him, an enormous wad of pink gum cracking in her mouth. “I’ll make this quick. During the past week, I’ve been watching Bobbie and you get closer and closer. I like you, and I think you have a whole lot of potential for making her happy. I also think you two make a hot match. But if you hurt her, I will get even, no ifs, ands or buts about it.”
“But—”
“It won’t be pretty,” Crystal continued as if he hadn’t tried to speak. “I’m talking about a bikini wax that starts at your head and goes to the bottom of your feet. It’ll get particularly nasty and painful in areas that are most sensitive to you. Got that, O’Shea?”
“Yes, I do. And I can promise you that I don’t want to hurt Bobbie,” he simply answered. In fact, he didn’t plan to get involved with Bobbie in such a way that hurting was even an option.
“Good intentions don’t count here. Hurt her like that larvae-headed Jasper did, and I start heating the wax. A huge vat of it.”
And with that bizarre threat, Crystal snatched the Frisbee from him and walked away.
“A problem with Crystal?” Bobbie asked when Aidan joined her. She clicked off the phone and tossed it aside on the blanket.
“No.” But then Aidan caught sight of her outfit. There was the problem. Man, he might have to classify her clothes as deadly weapons. She wore denim shorts. The operative word being short. And a tiny little knit flowered top that not only accented her breasts but also showed a couple of inches of her midriff.
She smiled, caught onto his hand and had him sit next to her. “It looks like rain, but it’s still a nice day for a picnic, don’t you think?”
Aidan nodded. It was an even nicer day for planting some wet kisses on her stomach.
He mentally kicked himself. No sexy thoughts today, especially after that waxing threat from Crystal. Besides, with their luck, he’d get his tongue caught on Bobbie’s navel ring, and it’d require major surgery to get them untangled. Then everyone in town would know about his sudden, unexplainable navel fetish.
She put her mouth right next to his ear. “Everyone in town is here,” she whispered. Her hot, cinnamony breath brushed against his cheek and neck. “After today, I doubt you’ll get another Beeping Tom report.”
No, but he might have to deal with a permanent state of arousal.
Heck.
Why did he have this reaction to Bobbie? Why couldn’t his brain figure out that an entanglement, any entanglement, with her would be too high-maintenance? For better or worse, she had her roots firmly planted, and firmly planted was the very thing Aidan planned to avoid.
“I just got my latest copy of Travel-or-Bust Monthly.” Bobbie grinned and held up the glossy magazine for him to see. She began to flip through the pages. “There’s an article about Boston, and they talk about the swan boats in the Public Gardens. Sounds like a blast.”
He smiled at her enthusiasm. “They are.”
“Listen to this,” she continued. She wiggled closer until their heads, shoulders and hips were pressed together. “‘Glide through an urban oasis and feel your troubles slip away. Although a short ride, this trip through a sun-dappled lagoon will carry you to another time. Another place. All you have to do is relax and let the sun and city caress you.’”
“Caress, huh?” Aidan repeated.
Not the best choice of words when his mind was on other types of caresses.
“Afternoon, Bobbie and Aidan,” Winston called out. He was dressed in an Old West getup and was carrying an enormous mackerel-shaped watermelon on his shoulder. Five women of varying ages were following him, apparently vying for his attention. One of the females was using a walker and was doing her best to keep up.
“The seed-spitting contest is about to start,” Winston added. “Don’t miss it.”
Bobbie gave her uncle a distracted wave and got back to the article. “It talks about the museums and the shops. You are so lucky to have been born there.”
“I guess. But a lot of people would think you were lucky to be born here in Liffey.”
Her gaze met his. She blinked. And paused. “Do you really think I’m lucky?”
“Well, Liffey’s not a big city, but it’s thriving. And it’s, uh, quaint in a non-touristy sort of way.” At that exact moment, her Uncle Quincy hurried past them. He had a ferret on a leash. A ferret wearing a pair of tiny raccoon-print boxers complete with a fake bushy tail. “Well, it’s quaint, or something.”
What was left of Bobbie’s smile evaporated. “Yeah. Or something.”
So, she had a point. Liffey wasn’t exactly a normal place with normal residents. He’d seen a lot of weird things, but never a leashed ferret wearing raccoon-print boxer shorts.
“Have you ever thought about taking a break from the factory so you can travel?” he asked.
She shrugged and turned her gaze back to the magazine. “My uncles have owned Boxers or Briefs for nearly thirty-five years. It’s a family business, and since my folks died, I’m the only family left around to run it. My cousin, Wes, isn’t a good candidate because he’ll eventually have to take over for Sheriff Cooper. And I can’t very well ask my uncles to come out of retirement just because I want to travel.”
Family duty. Yep, he understood that. It was what brought him home for holidays and an assortment of births, weddings and funerals—or as he liked to call them: hatch, match and dispatch events. But Aidan also understood that wistful, longing look in Bobbie’s eyes.
Definite wanderlust.
He hated to tell her that it was an itch that was awfully hard to satisfy by staying in one place. Especially a place like Liffey.
Because he had an overwhelming urge to touch her, Aidan picked a piece of grass off her knee. What he didn’t do was move his hand even after he’d tossed the grass aside. He just sat there, touching her bare knee while she turned the page to a glossy picture of Beacon Street.
“I talked with Sheriff Cooper about the missing underwear,” Aidan informed her. Maybe if he discussed business, his brain wouldn’t dwell on Bobbie’s body. “He thought maybe we should take a harder look at Rudy Tate, your floor manager.”
She paused and pursed her lips. “I guess it’s possible he was involved, but I can’t imagine why he’d do it.”
“Maybe he’s selling it?” Even though Aidan didn’t want to speculate about how someone would go about finding an illegal market for thongs.
“Miss Callahan?” a man called out.
Aidan braced himself for one of the uncles, but their visitor wasn’t a local Liffey-ite.
“Oh, God.” Bobbie put the magazine in front of her face and tried to hide. “That’s Mr. Eidelson, the maker of that awful Sensuous Musk Massage Oil that attracted the critters. I hope he doesn’t see me.”
“Too late. He’s headed right for you.”
She
