Flirtation (4 page)

She felt a rush of disbelief and confusion. How could this amazingly hot…
stud
—it was the only word she could think of—not be taken? How could he not have the woman of his choice in his bed every night? What was he doing getting tarot readings online and standing here with
her
?

Chasing away the self-denigrating thought, she smiled and looked around the yard, trying to ignore the fact that he was still holding onto her hands.

“I’m not the gardener, Charlotte, I just like to work outside from time to time. This is my family home, though I’m the only one who lives here now. With my work, I spend a lot of time inside at a desk, so I try to get outdoors and do things when I get the opportunity.”

“Your home is gorgeous. I’ve never seen wisteria that prolific.” Thank God, she managed to say something halfway intelligent that time. She even sounded normal.

“Really?” He glanced back and then returned his gaze to her. “It’s hard to keep it from invading, actually. This one is almost fifteen years old, and we have to make sure we don’t let it take over the yard.”

“Oh. We?” she asked vaguely, still looking into his handsome face. His mouth was firm and straight—he had nice, manly lips, not too full, but a perfect complement to his slightly sharpened cheekbones, tanned skin and sandy hair. Spontaneously combusting from the inside out, she wondered what he would taste like.

“Well, it’s just me now. I used to work out here with my mother quite a bit, but she moved shortly after my father died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear you lost your father.”

“Thanks, but it’s been years. Mom’s seeing someone new, even.”

“Oh.” He was so close his scent permeated her space—ginger, moss and earthy, delicious man—and she closed her eyes, letting it envelop her.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes flew open quickly—she’d completely forgotten herself. My God, the man had her in a swoon! She almost giggled, feeling uncharacteristically light, excited, and buzzing like one of the bees on the flowers.

“I’m fine. I was just getting a good vibe, is all.”

“You’re from New England.”

“Yes, New Hampshire.”

“It’s beautiful there. I like your accent.”

She laughed then, forgetting how different she sounded here until someone mentioned it. “Thanks. New England is great, but I like it much better here. I like the sun and the warmth.”

As if on cue, her face flushed once more when he stroked a thumb absently—or purposefully—over her palm before letting her fingers go. His eyes had darkened a shade to the most stunning jade she’d ever seen. None of this seemed real, including EJ.

“Let me wash up and we can get to know each other a little. You did bring your cards?”

“Oh, yes, they’re in my bag.”

“Let’s go inside. I’m looking forward to this.”

Charlotte thought, following behind as he led the way, that saying she felt the same way would be a radical understatement.

EJ
HAD RARELY
been rendered speechless in his lifetime, but he was just glad he’d been able to get his wits about him as quickly as he did. When he’d heard the soft female voice speak to him and turned to find
her
standing there, he’d almost fallen from the ladder.

He wasn’t expecting her early, and he wasn’t expecting…he wasn’t sure. To feel so bowled over, maybe. But the real Charlotte was very different than the pictures in her file. She packed a wallop up close.

The image of her standing, looking up at him on the ladder, was burnt into his mind. If he’d known how beautiful she was, their online chat would have brought him to his knees. Baby-soft looking blond curls flew everywhere in charming disarray, framing what could only be described as an angelic face,
with a petite nose, doe-brown eyes, and petal-pink lips that had him sweating with the effort to stem his body’s visceral response.

But it was too late—he could imagine that sweet, moist mouth wrapped around him, sending him skyrocketing into pleasure. He adjusted his gardening belt to hide the result of that momentary flight of fancy.

Charlotte was petite, the top of her head only coming to his mid-chest, but she wasn’t slight or dainty—supple and lush were probably better terms. She wore no makeup that he could see, no stockings, and just a simple silver chain around her wrist. He wondered what she wore under that dress, if anything.

The light yellow shift didn’t accentuate her curves, but hugged her breasts and butt enticingly as he slowed down and let her move ahead of him. Those huge brown eyes took in everything, thanking him quietly when he held the door for her and let her in the back door, to the kitchen. She wore thick, chunky sandals, and her toenails were painted with clear polish. She looked…earthy. Sensual, but innocent.

But EJ knew she wasn’t. Even if she wasn’t a thief, she was connected to the scam somehow. And how she’d talked to him about his sex life indicated she was far from inexperienced and pure—though that didn’t make it easier to calm his reactions. It would be to her benefit to look innocent, seductive—
he had to remember she was on the make. And he was fighting the urge to be a willing victim. Hell, she hadn’t needed to rob people online—if she’d met those men in person, they probably would gladly give her anything she wanted.

Which made him wonder what she wanted, what she liked.

Trying to sound casual, he poured her a glass of lemonade and excused himself to change. He hoped to find some shred of self-control in the process.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, smiling as he handed her the glass. “Make yourself comfortable, feel free to look around.”

Leaving before she could even acknowledge him, he took a deep breath and hopped the stairs two at a time to his room. Ducking into a quick, rinsing shower, he dried off and found a clean pair of pants and a decent shirt. He hoped Charlotte did show herself around.

He wanted to make himself an irresistible target, to sweeten the pot so that she couldn’t resist. He’d even left a checkbook—not his real one, of course—sitting innocuously on the counter, waiting for inquiring eyes to investigate and perhaps memorize his account number. Baiting the trap.

When he hit the bottom of the stairs, his stomach clenched nonetheless when he saw her holding his grandmother’s music box.

“It’s an antique from the 1800s. My grandfather
had it made for my grandmother for their wedding, and it is passed on when each son or daughter marries. It will go to my sister, Grace, if she ever decides to marry, and if not, to my wife. Should I ever marry, as well.”

She smiled, setting it down carefully. “It’s gorgeous. It must be so nice to have that kind of family history, things that are passed down from one person to another.”

“Doesn’t your family pass things down?”

He felt a little stab of guilt saying that, knowing what he knew about her past—there’d been no family, let alone family heirlooms for Charlotte Gerard—but he wasn’t supposed to know that. After a slight shadow passed over her face, she brightened again.

“No, not before. I didn’t know my parents. But for me, maybe in the future there will be children, if the situation is right. And I’d love to have things to pass along, though nothing this beautiful, I’m sure.”

He stepped closer, reaching down to touch the smooth mahogany box and looking at her reassuringly. “It’s not about the price of the item. It’s about who had it before. That’s what makes heirlooms important. Every time I play this, I think of my grandmother. And I remember how my grandfather loved her.”

Charlotte was gazing up at him with every hopeful thought shining in her eyes, and she looked like the least likely thief he’d ever met. Clearing his throat,
a bit unsettled at the open adoration in her expression, he gestured to the table.

“Do you still want to do a reading for me?”

“Absolutely.”

Was that light in her eyes due to the undeniable sexual attraction between them or excitement over finding such easy pickings? EJ smiled, walking closely by her side and trying to remember she was a suspect, even though her sexy scent was criminal in an entirely different way.

“Do you have any preference where you read?”

She shrugged. “Not really. A table is nice, and if I can get a north-facing chair, even better, but I read cards just about anywhere.”

EJ opted not to ask about the north-facing chair issue but showed her to the sunny kitchen table and watched her sit, leaning over to retrieve the cards from her bag, and he couldn’t stop himself from admiring the generous cleavage the move exposed.

He’d always preferred smaller women with streamlined builds—compact, but feminine. However, he found himself imagining what it would be like to weigh the roundness of Charlotte’s breasts in his palms, to nestle his face in the warmth of all that fullness. The thought nearly paralyzed him with need. He blinked, realizing she’d said something to him. He didn’t hear the words, but he zeroed in on the movement of those delicious lips.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She smiled, and a bright pink stain bloomed in her cheeks. No surprise, he probably hadn’t been very discreet about his leering. She didn’t seem offended, in fact, a pleased sparkle danced in those deep brown irises.

A touch of cynicism straightened his back—of course she didn’t mind. She was probably thrilled that he was so easy to lure in, to distract. That he was so obviously lusting after her. She looked through the deck quickly, pulling out a card and placing it in front of him, face up.

“
The King of Pentacles
. This is your significator.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s just a representation of you. Who you are in the reading. Kings are usually used to represent mature males. At first, only knowing you online, I would have been tempted to choose the
King of Wands
or
Cups
, but seeing you here, in your home and in the gardens, I can’t help but choose pentacles.”

“If you say so.”

EJ didn’t miss the symbolism; maybe Charlotte was giving away too much through her selection of cards without realizing it. Though nature was a prominent element in the image on the card, the figure sat upon a throne and was blanketed with riches. Not very subtle, actually; it was clear how
she
was seeing him.

Maybe there was something to be said for this tarot business. He studied the card more closely, seem
ingly unaware of her watching him, when in reality he was attuned to her every breath, her every move.

“Just focus on the significator and your question while I shuffle.”

“Shouldn’t we hold hands or something?”

She smiled patiently. “That’s for a séance. We’re fine as we are—I couldn’t shuffle the deck if we held hands. Focus, now.”

He obeyed her gentle command, feeling foolish and intrigued at the same time. She seemed to really be into it. She put the cards in front of him and asked him to cut them into three piles then recombine them. He did so, and waited as she asked for his question and started to turn out cards.

Her soft voice was almost hypnotic as she spun a story from card to card, stopping to check for clarifications or his input, answering his questions and showing him what the puzzle laid out in front of him meant. By the end of the reading, he was more than confused. He was completely unsettled, but also fascinated.

How deeply had this woman studied his life? How much information had she managed to get about him before she came to his door? It had to be considerable, since her “reading” was uncannily accurate. If she was working alone, she had to have connections. But more likely, she really was the front person. She checked potential targets out, set them up, and then someone else did the real dirty work.

And she’d also take the fall if something went down—if the operation closed up shop and disappeared, she’d be the only one left hanging in the wind. The thought disturbed him, and he tried to squelch his protective feelings. She was in this up to her pretty little mouth, and he shouldn’t be sympathizing. And the way she’d stimulated some of his more male responses had him wondering if he was losing his grip when it came to this case. He tried to refocus, to get back in the game.

How could she know, if she hadn’t checked him out, about the friends in his life who were getting married or having children? How could she know about his professional success and his old relationships? All of that was something any enterprising person could find out with phone calls, newspaper research and good old legwork.

In spite of the falsified information he’d included in his registration, and dummy documents anyone would find if they used the artificial papers, she kept returning to his role as a “protector”—did she know he was a cop? The thought niggled at him, but then he relaxed. If she knew he was a cop, she would have never shown up. She probably knew about his family’s shipbuilding plant, but Beaumont Industries wasn’t exactly a secret.

“So it’s been a bumpy road, some ups and downs, but you’ve made some good choices recently. Your professional life seems like it has blessings every
where—you are very happy in your work, though frustrated in other areas of your life.”

“That’s true. I value my job, and what it allows me to do for the community.”

“What do you do?”

“My family owns Beaumont Industries. Have you heard of it?”

She shook her head—the little liar.

“I’ve only been here a few years, and I don’t really read newspapers or anything like that.”

Yeah, right.

“We own one of the largest and oldest shipbuilding plants in the area. My great-grandfather started the business, and built one of the first tugboats. It’s still on display in the local naval museum.”

“That’s just incredible! I’d love to see it.”

“I’ll take you.”

She blushed again, and EJ just couldn’t help but respond to how pretty she was. If only she weren’t a fraud.

“What do you do with the company? You mentioned helping the community?”

“We donate to causes, sponsor events, provide a significant number of local jobs and we are an environmentally safe industry. My father didn’t wait for the laws to force compliance. He cared about the natural world, and he taught us to, as well.”