at the library and we like to provide a snack for them.”
And while she’d been out doing those regular-life things, someone had invaded her home and wreaked havoc.
Jade finally looked, really looked, at her bedroom. Her sanctuary.
Unlike rumors of the other thefts, which were simple cases of an underwear drawer being dumped on the floor and a pair of panties taken, Jade’s room was trashed. Lingerie strewn about like confetti after a drunken bachelor party, her possessions knocked over, books not only thrown from the shelves but ripped in half.
Who the hell ripped up books? Forgetting that she shouldn’t touch anything, she knelt down to gingerly lift the ravaged pages she immediately recognized as Madame Bovary.
This was a complete and utter nightmare. Swallowing hard as the full impact hit her, she straightened and pressed one hand against her churning gut, trying to see through the swirling black fogging her vision.
“It’s not that bad,” he said. He didn’t sound distant anymore. Instead, his voice was soothing and mellow, almost friendly. She wished he’d stuck with the uptight tone.
“Compared to what?” she asked, furious at the tears clogging her throat. She didn’t cry. Tears were useless, stupid. Even angry tears.
“Compared to what my place would look like if someone did this,” he said, his words teasing. “Car magazines ripped apart, boxers dangling from the lamp. A Speedo hanging in the window for all to see.”
His mock shudder made her laugh.
“Speedo?” Her now-clear gaze skimmed his body, from the T-shirt tight over hard, flat abs down his narrow hips. For just a second, she let her eyes rest on his zipper, imagining what he looked like in a teeny-tiny piece of spandex. She grinned, somehow sure he could make the fashion faux pas sexy.
“Really?”
“A gag gift from the guys at the station house. These thieves have no respect for quality, low or high.”
Her eyes soft with appreciation for how easily he’d pulled her back from the edge of hysteria, Jade nodded. Well, well. Looked like Hottie Cop was more than just a gorgeous face and rock-hard body. Which qualified him as the hottest fantasy material she’d ever encountered.
An empowered woman would go for it, right?
Nerves danced the cha-cha in her stomach. She wanted hot sex. She wanted a fling. And she was empowered, dammit. But could she actually chase a perfect stranger with the intention of getting him naked?
It was as if Santa had heard her wish, decided she’d been such a good girl that she deserved a chance to try her hand at being really, really bad. But only if she was brave enough to play.
She wanted to be brave. She really did. But as she told the girls in her workshops, some things you had to work up to. Small, consistent steps. She swallowed hard, looking around the mess. Maybe she should clean up her underwear first. Then she could work on being brave.
DIEGO’D FIGURED that life’s little ironies were what kept things interesting. Or provided the best torture. It was always a toss-up which was which. Letting his gaze cruise over the woman in the doorway, he figured this was proof yet again. Without the intense four-inch studded boots, maybe five feet and four inches could be measured between her toes and the top of her pale blond head. Mussed and a little wild, her hair looked as if she’d shoved her hands through it a few times, letting the bangs flop down in a long sweep over her eye and down to her shoulders. Sharp, angled features, huge green eyes and lips made to give a man sweaty dreams rounded out the fairylike looks.
Her body was a series of slender lines and soft curves. Legs nice enough to make his mouth water were tucked into boots that had enough edge to assure him that, despite her sweet face, she and the plethora of seductive lingerie were, indeed, well suited.
“I know it’s difficult to tell, given the state of the room,” he said, trying to bring his focus back to the case instead of wondering how it’d feel to have her wrap those gorgeous legs of hers around his waist. Or better yet, over his shoulders. Diego closed his eyes for a second, trying to find control. Kinnison, he reminded himself, letting the name work like a cold shower. “But can you tell if anything’s missing?”
“Not without going through it all,” she said. She took a deep breath, her breasts pressing against the heavy weight of that purple sweater and making his palms itch. “Can I touch anything?”
A list of possibilities, all better fondled while naked, flashed through his mind. Diego blinked twice trying to clear the deliciously tempting images away.
“Yeah, sure. Just touch the fabric, though. I need to dust the hard surfaces for prints. But I’ll wait until you get your delicates picked up.”
Diego slid the black silk he’d picked up earlier between his fingers, luxuriating in the softness. He’d bet the blonde’s skin was even smoother, softer.
Suddenly the crappy assignment took on a tempting sort of appeal. The kind of appeal that was likely to get him in trouble. Because he was pretty sure charming a victim into bed was on the Don’t list in Kinnison’s rulebook.
Still …
“Nice panties,” Diego said with a smile as lethal as the weapon strapped to his side. “I’m impressed.”
“Yeah?” Kneeling on the floor to scoop up an armful, she gave him a teasing look from beneath lush lashes. “You’re impressed by my underwear?”
“The quantity is a little awe-inspiring,” he said, sidestepping the truth—and his interest—by keeping his words cool and distant.
A tiny frown creased her brow, as if she was disappointed he hadn’t taken the flirtation bait. Then she focused on her lingerie again. And growled. The sound was low and sexy. The kind of sound a woman might make during sex. Wild sex. Wild, mind-blowing, “do it two more times to see if it was really that good,” sex. Good thing this was a temp assignment and an easy case to wrap up. Because he was pretty sure this was a woman who could actually make him whimper.
“What kind of lowlife dirtbag treats silk this way?” the blonde muttered, cussing under her breath as she held a teeny-tiny pink leopard-print nightie. “What’s the deal? I thought this creep was all about stealing panties. Why would he mess with my nightgowns?”
Forcing his attention away from the curve of her ass as she bent over to scoop armfuls of cotton nighties and sleep shorts, Diego considered the question. It was a good one, the same he’d been wondering himself when she’d walked in.
“Were they in the same drawer?” Unless her drawer was the size of a closet, he already knew the answer was no.
“I keep my lingerie in the armoire, my nighties and pajamas are in the chest of drawers.”
Diego frowned, noting the two pieces of furniture she’d indicated were on separate walls. It’d be easy to assume the destruction was the result of frustration from not finding her panties right off. But it felt like more. This felt personal.
“We’re probably dealing with a kid or some perv with an underwear fetish,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. That’d been his—and the deputies’ who’d written the previous reports—assumption of the case. But
