Hot Prospect. Julie Kistler
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glance his way. He didn’t look too upset by the short-shorts problem. In fact, he looked positively…intrigued. Zoë swallowed. Yep, he was still looking at her.
After tugging the edge of her shorts down, she pushed a few tendrils of hair back into her braids, blew on her face and hoped she wasn’t too flushed. Oh, forget it. She looked hideous. There was no point in trying to spruce herself up at this point. The light she’d seen in his eyes must be her imagination. No man in the world sent out vibes of interest to a woman who looked like this.
Careful to avoid all the spilled cards, she edged around so that at least her front side was facing him. And then she gave him a real once-over. Okay, twice. He knew she was looking. She knew he knew. And she didn’t care. Because the view was that good.
Light brown hair, cut short. Good, clean jawline. Blue eyes. Very blue. There was a sort of speculative, suspicious look in those eyes she found oddly attractive. That and his mouth. He had these quirky lips, kind of narrow and clever, fuller on the bottom. She liked the look of those lips. A lot.
He was tall, maybe six foot one or two, with broad shoulders, and a real presence. Nothing she could put her finger on but… Alive. Vital. Rooted. Right here. Right now. He looked like the kind of guy you would run to when a tornado just blew your house away and you didn’t have a thing left in the world and you didn’t care because you had him.
Zoë’s eyes met his. Good Lord, he was cute. In a very traditional, button-down, authority-figure way, of course, which was not her type at all. So incredibly and completely not her type. He’d pulled a gun on her, for goodness’ sake!
Now if he would only stop sending her those sizzling glances. They made her want to run to him and tackle him. Which was probably a very bad thing. She vowed to do a better job of being immune to whatever he was sending out.
She lifted her chin. “Why in the world did you come barreling in like that? Pointing that thing at me!”
“I heard thumps and a scream. The door was open, there was a definite haze in here, and it smelled like marijuana.” He looked kind of grouchy as he scanned the room again. “How many candles are you burning? And why?”
“I don’t think how many candles I’m burning is any of your business. And it’s sandalwood, not marijuana. Jeez Louise, what kind of cop are you?”
“I thought there might be a burglary in progress, or maybe some kind of drug party gone bad,” he explained curtly. “That does not smell like sandalwood. You’re not burning the candles to cover the pot smell, are you? Is anyone else here? Is there a back door?”
“No, no, and no. I’m alone. The candles are supposed to be good for meditation. I don’t have a back door.” She took a sniff. Good grief. He was right. It didn’t smell like sandalwood. No wonder she wasn’t getting any calmer. “I’m going to have to have a talk with the lady at the New Age store downstairs. She swore these were sandalwood.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, it’s true.” She tried to plant her hands on her hips and look menacing, but her hand hit the smooth, hard edge of the tarot card poking out of her back pocket. Hmm…one card in her pocket. If one fell out or otherwise distanced itself from the pack, that was supposed to be significant. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced down.
“That’s odd,” she murmured. It was a swirling pink card with two pretty swans outlined by a heart, with two tiny kissing cupids at the top. The two of hearts.
The True Love card.
Her heart did a little flip, but she ignored it. Instead she glared at the card in her hand. Talk about adding insult to injury. Even her tarot cards were mocking her.
So where was this True Love supposed to pop up? Between her and…
“Hello?” the cute cop interrupted. “If you’re done playing cards, I need to talk to you.”
Him? She gulped. Those beautiful blue eyes were staring at her, burning more steadily than all eleven candles. Her heart started to thump, beating to the most bizarre rhythm. True love. True love. True love. She felt all tingly, and her face was flushed with heat. What was wrong with her?
It was probably just the effect of too many aromatic candles, infecting her brain. Or maybe she’d hit her head harder than she realized. There was no romantic glow here at all. Just smoke and humidity.
She fanned herself with the two of hearts, using her other hand to pluck the neckline of her damp leotard away from her skin. Anything to generate some air. Cool down, chill out, she told herself. But she didn’t feel remotely cool or chilly.
Especially when his gaze seemed to catch and hold there on her chest. His eyes widened. She swallowed, surreptitiously casting a quick look down to see what he was staring at. Overheated Zoë. Wet leotard. Breasts that might as well have been bare in that thin, moist top, her nipples peaking against the slippery, wet fabric.
Uh-oh. She dropped the True Love card like a shot, kicking it out of the way as she quickly wrapped her arms over her front and turned away.
She was not, as it happened, all that shy about her body. She was used to leading her dance class in a skimpy leotard all the time. But this felt different. It felt like…dancing naked in front of a complete stranger. Even worse, it felt like dancing naked, totally on purpose and with one seductive reason, in front of your lover.
She couldn’t handle it. Pulling her top out in front, hoping she looked nonchalant, she unstuck it and flapped it harder, trying to dry herself off. But when she hazarded a glance back around at him, his gaze met hers, blazing like a beacon, and it was like, Pow! Kazam! Major meltdown happening here!
What the…?
Sometimes she had feelings about people, or even a little intuition, but nothing as overwhelming and hot as this. She didn’t just get an aura from him. No, this was like a laser beam, searing her all the way to the soul. I know him, she thought, shocked at the very idea. I know him!
He blinked, looking just as surprised as she was. Jake. One minute she had no idea who he was, and the next his name was right there in her brain, clear as day. His name was Jake. How did she know that?
Zoë took a step backward. This couldn’t be happening. One tarot card did not a lover make. And yet there was some kind of cosmic attraction going on here, and they both knew it.
She wasn’t used to this instant-electricity thing. She wasn’t used to looking at a guy for five minutes, thinking about laser beams and naked dancing, and totally wanting to jump him.
She was coming undone.
“Oh, dear! Well, I, uh…” She put a hand to her forehead, attempting to find something else in the room that needed her attention. But there wasn’t anything there. “The candles…it’s so hot in here. Maybe it’s the candles.”
Behind her, he cleared his throat. “You really should blow those out,” he said stiffly. “They’re a fire hazard.”
As she moved to blow out the nearest two, she stopped, glancing at him over her shoulder, her gaze skittering away again. She tried to make a joke, anything to puncture this bizarre mood. “So tell me, did you come here to bust me for excess candle burning?”
“No, actually, I came because…” He stopped. Sounding even more unsettled than she felt, he continued, “I’m looking for Zoë Kidd. Is that you?”
“Yes. But I didn’t…” She was planning on saying she didn’t have any reason to need a police officer when it hit her.
If there was a cop looking for her, there could only be one reason. Her shoulders slumped. Wylie. He’d probably run up a few too many parking tickets again. The very thought of Wylie was like a pitcher of cold water poured over her head.
Wylie equaled bad taste in men. Wylie equaled terrible judgment. Wylie equaled defeat.
After quickly dousing the remaining candles, Zoë went back to pick up the rest