Authors: Tamara Larson
He fought the impulse to smile back at her. He was here on business, and flirting with either one of them was not part of his job. He had a missing girl to find. He needed to stay focused.
The sister who’d approached him was as prim as the other one was outrageous. A smudge of dust marred one perfect white cheek, but he couldn’t detect a speck of makeup on her. She wore a shapeless skirt and V-necked sweater set in an off-white hue that matched her flat, crepe-soled, old lady shoes. Her vivid hair was scraped back in a bun that would have looked severe if there hadn’t been several loose, curly tendrils escaping at the temples.
She looked like a woman who was completely oblivious to how she looked, and
Duncan
was drawn to that. It always seemed that the women he encountered were constantly primping and obsessing over their looks. He found it much more attractive when they were unaware of how they appeared. Of course, it certainly helped if they were a knockout like this bookstore woman. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that instantaneous click of attraction with someone. Maybe he never had.
Despite her conservative appearance,
Duncan
imagined what it would be like to touch her. He wondered how she’d react if he reached out and removed her glasses and shook out that hair with his hands. Would she slap him or would he see an answering heat in her eyes? He found himself wildly curious about the length of her hair. Was it shoulder length or long and wavy like her sister’s? He wanted press his nose into it, inhale its scent and feel the strands loose and flowing through his fingers. Over his chest and onto his stomach…and lower.
Whoa Nelly. Where the hell did that come from?
Duncan
thought to himself. He never reacted like this. But this bookish woman, without even touching him, was making him react like some horny thirteen-year-old during his first slow dance with a girl.
“Sir? Are you looking for something in particular?” the mousy one asked with a worried look. Great, she thinks I’m crazy now, Duncan thought, which is probably better than knowing that I’m actually a depraved pervert who wants nothing more than to unpin her hair.
“Sorry about that. I was just contemplating the body wax question. Put me down for against. Way too painful,”
Duncan
said to the lounging sister, and then turned back to Miss Prim. “Actually,” he said to Jessica, “if you’re the owner of the store, I’m here to ask you some questions.” He pulled out his badge from his inside coat pocket and flipped it open for Jessica to verify.
“Really?” she asked, eyeing the badge with interest. Was it just her imagination, or was the detective standing closer to her than absolutely necessary. Jessie moved back an inch and was surprised when he shifted slightly, just enough to close the distance between them. She could practically feel his warm breath on her face. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.
Jessie watched herself reaching out to touch the badge. Their fingers brushed, for just a nanosecond, and yet she felt a tingle of heat run up her arm. She pulled her hand back like she’d just touched a hot curling iron and placed it behind her back protectively. “I’m Jessica Martin, the owner,” she said, and waved a hand vaguely in her twin’s direction. “And that’s my sister, Jamie. She was just leaving.” Jamie obligingly got up and slinked over to check out
Duncan
’s badge.
Duncan
didn’t even look at Jamie’s provocative, hip-swinging swagger, he couldn’t stop staring at Jessica. She had a tiny black beauty mark just above the bow of her lip. He was mesmerized by that small imperfection, and could see himself leaning down and tasting it with his tongue.
“What on Earth would you have to ask us about?” asked Jessie, placing a hand on her chest in a prissy gesture that made Jamie roll her eyes.
“I’m Detective Reinhold with the VPD, and I understand that this place is frequented by prostitutes and street kids,” he said briskly, putting away his badge and pulling out a pad of paper and a chewed-looking black pen.
“Prostitutes?” Jamie exclaimed, pretending to cover her mouth in a parody of disapproval. “Jess, you never told me you were working girls out of this place. I’m shocked and appalled. Really.” Jamie tugged on her coat with the leopard skin collar and grabbed her bag from the floor.
“Very funny,” Jessie said to her sister, nudging her toward the door. Instead of leaving as she originally intended, Jamie stopped and stood close to
Duncan
, pretending to be fascinated as he wrote down the date and the address of the store. Pressing her breasts casually against his arm, she gave Jessie a wicked grin. Jessie scowled at her and mouthed a “get out” over the detective’s bent head.
“Prostitutes don’t
frequent
my store,” Jessie said to
Duncan
defensively. “I just let them hang out here if it’s raining, or if they need a break or whatever. They’re actually my best customers.” Jessie didn’t see why she should turn people away just because they weren’t going to buy anything. Her store was about bringing quality reading material to people who couldn’t afford it otherwise, not making a profit. The huge chain stores took care of that possibility. The only way she made ends meet at all was by renting the store out to
Vancouver
’s thriving film industry as a location.
“So they do frequent your store?”
Duncan
asked, not quite managing to hide his grin. He’d smiled more in the past three minutes than he had in weeks. What was it about this woman that made him completely lose his concentration?
“Okay, they come in here, but you make it sound like they’re performing tricks in the self-help section,” Jessie said with a fierce look. Usually she wouldn’t argue with someone she barely knew. Especially someone as wildly attractive as this detective, but for some reason, it was important to her that this man know she ran a respectable business.
“Jess,” Jamie said, laughing at her sister’s naiveté. “I think magicians perform tricks. Prostitutes turn tricks.”
“Whatever. Don’t you have someplace to be?” Jessie asked impatiently, gazing meaningfully at her sister. Jessie knew she was being rude, but ever since they were infants, Jamie had reveled in aggravating her older sister. She just loved watching Jessie squirm. “My point is that this isn’t some kind of prostitute clubhouse,” she said to
Duncan
.
“But they do come in here regularly? Prostitutes and some street kids? You know some of them?”
Duncan
asked, attempting to put the proper gravity into the question when he’d really prefer to forget about his reason for coming here. He would much rather concentrate on getting to know this woman better.
“I suppose so, but we’ve only been open for a short time. I don’t know them all by name or anything. Two months isn’t really long enough to establish any kind of relationship, is it?” Jessie asked earnestly. “With a customer, I mean.” She looked up and her dark eyes locked with
Duncan
’s startling blue ones. Suddenly, Jessie wished Jamie would leave, and not just because the younger Martin girl was so determined to stir up trouble. Jessica was surprised to note that she desperately wanted to be alone with Detective Reinhold and explore this heat that seemed to be boiling over between them.
As if reading her mind, Jamie moved away from where she’d been glued to
Duncan
’s side. From the sparks between her sister and the cop, she was pretty sure old Guido was going to be out of luck. “I’ve gotta go, you two. It was nice meeting you Detective. If you’re bored some night, come see me at the Kitty-Kat lounge.” With a flip of her auburn mane and a wink at her sister, Jamie was gone, leaving Jessie and Duncan alone.
Chapter
2
Jessica fought the impulse to call Jamie back. Now that she was alone with the detective, she felt extremely awkward. Jamie drove her crazy, but at least she kept things interesting. Jessica, when forced to interact with strange men, usually ended up saying something incredibly inappropriate or laughing either constantly or at the most inappropriate times. That was exactly why she’d hired her Assistant Manager, Clay. He was extremely adept at interacting with everyone, especially attractive men.
She moved some books off the dark green chair opposite the one Jamie had been sitting on, and sat down on the edge. She waved a hand toward the other chair and
Duncan
sat down across from her. Now they were sitting squarely face-to-face with their knees just inches apart. She couldn’t remember his last question and didn’t want to look stupid by asking him to repeat himself. His long legs nearly brushed hers as she tried to think of something clever to say. All she could come up with was, “Do you read, Detective?”
“
Duncan
. My name is
Duncan
,” he said. The words were out before he realized it. For some reason, he didn’t want her to think of him as a nameless, faceless cop.
Duncan
gave himself a mental shake. Why the hell would I tell her that? She doesn’t need to know my first name. What is wrong with me?
“I read mysteries and historical biographies mostly, Miss Martin,”
Duncan
said, determined to get back on track. “But I didn’t come here to get a book.” He pulled a photograph out of his coat pocket, suddenly all business. “Have you seen this young lady around?” he asked, carefully watching her expression as she took the photo in her pale hand. He glanced quickly at her ring finger and was very pleased that it was bare.
The picture was the standard posed graduation photo of an unsmiling young girl with frizzy blonde hair, mascara smudged eyes, and a heart-shaped face. Jessie studied it for a moment and then said, “That’s Theresa. I don’t know her last name Why would you be looking for her? She’s not a prostitute.” Jessica watched
Duncan
’s expression change from aloof and impersonal to palatable relief. There’s more to this than just an investigation, Jessie thought to herself. “She stopped coming in last week, but she’ll be back.”
“Why do you say that?”
Duncan
asked, excitedly, reaching out to grab her wrist. “Do you know something? Did she leave something here?”
Jessica stared at his large, tanned hand, gripping her wrist so tightly. It wasn’t a romantic touch, but the contact with this man thrilled her anyway. She wondered why he seemed so interested in what she’d said. Did he perhaps have a personal interest in Theresa? Jessie hoped not.
“No,” Jessie said, easing her wrist out of his grasp, and holding the photo out to him. He took it from her and waited expectantly. “Theresa got a kick out of one of our sections,” Jessie said. “She knew I was expecting a shipment and liked going through them.”
“What section was that?”
Duncan
asked. He didn’t really know why this was relevant, but there was something in Jessie’s evasive manner that made him wildly curious about Theresa’s reading habits.
“Just one of our more unusual sections,” Jessie said, looking away from his intent gaze, she began clearing some imaginary dust off the table next to her with the edge of her hand. She glanced at him, and noted the cocked brow and determined, tight mouth.
“Okay. She liked our Victorian erotica section, alright?” Jessie said, as color rushed into her cheeks. Within moments she was bright pink from the base of her throat to the side part in her hair.
Duncan
felt like touching that small valley where her neck met her sweater to see if she was hot to the touch.
“Victorian erotica?” He asked, smiling again, loving the fact that she became more flustered by the moment.
“Yes, Victorian erotica,” she said, standing up so quickly, she nearly tripped over his size fourteen feet. He reached out to steady her, but she was already gone, heading down one of the long aisles behind them in a flurry of skirt. She was back in seconds and dropped a small, red book into his lap.
The book was called
Pearl
: A Journal of Facetive and Voluptuous
Reading
.
It looked innocent enough, so
Duncan
flipped it open to see what the big deal was. Several pages in he found an old-fashioned, black and white photograph of a proper looking woman in profile, bent over a spindly looking couch with her derriere in the air. The next page revealed that same woman with her skirt raised and a fussy-looking man in formal attire with pork chop sideburns, and a monocle, standing behind her. Upon closer inspection,
Duncan
realized that the man was enthusiastically spanking the woman with what appeared to be a riding crop.
Duncan
slapped the book closed and felt his own face flood with heat, thankful that his dark complexion would camouflage his blush. He handed the book back to Jessie who was sitting across from him again. She tucked it between the arm of the chair and her thigh, like she wanted to deny its existence. “Theresa thought these books were hilarious. She would sit back here and just laugh and laugh. She liked the pictures, but the language seemed to especially delight her.”