“I wasn’t aware Camilla had any friends.”
Fantasy Woman laughed through her nose as if she couldn’t help herself. He thought he might die from the thrill the sound sent through his body.
“What’s your name?”
“Nick.” He frowned. She was supposed to be givinghiminformation, not the other way around.
She inhaled deeply. Those amber eyes narrowed on him. Bedroom eyes. Soul-stealing eyes. Goddamn, she was sexy. He felt her presence warm his bones like a tropical breeze.
“What are you?”
“Detective,” he mumbled. What the hell was with the oversharing? He mentally shook himself.
“DetectiveNick.” Her gaze flicked down to the gun holstered under his shoulder. “If you know what kind of people Camilla and Gerald are, why are you here?” Again, she inhaled, leaning toward him. Did he stink? It had been a long night. He resisted the urge to sniff himself.
“Look, sweetheart, I’m on duty here. Security. You need to tell me your full name. Nobody cleared you to be here. I’m going to have to call this in and get a verbal confirmation from Camilla.”
One of her hands reached out to dance her blood-red nails across the tops of Camilla’s shoes. Goddamn, he could imagine how those nails would feel on his skin. Gently trailing down his chest. Digging into his back. He shifted, wishing he had something to hold in front of his pants. He needed a cold shower and to get his brain out of fantasyland.
Ignoring his request for a name, she hooked her long, elegant fingers into a pair of black Louboutins. The overhead light glinted off her ring as she removed the shoes from the shelf. That thing was a monster. Anyone who could afford a ruby of that size didn’t need to be borrowing anyone else’s shoes. Close now, she looked at him through her lashes and waved the shoes as if they were all the explanation he should need to let her go. He blocked the door with his body.
“Easy enough to clear this up,” he said. “I’ll give Camilla a shout.” He raised his phone to his ear.
In the blink of an eye, her hand wrapped around his wrist and squeezed. He paused, his finger hovering over the Call button. Her touch sent a delicious rush through him that made his cock twitch. He lowered the phone.
“Did you know the Stevensons’ actions are shutting down a community center that serves at-risk kids?” She glared at him. “How can you defend people like that?”
“Huh?” All he could see was her lips. All that existed was her perfume, a smoky citrus-and-cinnamon scent that drove him wild. His breath hitched.
“Camilla and Gerald bought the land out from under them. They’re shutting it down. Over a hundred needy kids use that facility. It’s a lifeline for some of them. You know how guys like Stevenson work. He’ll probably turn it into a Baby Gap.”
Nick swallowed. He’d been an at-risk kid himself at one time and had spent many afternoons inside his local community center. While he wasn’t aware of the specific scenario, he’d be the last one to approve of such a thing. Still, it didn’t matter. Although he sympathized, she didn’t belong here, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that she still hadn’t told him her damn name.
“I don’t know anything about that.” He planted his hand on the doorframe, boxing her in. “Tell me who you are now and I’ll clear this mess up with Camilla.” He suspected she wasn’t there for shoes, but he wished she was, wished there was a reason he could let her go and maybe get her number while he was at it.
He blinked and she was gone, ducked under his arm. She strolled through the bedroom toward the doors to the balcony. Damn, she moved fast. And as he looked back into the closet, he could see why. A jewelry drawer was open and whatever had been inside was gone, three empty impressions in the blue velvet.
He whirled and drew his gun, leveling it on the woman. “Stop!”
“Are you going to shoot me, Detective? For borrowing shoes?” Her red lips spread into a smile.
“Drop the shoes and put your hands up,” he said firmly. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
She set the shoes down on the bed and opened the doors to the balcony. The ocean breeze coasted in around her, delivering another dose of her scent to his nostrils. He loosened his grip on his gun. He wasn’t worried. She was unarmed, and there was nowhere for her to go.
“You can’t get out that way, ma’am,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re too high up to jump without injuring yourself. Step back into the room and let’s talk about this. Tell me who you are.”
She backed onto the balcony and flashed him a wicked grin. “I’m a ghost.”
Nick almost discharged his weapon. In the blink of an eye, his fantasy woman completely disappeared.
Chapter Two
Nick Grandstaff found himself in Gerald Stevenson’s world-class kitchen with a vague memory that there was something he’d forgotten, something important. His mind felt cloudy, and the faintest scent of oranges lingered in his nostrils. He rubbed his temples and concentrated. Nothing but brain fog. What the hell was he doing in here?
Jesus Christ, was that an espresso machine or a space ship? His stomach growled. Maybe he’d been hungry. That didn’t make sense—he never ate on the job, especially not his client’s food.
He turned on his heel and returned to the family room. Rounds, he was doing rounds. Shaking his head, he gave his neck a hard rub. He had a splitting headache. Fuck, this thing was a migraine. He could hardly think.
