sigh and gazed into her eyes. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t have liked me very much at that point in my life.”

Penelope caught her book, which had started to slide from her lap. She licked her bottom lip. Tony itched to lean over and let his tongue travel the same path. Nice and slow. She was coming around. Not that he had any business trying to get anywhere with this woman, but he couldn’t help himself.

He’d never met anyone like Penelope Sue Fields, and God help him, he wanted to know everything there was to know about her. Lawyer, thief, dabbler in black magic—no matter, he had to find out more. And he wasn’t above using her sympathies to achieve his purposes.

“My friends stood by me,” he said, reaching over and collecting the piece of notepaper that had fluttered to the ground when her book slipped, “but my wife—” He slashed a hand across his throat.

She swallowed. Lifting one slender hand, she played with a tendril of hair that had come loose from the knot that denied him the pleasurable sight of her hair flowing around her shoulders. “That must have been terrible.”

“Better to know it now than later.”

“I suppose so,” she said. She kept on playing with that hair, then looked down at her book. When she glanced up again, she said, “Your wife. Is she coming back?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Wouldn’t you take her back?” She sounded curious.

Again, he shook his head. “It’s like this,” he said. “When you’re a cop and you go out on a call and your buddy fails to cover you or back you up, you don’t put your ass on the line twice.”

She flinched. “When you put it that way, I understand.”

Tony suffered a twinge of guilt at describing his ex-wife in such a bad light. Kathy had done the right thing when she’d initiated their divorce, and as a result, they’d parted before they destroyed their friendship. He hoped she wouldn’t mind him casting her in such a bad role in order to score points with Penelope, especially since their divorce had occurred long before his set-up dismissal from the force.

Penelope had quit playing with her hair. Her eyes had gone all soft and dreamy. Tony closed his book and leaned forward. He had no business doing this. He ought to leave her alone, but dammit, he wanted to see her loosen that glorious hair, wanted to see her when she wasn’t buttoned up tight.

Face it, Olano, he told himself, you want to see her lying in your bed, looking up at you as if you’re the most amazing man on the face of the earth.

He swallowed, hard, and opened his mouth to ask her out on a real date.

“Tony-O, what are
you
doing in
here
?” A woman’s voice, a voice he’d know anywhere, knifed across the reading area.

Penelope lost her dreamy expression and turned to see who had spoken.

Tony didn’t have to look. “Aunt Tootie,” he said, rising to greet the aunt who up until thirty seconds ago he’d loved dearly.

“How the heck are you?” His aunt didn’t talk, she boomed. She settled a load of books on the table by his and Penelope’s chairs and perched her plump body on the edge of the table, waving away Tony’s gesture toward his own chair.

Several other readers glanced up. One man put a finger to his lips.

Tony resumed his seat, casting a glance at Penelope.

“I said to myself, that looks like Tony-O, but what in the world would
he
be doing in a bookstore?” She slapped her knee and laughed.

Tony glanced again at Penelope.

His aunt clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh,” she said, then winked at Penelope. “Always did have a big mouth,” she said.