a surprise.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, catching the corner of her mouth. “We still on for tonight?”
Eve felt the back of her throat constrict.
“You bet.” The woman winked. Her deep-blue eyes matched the sapphire studs in her earlobes. “And speaking of tonight, I came in for a sports bra, and I somehow managed to walk out with this. Take a look. I couldn’t resist wearing it.” She leaned over and pulled out the neckline of her jacket.
Carter craned his neck. “Sorry, I can’t quite see.”
The woman pulled at his arm. “Well, don’t be shy. Come on over to the dressing room, and I’ll show you.”
“You think that’s wise?”
“God, Carter, you’d think I was going to show you something you’d never seen before.” She dragged him toward the dressing rooms. This was clearly a woman who didn’t take no for an answer.
“If you insist.” He looked back at Eve. “I’ll just be a sec.”
“Hmm-mmm,” Eve responded. He didn’t seem to put up much of a struggle, she noticed.
“Is that a hmm-mmm good or a hmm-mmm bad?” he called out.
“Oh, you know me. I’m nonjudgmental when it comes to underwear.” But not when it came to hot local cops.
2
EVE TURNED TO HER ASSISTANT Melodie. “Maybe we should rope off the back section and give them a little more privacy? Though, on second thought, I’m not sure we’re zoned for that type of activity.”
Melodie, a twenty-something with a Jennifer Anniston-style haircut, shrugged her shoulders. In the quest to emulate the casual coiffure of her favorite Friends actress, she religiously forked over outrageous sums to her stylist in Hamilton Square. “Jeez, Eve, don’t get in a snit. She bought a black camisole, not nude pasties. And frankly, it covers more skin than my tank top.”
Eve eyed Melodie’s skimpy, canary-yellow stretch shirt. She had been meaning to mention that wearing a top that seemingly defied the use of underwear was not the best look in a lingerie establishment. Still, in her riotous teenage years, Eve had been known to wear bib overalls over nothing but some well-placed Vaseline Intensive Care Body Lotion. Of course that was before responsibility had been thrust upon her. She didn’t even own bib overalls anymore.
Eve shrugged and looked toward the dressing rooms. “All right. It’s just that I was under the impression we were in the middle of a crime investigation.” Her tone sounded shrill, even to her.
Melodie straightened the pens in the canister by the cash register. “Well, it’s not like he had any choice in the matter.”
“She’s right, and I apologize profusely.” A confident female voice sounded, coming closer. “I didn’t realize Carter was here on business—though why he would be here otherwise might be just as fascinating.” She shook her head, causing her chin-length hair to shake perfunctorily. “Never mind.” She stuck out a large, very capable-looking hand. “I’m Simone Fahrer.”
Melodie announced from behind Eve, “Why don’t I go over and help those girls choose at least six pairs of boxers apiece? You can fill me in later.” She waggled her pencil-thin eyebrows and sashayed toward the front of the store. She was about as subtle as Betty Boop.
Eve sighed and stepped away from the counter. She put out her hand and shook Simone’s. The woman had a grip strong enough to be a teamster—though Eve couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a teamster in pinstripes, if you discounted Jimmy Hoffa, that is. “Eve Cantoro, I’m the owner.”
Carter stepped next to Simone. “Simone is an attorney in town.”
“Don’t let that prejudice you,” Simone assured her. “I’m really a very nice person.”
“No you’re not,” Carter said.
Simone made a face. “Maybe you’re right. But that’s beside the point. You have a duty to do.” She pointed to Eve. “Fix up whatever’s wrong with this lady, okay?”
“I’m trying to, provided I don’t get dragged into any more women’s dressing rooms.”
Eve cocked her head. “You found that unpleasant?”
“Well, actually, I always did kind of wonder,” Carter admitted.
Eve looked at him closely. “You realize you’re blushing, don’t you?”
Simone looked, too. “He is blushing.”
“You know, a less secure man might take offence,” Carter said.
Simone raised a skeptical eyebrow. “There’s no such thing as a totally secure male.” She looked to Eve. “Don’t you agree?”
Eve glanced at Carter Moran. The slight rosiness to his cheeks seemed to have abated, leaving a healthy tan and the dark stubble in its place. Some things he looked—in-secure wasn’t one of them.
She turned back to Simone. “In my experience, the only time a man is ever truly secure is sitting on a couch with the button of his jeans undone after eating a whole large pepperoni pizza and watching his favorite football team trounce their hated rival.”
Carter held a hand to his chest. “What? Women don’t feel that everything’s right with the world at moments like that?” He sounded deeply offended. He only looked more charming.
“Women don’t eat pizza with pepperoni,” Eve replied.
“A fear of nitrates?”
“Fear of all streams of orangey grease dribbling down at inopportune moments in all sorts of embarrassing places.” She licked her bottom lip, unaware of the implications until she saw Carter gulp.
Simone eyed Carter before addressing Eve. “I can see you’ve expanded his horizons. And I must say, it’s been an all around fascinating experience.” She came down heavily on the “fascinating.”
Eve plastered on a toothy smile. Unfortunately, one of her upper incisors was slightly crooked, so it didn’t have such a dazzling effect—at least, in Eve’s view. Growing up, orthodontia had been a luxury out of her family’s price range. “I hope you gave Melodie your address so that we can put you on our mailing list. We’ll let you know about our sales and special events.”
“You bet. This is my first time in, but you can be sure I’ll be back. Finally a place to find things to make a woman feel special.”
“Are you taking notes?” Eve asked Carter. “This could prove handy.”
“Sorry? I’m still a little stunned by whatever it was that Simone flashed me in the changing room.” Carter waggled a shaky finger in the general area of her torso.
Simone shrugged. “If I had only known that that was all it took. On the other hand, why am I surprised? Men are so predictable.”
“If we’re so predictable, why
