Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (9 page)

Speak of the devil. Some freaking rich dude in a Bentley pulled to the curb. He circled the understated sedan to assist the princess in alighting from her chariot. The tool laid a giant smacker on Ms. Buchanan’s lily-white knuckles, eliciting a giggle that sank the chump further into her clutches.

She obviously had a thing for suckers old enough to be her daddy. Or maybe they just had to be rich enough to be her sugar daddy. Razor tried to ignore the spike of jealousy accompanying his disillusionment. He feared the sarcasm in his tone couldn’t be fully attributed to loathing—or the grumpiness that went hand in hand with a killer hangover—when he shouted, “Don’t wait up. I probably won’t bring her home before you fall asleep watching Judge Judy.”

The bastard ignored him, turning to Isabella instead. That smile she’d worn, the one so huge you’d think she’d received the best Christmas present of all time, had vanished. She nodded at whatever the guy said then grasped him in a reassuring, one-armed hug. Razor ground his molars as the car rolled away. The resulting pain didn’t impair him enough to blind him to the threatening glare the driver leveled at him as he passed by.

He stood rooted to the sidewalk near his motorcycle, insisting Izzy come to him. The strategy didn’t pay off when her slinky hips shifted from side to side, encased in well-worn jeans, and her luscious breasts swayed beneath a sweater that tempted his palms to discover whether it felt as soft as it looked.

A far cry from workout garb. Holy shit.

Razor spun from her when her platinum hair billowed around her in the gentle spring breeze, denting his iron resolve to ignore the simulated magic between them.

“Good morning to you too, James.” She didn’t wait for him, keeping her pace steady as she headed for the front entrance to the posh shopping arena. He’d never ventured inside the mall, which catered to premium boutiques and designer labels.

“Stop calling me that.” He broke into a jog to erode the distance she’d put between them. Immediately, he regretted it when his stomach cramped.

“Stop acting like an overbearing jerk.”

He flung out an arm to keep the heavy bronze door she dropped from crashing into his chest. The jarring impact sloshed the contents of his turbulent guts. At least the interior of the building seemed dim in comparison to the cheery fucking morning, granting him some reprieve from the marching band pounding a beat in his head.

“So I’m supposed to stay silent as I trail far enough behind Your Highness that no one realizes we’re here together? If you want, I could flash my badge so I look like paid protection. Give you some excuse to be seen with…”

Isabella startled him when she stopped mid-stride. He nearly plowed into her, catching himself by placing a hand above her elbow on that fuzzy sweater. The damn thing did feel like touching a cloud, more downy than it looked. She must have interpreted the gesture as an invitation. Before he could initialize evasive maneuvers, she’d planted herself less than a half-inch from him and wrapped her fingers around the base of his neck.

He didn’t resist when she tugged him lower to peer into her turquoise eyes.

“I’m sorry for how what I said yesterday must have sounded. I like you, Razor. Yesterday was the most fun I’ve had in years. Please, don’t make my comment something it wasn’t so you can use it as an excuse to shut me out.”

How the hell could he argue with her frankness? If she lied, she deserved an Oscar for that performance. But if she meant it…

“Tell me what you did mean, Izzy. What’s going on here?”

She nibbled the corner of her lip. Her laser stare faltered before she glanced into the distance. In case miracles could happen, he tried to stay open-minded, letting her witness his acceptance and how fucking badly he wanted to help her—needed this sweet yet fierce girl to be innocent.

The flex of her throat as she swallowed hard drew his attention to a hand-shaped mark. Halogen lighting in this facsimile of a tropical paradise revealed discoloration he hadn’t noticed there yesterday.

“What the…” he said at the same time she whispered, “My husband…”

Before either of them could finish, a gaggle of over-processed glamour babes with more plastic parts than a case of Barbie dolls shrilled from behind them. Their miniature dog, which looked embarrassed to sport a diamond collar and a ridiculous bow in its fur, ran for its life. It attempted to hide between the tiny gap separating his and Izzy’s legs.

She scooped the shaking animal into her arms and rocked it. He understood completely when it tried to nuzzle into the v-neck of that sinful sweater.

“Smart little guy,” he mumbled as he patted the puppy on the head with one finger.

It wagged its frizzy tail then stood up to lick Razor’s hand and Isabella’s cheek, which had somehow migrated extremely close to one another. They both laughed at the sensation.

“Aren’t you the cutest dog ever?” She coddled the lucky bastard while she lavished it with baby talk and rained kisses on its fur.

Bad enough when he’d envied gramps earlier, but now a dog too? Holy shit he’d sunk to new lows.

The pack of airheads tottered over on their absurd, spike heels. Instead of the grateful thanks he expected, the ditz in the front started waving her arms and having a conniption in Izzy’s general direction.

“Oh, gross! I just had him groomed. Now you’ve gone and messed up Gabbana’s mousse.”

Isabella’s face fell. This time he had someone else to blame for making her unhappy.

“Listen, lady, maybe if you took more time to play with your dog rather than treating it like an inanimate object, it might not abandon you for someone with an iota of affection to spare.”

“How dare you talk to me like that?” She looked down her fake nose at him, her voice rising an octave or three. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do, Rosalie.” Isabella brushed past him to set the quiet animal into the woman’s purse-slash-dog-carrier. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Do me a favor, okay? When you’re bored with the dog, make sure he ends up in a good home? If you can’t find anyone, I’d be glad to take him.”

“Can’t afford your own Yorkie Poo now that your daddy sided with Malcolm?” Her passel of robo-bimbos generated the laugh track Rosalie expected. “I’d feel bad for you, since you’re clearly batty. I mean, who forsakes the best catch around to slum it with losers like this? Then again, maybe I should thank you. In fact, I already planned to offer your poor husband my support through this trying time.”

“Be careful,” Izzy warned.

“Is that some kind of threat?”

“No.”

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too, cow.”

Razor bristled at the way the socialite slammed Isabella. The warning touch on the small of his back distracted him before he could defend her. The bitch switched her attention to him with a sick smile that had his balls shriveling.

“We’ll see what Mr. Carrington thinks of my ‘capacity for affection’.” She flashed her garish claws when she mimed air quotes.

“Great idea. Maybe he’ll sign my divorce papers that much faster.” Isabella gave the poor puppy one last little finger wave before spinning gracefully on her heel and strolling away as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

Razor had to struggle to catch up with her after being caught flatfooted. By the time he reached her, she’d taken a place on the shiny escalator. He ignored her luscious ass, presented at eye level as he stood a few steps below her. “Shit, are you okay? Who was that witch?”

“I’m fine. She’s no one important. One of my father’s vice president’s daughters. I’ve known her all my life since her dad tries to kiss my father’s ass every second of the day. She’s always hated me for it. It’s the dog I feel bad for.” She sighed as she turned around. “I wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up. I mean, my father had the horses, but they hardly count. I remember one time I snuck a stallion some carrots. Apparently they’re on strict diets to enhance their performance. The animal inhaled the whole bag. It got colic and almost died.”

He put his hand on her shoulder in a panic when it looked like she might cry.

“I couldn’t sit for a week after that. Only because my father lost the cup he’d been coveting. He didn’t care about the animal. He’d sold it before he left the event grounds. That adorable dog is going to be the same. It’s another
thing
to them. Nothing more.”

“And what about you, Izzy? What were you?” Somehow he knew the answer.

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she sniffed and shrugged.

Her resilience impressed him. She’d recovered by the time the mechanical staircase set them on the second floor of the ritzy mall. She turned away to swipe at her eyes, fixing the makeup threatening to streak across her pale cheeks with surreptitious flicks of her short, blunt nails. Razor pretended not to notice while he surveyed the area.

Lush palm trees grew from the ground floor to tower over the three-story atrium. Waterfalls, fountains and streams splashed along the indoor garden, drowning out the more pedestrian sounds of conversation with white noise.

On the second floor, a man in a black trench coat scoped out Izzy for a longer than Razor was comfortable with. When he took a giant stride forward to break the guy’s line of sight, the other man shifted to preserve it. Another step, another shift.

“Which way are we going? Let’s move.” He hated to rush her, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The mall had dropped lower, if possible, on his list of places he wanted to spend more time than necessary.

“Sorry, James.” She reached out. He didn’t object when she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “The ballroom specialty store is around the corner. They’re expecting us.”

Razor hustled her in the direction she’d indicated, keeping one eye on the man. He lost the guy when they cut through a group of sophisticated women carrying more packages than Santa. Concerned, he pushed Isabella faster along the walkway. He regretted the rapid click of her heels, clocking what had to be an uncomfortable pace.

She never complained.

They didn’t have much farther to go. He could see the window dressing of
Dance With Me’s
largest sponsor within spitting distance.

“I didn’t think you were this excited about new shoes and a costume,” she muttered from a few inches to his right as he practically dragged her across the final stretch of marble.

“What costume?” He threw a questioning glance over his shoulder.

“Did you read the rest of the studio’s information packet last night?” She arched a perfect brow in his direction, slightly out of breath from their sprint.

“Hell, no. I was so…” Shit, he’d almost confessed to tying one on. If he did, he’d have to lie about why, and he wasn’t up to that challenge at the moment. How could everything seem so different when she was around? Polar opposite from last night’s shit storm.

Razor shook his head, instantly regretting it when stars cluttered his vision. He faced forward—in time to see the man in the black trench coat emerge from the shadows cast by the pillar outside the storefront. On instinct, he tucked Izzy out of sight.

“James…”

“Shh. Trust me, please. Stay right here.” He situated her behind another solid column before reaching into his Nirvana touring jacket for the concealed gun he carried. He prepared to address the suspect in his most authoritative cop voice. As the Sig was about to clear his zipper the guy turned, leveling something in his direction.

“Put it down,” he shouted. Razor had no desire to be shot. Again. Even worse, what would this crackpot do to Isabella if he weren’t here to stop it?

A flash of light nearly blinded him. Holy shit, had he been hit? He transported to the night months ago when it had taken his stunned mind several instants to realize the blood pouring over his hands was his own. That the fire searing him came from within.

This time, no pain followed. The only thing he noticed was Isabella’s light touch on his hand. Damn it, he’d told her to stay put.

“Come on. He’s taken his picture. This isn’t worth our time. It’s okay, James. It doesn’t matter. We’re okay.”

Her gentle murmur eclipsed the pounding of his heart. “Picture?”

“Just some journalist from one of the gossip mags hoping to make a quick buck.” She winked as she tugged him inside the shop. “He probably thinks you’re my new boyfriend.”

“Darling!” The shop manager rushed to her side, breaking her hold on Razor’s clammy fingers before she could object. “We’re so glad to have you. I’m Arthur, and this is Eileen.”

No doubt he hoped she’d drop cash with every step she took. Unfortunately for him, she could only afford to splurge on a decent pair of dance shoes for Razor in addition to the studio’s clothing allowance. Before she could set the shopkeeper straight, he skipped right to business. He handed her off to his assistant, who herded her into the dressing rooms on the other side of the modest dance floor occupying the center of the store.

He flipped the sign on the front door from open to closed. “You’ll have our undivided attention. Nothing but the best for you, love.”

Isabella winced. That sounded expensive.

The pair of merchants ushered her and Razor into a room with mirrors in every corner. They were led to separate stations filled with tape measures, pins and mannequins though no dividers partitioned the space. She flinched when the kind-faced woman nudged her waist.

“I’ll need you to take off your sweater and jeans for the proper measurements.”

Isabella balked. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught James stripping without a modicum of self-consciousness. She tried not to watch, but couldn’t tear her gaze away from the hard muscles he revealed when he tugged his T-shirt over his head with one arm. His other hand dropped to the button of his faded jeans as he kicked off his sneakers and, in ten seconds flat, he stood impatient in a pair of grey boxer briefs that hugged him in all the right places.

Her appreciative gaze roamed across his tight ass and powerful thighs. She drooled over his reflection in the mirror. Isabella lingered at the bulge distorting the front of his underwear before devouring the contours of his six-pack. His lean muscles reminded her of a big cat—sleek and dangerous. The scars marring the flesh above his ribs and chest had her gasping.