All Fired Up (DreamMakers) (3 page)

Dana’s shoes rotated toward the wall, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “Do I get to see you for another…
emergency…
tonight, sugar bear?”

Emergency? Seeing Phil?

Comprehension hit in a rush. Lynn dropped her head in exasperation, and the lock of hair still caught on the screw yanked a bunch of strands free. Only sheer frustration stopped a scream from escaping as her scalp throbbed in protest.

Phil’s emergency, the one he’d sorrowfully told her about as he cancelled their Sunday date, had involved Dana Hastings calling him
sugar bear
?

Only the
click, click, click
of Dana walking away saved Lynn from being tossed in prison for murder. She wouldn’t have minded scaring the bejeezus out of Dana before marching upstairs to Phil’s office to bludgeon him to death with whatever advertising plans lay strategically placed on his desk. The ones she swore he propped up every morning to prove how important he was.

Fucking bastard. So much for being reliable and…and
puritan
. All his sweet talk about respecting her and being old-fashioned regarding sex was one hundred percent horse hockey—he was dipping his doughnut in someone else’s coffee.

Ass.

Jerk.
Butthead
.

Making up insults passed the time as she undid her ponytail, carefully escaping the trap she now welcomed having crawled into. By the time she’d regained her freedom, Lynn was over her rush of anger. She’d needed a good solid reason to move on, and this was it, baby. This was it in
spades
.

Forget killing him. Phil Shotelle wasn’t worth the energy to even bother tossing him a kiss-off. Maybe she’d take Suz up on her offer of helping Lynn find a date.

In a month.

Or a year.

When she was no longer sick of the entire population of Y-chromosome carriers.

Chapter Two

Everything that could go tits-up, would. Parker wanted to kick his own ass for thinking the rule wasn’t in effect in civilian territory.

“Dean. Change of plans. She’s not headed home.” He let a single car slip between him and the sporty hatchback Lynn and the blonde woman with her had driven from the parking garage of the Bay City Press.

His partner’s voice echoed through the radio, slightly tinny. “I’m leaving the office now. Where should I meet you?”

Parker adjusted the radio setting to lower Dean’s volume. “Not sure yet. Depends where the studio is.”

“Studio?”

“Yoga, apparently. I scored big at the news office. Went in through the mailroom and spotted a package on the counter. Took it all the way to Lynn’s floor in time to catch her and a friend discussing their after-work yoga plans.”

Dean’s wicked chuckle echoed over the line. “Dibs on checking out that action. Did I ever tell you about the yoga instructor I dated? The woman could bend in ways that were illegal. Talk about flexible—”

God. “You’ve told me a hundred times, usually when there was no way I could shut you up.”

“Just saying. I love our job, bro.”

Parker laughed. “It doesn’t suck, does it? Anyway, I figure since I’m already tailing her, I’ll hit the gym with them.”

“Are you sure? You’ve never done yoga, have you?” Dean’s amusement was clear.

“How hard could it be? I’ve got board shorts and a T-shirt in my kit. I bet they’ll love to help a newbie.” A low beeping sound went off in the background, and Parker clicked open the line to connect their third partner. “Hey, Jack, what’s up?”

The faintest hint of aggravation carried with Jack’s words. “Hate to bail, but can you stay on the Shotelle job without me? Didi got a last-minute call for help from some guy who realized he promised his wife he’d organize an anniversary dinner for them and her parents. For tonight.”

“Oh, that’s classic. Way to get in shit not only with the missus but the in-laws.” Parker changed lanes to keep on Lynn’s tail, noting they were headed into the Mission. Lynn’s apartment was in the same neck of the woods. The yoga studio had to be somewhere close by. “Don’t worry about it—we’ll manage without you.”

Dean spoke up. “If you need any help, Jack, give us a buzz.”

“Naah,” Jack drawled. “Piece of cake. We’ve got that permanent booking at the pier. Unless someone in their group has a seafood allergy, Didi and I have it under control.”

“Thanks for putting out the fire.” Ahead of him the blue hatchback had pulled into an open parking slot. “I’m at destination. Jack, have fun. Dean, I’ll relay the address when I have it.”

“Roger that. What’s the plan?”

“I’ll try to strike up a conversation during the class and see if I get anything useful. You can wait outside.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Parker slid into the last available parking space on the street, popped open his trunk, and grabbed gear as quickly as he could. Fortunately, his target was taking her sweet time, talking animatedly with her friend as the two women opened car doors and slipped gym bags over their shoulders.

Laughter rang out as well, sheer delight and happiness in the sound. Parker caught himself smiling and hoping for another chance to hear them laugh. A grumble of discontent followed hard on the thought as he trotted down the sidewalk toward the door Lynn had vanished behind.

This was the only part of the job he didn’t like. Even the brief glimpses he’d caught of his target made him leery of doing anything to help slimy Shotelle achieve his goals.

“She’s wearing a blue shirt and drives a blue car,” he reported. “Could be her favorite color.”

“Try to start a convo about music,” Dean advised. “Otherwise we might have another Gellar fiasco on our hands.”

Parker stifled a groan, remembering the romantic date they’d planned last year, during which the fiancée-to-be had a total meltdown when the string quartet they’d hired came out to play. Turned out she was a descendant of one of the Titanic musicians who’d gone down with the ship—what were the odds of
that
? Luckily, she’d still accepted Joe Gellar’s proposal, but the disaster had taught DreamMakers an important lesson: never assume a damn thing.

“I’m about to head in,” he informed Dean, rapidly mentioning the address and name of the studio. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Suggest you wear only the mini-receiver. There’s no way you can get into a class with a mic, and you can’t use it anyway. I’ll do a Google search while I’m waiting and update you with any pertinent information.”

Another reason why Parker loved working with Dean and Jack. Smart, quick on their feet. They worked together so well, their strengths meshing to make the system click. “Affirmative. Turning off mic and switching ear sets.”

He pulled the tiny speaker from where he’d clipped it to his collar and dropped it into his pocket. One more move and the barely visible receiver was in his ear.

Now he’d focus on his part of the job and trust Dean to do his.

The door to the studio swung open smoothly, soothing music and the gentle sound of gurgling water mixing in the background. The muted lighting showcased a welcoming entrance with benches along one wall and a front desk area covered with flickering candles.

Lynn and her friend were both seated, leaning over to remove their shoes as they continued to chatter in lower tones. Parker moved forward slowly, taking in the entire room, but his gaze hesitated on the smooth fall of Lynn’s long brown hair as it hung over her shoulder.

“Can I help you?” Behind the desk a bright pair of eyes blinked as a short woman in workout gear hopped to her feet. “Are you here for the next class?”

Parker nodded. “In the community visiting, and I need a break.” Thank God the prices for classes were listed in clear sight on the wall behind her. He slipped a couple bills onto the counter, avoiding hitting any of the candles.

The small woman tucked the money away before bowing slightly. “We’re happy to accommodate drop-in guests. Sign the waiver form here—” she tapped the countertop, “—then make yourself at home. Class begins in ten minutes.”

He moved to the bench, settling beside Lynn. He was still examining her on the sly when she turned and he caught the first glimpse of her face close-up. Smooth olive-toned skin. Full lips that were both perfectly bitable and a lickable licorice-red that seemed to be her natural coloring. Cheekbones he wanted to stroke with his fingers, but her eyes were what trapped him. Long lashes fluttered open to reveal pupils of an icy pale blue, like the inner core of a glacier. Unique and glorious.

She straightened, and those delectable lips twitched into a full smile. “Hi.”

Parker couldn’t look away. “Hi.”

My God, he had seen his share of beautiful women, in and out of their clothes, but he’d never before had a gut-punch reaction like falling into Lynn Elizabeth Davidson’s eyes. They were mesmerizing. He was damn near holding his breath, hoping she would blink so he could see her lashes sweep up and down again.

Her smile faded slightly. She cleared her throat. “Are you okay?”

A rapidly rising obsession shouted in his brain, commanding he wrap his fingers around her neck and pull her firmly against him so he could prove he was far better than
okay
, especially for someone like her.

Dean’s softly spoken words slapped him. “I’m in the café across the street. Meet me there when you’re done.”

Parker snapped back to reality. Jeez, what the hell was wrong with him? He was going to fuck up a mission for the first time in his career, all because of a pretty pair of eyes.

Instead, he took off his shoes and looked around as if wondering what to do next. “I’ve never been here before, and I’m feeling a little lost.”

“Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll be happy to let you tag along with us,” a new voice reassured him. Lynn’s friend stepped in front of him and eyed him appreciatively. She stuck out her hand. “Susanna. Or Suz. I’m easy.”

He shook her hand and didn’t bother to fight the enormous smile that burst free as she waggled her brows suggestively. “Parker.” He turned to Lynn. “And you are?”

“Not as easy as her.”

Suz smacked her friend on the shoulder, her good-natured grin staying firmly in place. “Don’t knock it ’til you try it, baby.”

Lynn rose off the bench, settling the straps of her gym bag over her shoulder. “I’m Lynn. Sorry about my friend. Her medication wore off about half an hour ago.”

He accepted her handshake as well. “Thanks for offering to show me the ropes.”

“No problem. Drop your shoes over there, and we’ll point you to the men’s changing room.” She looked him over, her gaze lingering on his shoulders and biceps before she jerked her head away.

Parker followed the women down a narrow hall, a tight fit for three people walking side by side. When his arm gently brushed Lynn’s, he could’ve sworn she sucked in a gasp of air.

Huh. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling something here, which only made the fact that he was on a job more awkward.

A flash of white caught his peripheral vision, and inspiration struck. He stopped in front of the little ledge at the end of the corridor, admiring a bright yellow vase overflowing with white roses.

“Something wrong?” Lynn asked.

“No, nothing. I just like these.” He traced one of the delicate petals with his finger. “White roses are my favorite.”

The two women exchanged a look, and then Lynn said, “Oh.”

He cocked a brow. “What, you don’t like them?”

She shrugged. “I’m not a fan of roses in general. I’m more of a cornflower girl.”

Jackpot
.

Looking like she was fighting a grin, Suz pointed to the left. “Change there, and the hot room is at the end of the hall on the right.”

“Hot room?” Parker paused with his hand on the locker room door.

Lynn’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not know it’s a hot yoga class?”

He’d never heard of such a thing. Still, it couldn’t be any worse than a typical session of calisthenics during Hell Week.

“No,” he confessed. “But I’m game to try new things.”

“Oh, sugar. You are in for a treat,” Suz promised.

His target looked concerned. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s a little more intense than a typical class.”

Parker resisted the urge to smooth the frown from her forehead. “I’ll be fine.”

“You are fine.” Suz gave him a wink. “Just so you’re prepared, dress like you’re heading into a sauna. And take a water bottle.”

By the time they were fully into the class, however, Parker was ready to reevaluate his definition of torture.

He’d slipped on his shorts, but following the lead of the couple of guys he’d met while changing, left his shirt off. Towel in hand, he stepped into the studio to find a dozen other participants already standing over mats.

“Over here.” Lynn and Suz waved him to the space they’d saved.

“Has yoga started yet?” Dean’s voice slid into his ear. “I know you can’t answer, but try to do it telepathically so I can feel like we’re having a conversation. The café is empty and I’m frickin’ bored. Seriously. Not a single cute girl in sight.” A pause. “When you’re in there you should flex the guns a few times, bro. Maybe you can score a date with the hot yoga instructor. She
is
hot, right? I just assume all yoga instructors are.”

Damn. He’d forgotten a one-way receiver meant he couldn’t tell Dean to fuck off and die. He’d have to save the beating for when he next saw the man.

The instructor at the front of the room began, removing her wrap to display an outfit that was barely legal but made sense considering the heat. And yup, she was definitely attractive, which supported Dean’s inane theory. Her arms lifted skyward, legs spread. Parker moved his mat back slightly so he could observe Lynn easier, as well as the others, ready to copy their motions the best he could.

The room temperature had to be over a hundred, the humidity high as well. Most of the guys were in shorts, the women in small exercise bras and skimpy shorts. He planned on appreciating the view without getting too distracted.

Only when the second thing they did was bend over to touch their toes, Parker nearly swallowed his tongue. Lynn’s very fine ass filled his peripheral vision. He should look away, he really should…