Deceiving Derek (2 page)

He motioned her over. “Not to worry, Miss
DeMarco. I’d be happy to take a look.”

~*~

Lacey DeMarco shot a sideways glance to the
handsome plainclothes detective sitting behind the wheel of the
beige compact car. Exhilaration raced through her as he maneuvered
the vehicle through Rosewood’s twilight-hued streets.

She’d done it! She’d really done it! When
Alicia had read out the most challenging item on the scavenger hunt
list—one policeman—every guest at Tanya’s bachelorette party had
groaned. Except for Lacey. Thanks to her new friend Janie
McAllister’s devious skullduggery, Lacey would drag this sexy cop
to the festivities and win the scavenger hunt.

Yee-haw!
Staid Lacey DeMarco had lived her last
days. Go-for-the-gusto Lacey had been born!

An aggravating barb of guilt stabbed her.
Shifting on her seat, she angled another glance to the detective,
who shared his sister Janie’s ash-blond hair and stormy-ocean gray
eyes.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely kosher that
Janie had peeked at Alicia’s scavenger hunt list a few hours ago
while Alicia, Janie, and Lacey had decorated for the party. Nor was
it entirely acceptable that Janie had informed Lacey where and when
to locate her brother, who, Janie had said, wouldn’t cooperate if
he suspected Lacey’s visit to the police station was a lark. And
Lacey knew that her heads-up on the scavenger hunt items wasn’t
fair to the other party guests. They were probably scouring toy
stores for cop dolls this very minute. However, Janie had
volunteered to assist Lacey on her quest to liven up her life, and
what could be livelier than finagling a hottie cop to a funky
bridal shower?

When it came to learning how to break out of
her shell, Lacey needed all the help she could get. She’d made
great strides lately, though. Tonight was her crowning
achievement.

“Turn right at the next corner,” she
instructed.

The detective followed her directions. The
car slowed as they approached a red light.

“When did you notice your designs were
missing?” he asked in a deep voice that rolled over her like a warm
wave.

She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her
daring new dress and smiled. Her dream to market her lingerie
designs had come in handy. She’d fabricated the spiel about her
mother and conjured the poorly named siblings, but her plans for
Lacey’s Little Underthings were genuine. Her new image would boost
her confidence for her upcoming meeting with a group of
trend-setting Seattle investors.

“I realized something fishy was going on
about ten days ago,” she answered honestly. Her friend, Alicia—the
hostess for the party—lived across the hall. Lately, whenever
Alicia had dropped in for girl talk, her ancient dachshund in tow,
several of Lacey’s lingerie samples had gone missing.

It had taken Lacey forever to solve the
mystery. For a while, she’d remained convinced somebody
was
stealing
her samples...until she’d discovered them stashed in the pile of
discarded fabrics on which Spazz loved to nap. She’d donated the
samples to Alicia—after a thorough washing. Spazz, much to his
whining displeasure, was no longer permitted access to the tiny
second bedroom Lacey used for her studio.

“Do you have any idea who the thief might
be?” Derek asked as the traffic light turned green. The car motored
down the street.

Derek
. Lacey loved the sound of his name. With his
muscular build, the intelligence Janie had remarked upon, and the
sultry intensity Lacey had noticed when he’d looked up from his
computer, they’d make beautiful babies together.

Her pulse tripped.
Babies?
Sure, she’d always wanted a
family
and
a
career, but it stood to reason that if she ever were to become
pregnant, she’d better start dating again first.

“Miss DeMarco?” The detective slid over a
concerned look.

“Call me Lacey.”

“Okay. Lacey, do you have any ideas?”

Did she ever! But all of them suddenly
revolved around slipping into her latest black lace Merry Widow
design and dragging Derek the Dashing Detective to bed.

“Yes, there might be someone.” She pointed
out the turn to her apartment complex. “My mother’s arch-rival,
Sp—sorry, saying his name freaks me out. P-Pietro Spazzitori.”

One of Derek’s eyebrows lifted.
Amazing
. He could really
do that. Like Dwayne Johnson, The Rock.

“Have you confronted Mr. Spazzitori?” Derek
the Amazing asked.

Indeed. Hence the closed door to her
studio.

“No.” She steeled her conscience against the
additional lies. “He’s short but fierce. And he still hasn’t
forgiven my mother for marrying into the DeMarco family dynasty
instead of running off with him.”

“I see,” Derek said in a tone relaying that
he didn’t see at all. He steered the car into the parking lot for
Lacey’s building, one of three structures in the complex.

“Y-yes. They were lovers, but she gave him up
for my father’s money and he’s been intent on revenge ever
since.”

“Uh-huh.” Derek’s incredulous tone indicated
her believability quotient was suffering.

“That’s my space.” She jabbed a finger toward
the nearest empty parking spot. She hadn’t the foggiest to whom it
belonged. “You can park there.”

Derek pulled the car into the space. Before
the detective could change his mind about accompanying her, Lacey
scrambled out of the car and hauled the strap of the shopping bag
onto her shoulder.

Within seconds, he joined her. His astute
gaze scanned the buildings. “How long have you lived here?”

“Four months.”

“I think I’ve visited this complex before.
Building C.”

Lacey gulped. Alicia had once lived in
Building C. Alicia had inherited Spazz upon the death of her
great-aunt, necessitating a move to Building B—the only one of the
three that accepted pets.

“Oh, you know how it is. The complexes in
this neighborhood look identical. It’s easy to mix them up.” Lacey
picked a thumbnail. “Did you bring your badge?” She should have
asked at the station, but she’d been in dimwit mode.

Nodding, Derek patted the waistband of his
jeans. Kind of close to his zipper.

His very interesting zipper, which bumped out
attractively where—

Ahem
.

She looked up.

“Excellent,” she replied as if her heart
weren’t beating ten million times per second. Her friend Janie, who
was her scavenger hunt partner in addition to being Derek’s twin,
could vouch for him. Obviously, so would his gun holster and the
handcuffs hooked over his belt. However, if Janie hadn’t yet
returned from collecting the other items on their list, Lacey
wouldn’t put it past Alicia to demand proof of Derek’s cop
status.

An official Rosewood Police Department badge
would pass that test—and then some.

Derek smiled. What a smile it was. All
luminescent and pearly. Too bad he probably wouldn’t stick around
once he realized Lacey had deceived him.

“You dropped something.” Gaze flicking to the
pavement, he retrieved the siren-red thong.

Lacey’s face burned. “Thank you.”

She reached for the thong, and their hands
brushed. Derek’s gaze lingered on her face. A thrill scooted up her
spine and heat pooled in her belly.

Wowzer
.

Turning toward her building, Lacey drew in a
shaky breath.

Too, too bad he wouldn’t be sticking
around.

~*~

Derek couldn’t stop staring at Lacey’s saucy
behind as he trailed her along the fourth-floor hallway. Her tale
about Pietro Spazzitori was pumped full of holes big enough to
stuff the building in, but the wiggle in that red dress sure made
up for it. He supposed it wasn’t so bad he’d grabbed a break from
inputting his report to investigate her story.

“We’re nearly there.” She cast a smile over
her shoulder that begged his hormones to take a joyride. His sister
Janie was always hounding him to get a life outside of police work.
Not two hours ago, while he’d chowed down a burger and sloshed back
a coffee at his desk, she’d texted him flak about spending another
Friday evening at the station.

Swallowing a grunt, Derek conceded that Janie
might be on to something. He hadn’t dated in far too long.

No earth-shattering reason. The women he’d
met lately just hadn’t spiked his pulse.

Other than…

Lengthening his stride, he reached Lacey. She
zapped him another heart-stopping glance.

Under different circumstances, Lacey DeMarco
was exactly the sort of woman he could imagine getting a life
with
—provided she wasn’t insane. They could have
some humdinger times, he and Miss DeMarco.

However, it wasn’t only her infectious smile
and remarkable dress that intrigued him. Lacey was an original.
That much had been evident from the moment they’d met. After all,
no other woman had ever strewn underwear over his desk.

Yep, Derek had the distinct impression that
life with Lacey DeMarco would never be dull.

A ruckus boomed from one apartment. An
instant later, Lacey stopped at the same door.

“You left music playing?” Derek cocked an
ear. The noise sounded an awful lot like...
stripper songs?

“Uh...” She passed the shopping bag from hand
to hand.

“It’s a little loud,” Derek advised her. No
matter how pretty the complainant, he needed to do his job. “Do
your neighbors object to the noise?”

Her nervous laugh tinkled beneath the raunchy
music. “Not
this
neighbor.”

“Huh?”

She averted her gaze. “Derek.” She spoke his
name as if she were licking an ice cream cone—or something else.
“You might be in for a surprise.”

So far, everything about her had come as a
surprise. He hesitated. “What kind of surprise?”

She sucked in a breath. “You’ll see.”

She opened the unlocked door, and Derek
followed her into the small living room.

What the hell?

Bright pink and yellow streamers swooped from
the ceiling while balloons of assorted shapes and sizes bounced on
the striped sofa and off the walls. A dozen female bodies danced
and clapped to the booming music. In the middle of the cheering
throng, a half-dressed male stripper in an approximation of a
boys-in-blue uniform gyrated to the erotic wail of a saxophone
belting from a music dock.

The stripper ripped off his cop pants,
revealing an indecently bulging leather G-string—and a badge where
no badge should ever reside.

The women whooped and hollered like a pack of
starving hyenas.

Lacey’s eyes popped.

Derek stared at her. “
This
is your studio?”

“No,” she shouted above the din. “This isn’t
even my apartment! I live across the hall!”

“Across the hall?” How could she not know her
own studio?
Was
she a nutcase? “Miss DeMarco, we need to talk.”
Somewhere quiet where he could get to the bottom of her
shenanigans. He gave the party one last look. “Let’s go.”

“We can’t!” Lacey insisted.

“Why not?”

“Because of...” The music drowned her words.
“...and Pietro Spazzitori.”

“He’s
here?
”

She didn’t answer. Just shoved the shopping
bag into Derek’s arms and headed for a short redhead who wore a
strange hat constructed of a paper plate and several gift-wrap
bows.

Swearing, Derek hustled after her.

She tugged the redhead’s arm, and the woman
stumbled away from the stripper.

“Tanya, who brought that guy?” Lacey shouted
above the music.

“Claire rented him for me,” the woman yelled
back. A balloon lobbed against her arm. She knocked it away. “Isn’t
he to die for? Forget marrying Trey. I want Ridge! He can frisk me
whenever he wants!”

A frown marred Lacey’s forehead. “Did Claire
already win the scavenger hunt?”

“The what?”

Behind Tanya, the stripper danced her
direction, bumping balloons out of his path.

“The scavenger hunt,” Lacey said close to the
redhead’s ear.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask—” Tanya
squealed as the stripper grabbed her arm. He dragged her back into
the throng of screaming women.

Derek gritted his teeth.
A stripper named Ridge and a
scavenger hunt?
What kind of warped party was this?

“Lacey, what’s going on?” he demanded.

“Ridge doesn’t count.” She peered at him.
“He’s not a real cop, like you are.”

Like me?
“What am I, a party favor?”

“Um…more like an item on a scavenger hunt
list.”

“Fantastic.” Derek squashed the shopping bag
beneath his arm. A bra cup jutted out, and a wire thing jabbed his
armpit. “So your harebrained story about the panty thief was to get
me here under false pretenses?”

“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you.” Her voice
escalated.

Derek leaned forward. His mouth brushed her
hair. “Pietro Spazzitori. Is he real?”

Lacey nodded, then steered him around the
cheering women and opened a bedroom door. A wrinkled wiener
dog—Ridge’s scaled-down sidekick?—snored in the middle of the
double bed. Lacey left the door open a few inches, and an orange
balloon trickled into the bedroom. The stripper music wound
down.

Lacey stepped toward the dog. “Detective
McAllister,” she began, “allow me to introduce Pietro Spazzitori,
otherwise known as Spazz. He belongs to my friend, Alicia. Perhaps
you know her. This is her apartment.”

Derek shook his head. Should he know this
Alicia? “Then the panty thief…?”

“Was Spazz.”

“And your mother isn’t—?”

“Christina DeMarco. No. Her name is
Catherine, but that didn’t sound as exotic. She’s a pharmacist. And
there’s no Silken or Teddy.”