hurried to peel off the long-sleeved shirt he wore before Tracie could change her mind.
Tracie nearly gasped at the sight of Heath in a snug black T-shirt, but swallowed her exclamation while struggling to keep her expression unaffected. She’d already guessed the man worked out, but his well-developed muscles still took her by surprise, especially at close range. He was a powerfully built, handsome man. She focused her attention on the injury on his arm.
White tape secured a thick gauze bandage to his right triceps muscle on the underside of his arm toward the back, a place where it would have been nearly impossible for him to examine it himself. She tentatively reached for the dressing. “Do you want me to peel this back?”
“Yeah, go ahead and take a peek.”
Stepping closer, she tugged gently on one corner of the tape. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“That tape’s nothing compared to what’s under it.”
“I suppose not,” Tracie peeled back the tape and winced at the sight of the wound underneath. “Oh.” She couldn’t suppress her reaction.
“That bad?”
“It’s like something took a bite out of your arm.”
“It did. Does it look infected?”
“Not really. It looks like it’s healing.” She peered a little closer, close enough to smell the scent of the antibiotic that covered the injury. Another smell teased at her nose—something masculine and slightly spicy. She breathed a little deeper, then realized she was probably sniffing Heath’s aftershave. Self-conscious, she took a half step back.
“I guess you don’t need a doctor after all,” she noted, smoothing her hand over the tape, barely daring to press down lest she hurt him. “There.” She slid one fingertip around the edge of the bandage to be sure it was secure. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks.” He turned slowly to face her. He stood too close, and his expression was intense, his eyes smoldering.
Tracie felt overwhelmed. It had been such a long day. Her nerves had been shot long before he’d shown up on her porch with pizza, and her mind was still muddled from dinner. Talking to him had eased a weight off her shoulders. It had made her feel closer to him, too. Now he stood mere inches from her with a look on his face she’d never seen before, yet somehow she knew exactly what it meant.
She took a deep breath and tried to clear her thoughts, but instead found herself breathing in more of the faded scent he wore. “You smell good.” The words escaped from her mouth before she even realized she’d been consciously thinking them.
“So do you.” His fingers touched her hair where it hung past her chin.
About to deny it, she realized what he was referring to. “Oh, my shampoo.”
“It smells fruity. Strawberries?” He leaned closer to her, his nose nearly brushing her temple as he inhaled her scent.
“No, passion fruit,” she blurted, and immediately blushed. There was no way she could let whatever was happening between them continue. He was getting too close. She took a step back. “Sorry. You just smell so much better than Trevor.”
“How did Trevor smell?” Heath must have sensed her discomfort, because he grabbed his other shirt and pulled it back on.
“Awful,” she said emphatically, hoping to bury whatever had just happened under a mountain of words. “He wore this ridiculous, expensive cologne. I asked him about it once because it was so strong, and he told me how much he paid for it. I don’t remember what he said it cost, but it was a lot, and he always used way too much so that it followed him in a cloud. I’ve never smelled anything like it before or since. Except—” She caught herself a moment too late and stopped.
“Except what?” Heath’s steel-blue eyes watched her as several seconds ticked by. “Don’t tell me it was nothing. You were going to say something. You’ve never smelled anything like Trevor’s cologne except what?”
“It really was nothing,” Tracie sighed.
“Then it shouldn’t be any big deal for you to tell me.”
“It’s not even worth telling.”
“Prove it. Tell me and I’ll tell you if it was worth telling or not.”
Tracie’s tired mind spun as she tried to follow Heath’s logic. She felt completely exhausted: mentally, physically, and especially emotionally. “Fine. I smelled Trevor’s cologne at his house on Saturday, just before we were shot at. But how can that mean anything? It was his house. He wore so much of that stuff it was bound to linger even though he’s been dead for over a month. The smell will probably never come out of his carpets.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “So see? It really was nothing.”
“And that’s all?”
Tracie wanted to nod, to claim there had never been anything more to what she was thinking, but she couldn’t lie to him. “And I smelled it at Tim’s house this morning. Very faintly. I was so distracted by everything else I didn’t even think about it until just now, but I guess it makes sense. Tim was Trevor’s brother. Why wouldn’t his place carry a little bit of his smell?”
“Had you smelled it before when you’d gone over there?”
“I’d only been twice before.”
“And you smelled it there then?” Tracie hesitated.
Heath took a step closer to her, and his hand fell on her arm.
She felt the warmth of his touch run straight to her heart.
“No,” she admitted reluctantly. “Today was the first time.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Heath leaned toward her and whispered the words, his eyes meeting hers, his hand still on her arm.
Tracie nearly looked away, but there was something in his expression that told her he wasn’t out to hurt her like Trevor always had been. For a moment, she allowed herself to bask in the reassuring feeling that she wasn’t alone on this case—that Heath was working on her side. Was Heath really someone she could trust? She wanted so much to believe it was true.
Gunnar’s sharp barking brought her back to reality, and she looked down to see her dog nosing Heath in the leg, obviously trying to push him away.
“Looks like we’ve got a chaperone,” Heath said softly, stepping back and pulling his hand away.
Tracie didn’t know how to respond. She knew she ought to be glad her dog had the good sense to break them apart before they got any closer, but as reality returned with its crushing weight, she almost considered offering to put the dog out in the yard. But now that they were no longer standing so close, Gunnar didn’t seem nearly as concerned. He hunkered down and put his head on her left foot, as though staking his claim.
Her silence must have concerned Heath, because he quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I know you said you don’t fraternize with coworkers. I should respect your personal space.”
“It’s
