then back up to her. His eyes bore into hers with dark intensity, and she shivered, certain he’d touched her without even lifting a finger. “Trust me, lady. That picture rubs me a lot of ways, but wrong isn’t one of them.”
“Oh,” she said stupidly. Intelligent thought abandoned her, replaced by the image of her and Detective Parker in the back of a black stretch limo....
Her cheeks heated and she looked away, suddenly fascinated with a brown stain on the ancient vinyl flooring.
He must have picked up on her discomfort, because he took the print from her and turned it facedown on the table. “I didn’t mean to offend you earlier. I don’t work robberies, and I’m not assigned to your case. I thought you were somebody else.” Absently, he picked up the postcard she’d been examining and began tracing the outline with his fingertip.
She waited for him to keep talking, but he stayed silent, apparently waiting to gauge her reaction.
This was all very odd. Part of her wanted to jump out of the chair, chew him out for being a jerk and run back into the main room to help Joan with the customers. Another part of her just wanted to sit and stare into those fabulous eyes.
Besides, she didn’t really want to run from him. If what he said was true, he’d actually gone out of his way to help her by investigating her robbery even though it wasn’t his case. And she didn’t really have any reason to doubt him. After all, the police clerk had told her that neither Parker nor Donovan had anything to do with investigating the robbery. Which left some big questions—who had he mistaken her for, and why was he here?
“Okay, Officer.” She took a deep breath. “Keep talking.”
“Detective,” he said as he laid the postcard faceup on the table between them, like a gambler playing his card. “I need help. With this,” he said, glancing down at the card. He looked up again, his eyes burning into her. “I’m assigned to the sex crimes division.”
She frowned. “Sex crimes?”
He nodded. “I’m investigating a stalker.”
“That stuff you showed me...”
“That’s what he’s been leaving. His calling cards, you could say.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you. How can I help?”
“You’re an expert on this stuff, right? Well, I need an education.” He smiled, and her heart picked up its tempo. “An erotic education.”
Lord have mercy.
The thought that this man, this six-foot-something hunk of pure maleness needed help in anything erotic was almost beyond comprehension. The entire situation was surreal. They were sitting in a break room, of all places, surrounded by plastic and Formica, lit with fluorescent lighting. Nothing could be less sensual, and yet every nerve ending in her body was hyperaware. Her pulse beat in her throat, and she was sure her palms were sweating.
“I realize it’s not an ordinary request, but I can probably scrounge up some sort of hourly rate. A consulting fee.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”
She nodded vaguely. He made it all sound so professional, so academic. But academic or not, lessons in erotica with this man would be dangerous...in an absolutely delicious way.
“Miss Archer?”
Nibbling on her lower lip, she glanced down at the card on the table. He was waiting for her answer, waiting for her to put her cards on the table
She picked up the postcard, taking another look at the flapper whose erotic adventures she’d been so envious of only moments before. Then she lifted her eyes to look once again at the man. The shadow of his beard. Those enigmatic eyes. The sturdy angle of his jaw. All of it put together in a face that somehow pushed her senses into overdrive.
If she were thinking rationally, she’d ask more questions, would try to figure out exactly what he needed. After all, she had a business to run and a dissertation to write.
But on the other hand, in a lot of ways he was the answer to her prayers. If she could honestly tell Nat that she had an in with the cops—a source for information about the investigation—surely that would be enough to get him on that plane.
And the work did sound right up her alley....
But all that was just an excuse, a blatant justification for the real truth—that instinct, primal, pure and dangerous, had taken over. Here was a man who’d made her blood burn since the first moment she saw him, who in five minutes had left her with damp panties and a yearning for more. And that was only after talking business. Just imagine if they’d actually been discussing erotica....
Perhaps she was behaving foolishly, but she wanted to keep him around, even if only for a few more hours.
Slowly, she laid the card back on the table. “It looks like you win, Detective. Class begins promptly at eight.”
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