shirt, leggings, white socks and workout shoes into a fashion statement. Now she looked incredibly polished in a trim, traffic-stopping red suit. It occurred to Jake the woman could wear a gunnysack and look good.
“I knocked,” he said, angling his head toward the reception area. “Your secretary’s not around.”
“My assistant, Melvin…Mel, is in the kitchen making tea. I always have tea after my daily yoga session.”
“Yoga? Is that what that was?” Pushing away from the door, Jake roamed into the office, cataloging the chairs and sofas upholstered in peach, gleaming wood tables and glowing brass lamps, all arranged against a background of soft tan walls. “I thought yoga was where you sit on the floor with your legs crossed and your palms up.”
“That’s a different discipline. I study under Sebastian.”
“Under?”
Her chin lifted. “He’s my instructor. Sebastian says the best positions are those that put you into the moment.”
Jake paused inches from her. The smoldering scent that had settled around him in the outer room now snaked into his lungs. He felt the quick, helpless pull of need, and damned both himself and her for it. “Sebastian has a point,” he agreed. “That position certainly put me into the moment.”
Nicole could feel the hammer of her heart against her ribs as she gazed up into Jake’s dark eyes. His black hair skimmed the collar of the white dress shirt he wore beneath a blue sport coat. A bright paisley tie hung down the front of the shirt; his faded jeans accentuated his lean, muscular thighs and rangy build. He looked, she thought as her stomach muscles knotted, irresistibly handsome.
The spicy male tang of his cologne drifted around her, conjuring up the heady moments she’d spent dancing in his arms.
He’s not what you want, she reminded herself, and took a step backward.
“Can I help you with something?” As she spoke, she slid her feet into the pair of spiky red heels she’d toed off earlier.
“Yeah—” Obviously aware of movement behind him, Jake turned.
Nicole watched his sharp cop’s eyes narrow as they took in the man who’d stepped through the door carrying a small tray. Her assistant was tall with dark blond hair, blue eyes and a square jaw. Today, Mel was dressed in neat slacks and a white shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders. In the four months he’d worked for her, Mel’s efficient, friendly demeanor had won her undying gratitude. Her decision to help pay for his college tuition had garnered her assistant’s total devotion.
“Oh, sorry, boss,” he said with an easy smile. “Didn’t realize you were with a client.”
“It’s all right.” Glad for an excuse to distance herself from Jake, Nicole moved to the seating area in one corner of the office. “Sergeant Ford isn’t a client.”
A thought had her hesitating when she reached the coffee table around which a love seat and two wing chairs were grouped. She gave Jake a look across her shoulder. “Unless you’re here because you’ve decided to go out with the gorgeous doctor?”
“I’m here about Ormiston.”
The tightness she’d felt in her chest since she found Phillip’s body intensified. She’d lain awake all night, haunted by images of her client collapsed on the marble floor at the base of the staircase, of his glassy, sightless eyes….
“I need to look at his file,” Jake said.
“Of course.” She nudged a few magazines to one side of the table. When a gold pen rolled across the table’s polished surface and onto the toe of her shoe, she frowned.
“Something wrong, boss?” Mel asked.
“No.” Realizing who the pen belonged to, she slid it into her suit pocket, then swept a hand at the table. “Just put the tray here, Mel. And please bring in Mr. Ormiston’s file.”
“Sure.”
She met Jake’s gaze. Because she wanted to maintain as much distance from him as possible, she gestured toward one of the wing chairs. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, settling onto the love seat.
“No, thanks.”
“The tea’s Siberian ginseng,” Mel pointed out.
Despite the tenseness that gripped her, Nicole fought a smile at her assistant’s expectant look. Not in any circumstance could she picture Jake Ford sipping tea out of a china cup.
“I’ll pass.”
With a shrug, Mel settled the tray holding her favorite china teapot and matching cup and saucer on the table.
“How about some coffee instead?” Mel asked. “We have several blends. Or maybe you’d prefer an espresso or latte?”
“Just the file.”
“Sparkling water?” Mel persisted.
Jake raised a dark eyebrow. “The file.”
“I’ll bring it right in.”
While Mel headed toward the door, Nicole picked up the teapot. She felt the intensity of Jake’s gaze on her while she filled her cup.
“Siberian ginseng?” he asked. “That one of Sebastian’s brews?”
“No, Mel blends all of our teas. He gets the ingredients from his uncle Zebulon, who cultivates fresh herbs as a hobby.”
Jake leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs. “Tell me something. Do you know any normal people?”
She blinked. “Normal?”
“Somebody who doesn’t know what the hell a biorhythm or yoga discipline is? One person who doesn’t give a damn if their capillaries breathe because they’re too busy loading their system with fried food and black coffee? Someone who can find a date on their own without paying to get fixed up?”
Raising the china cup to her mouth, Nicole forced herself to project an outward calm. She took pride in her work and her lifestyle, and she did not appreciate the man’s cynical attitude. However much she’d like to smash her teacup over his head, she wouldn’t do it.
“You, Sergeant,” she said coolly. “From seeing the fast-food sacks in the back of your car, I’d say you’re overly normal. Probably veering toward average. Perhaps even on the dull side.”
The instant narrowing of his eyes gave her some small sense of satisfaction. It also reminded her of how irresistibly drawn she was to his intense, dark looks…and how intrigued she was by the man.
He sat back in the chair, raised a hand. “Look, I didn’t mean—”
Whether he was about to apologize she would never know because Mel chose that moment to whisk back through the door.
“Need anything else, boss?” He gave her his usual warm smile while handing her Phillip Ormiston’s file.
“Not
