Shelley Cooper - Laura And The Lawman

“For Joseph’s sake,” she said, “if for nothing else, we really should try. But I have to be honest with you. I don’t hold out much hope.”

“Pessimist,” he teased, his brown eyes gleaming with humor and his lips curling invitingly.

Laura’s mouth went dry. Oh, hell. Michael Corsi in aggravating mode was attractive enough. In teasing mode, he was downright adorable.

Forget civility, she decided. An abrasive Michael was far preferable to her peace of mind. And much easier on her conscience.

“Tell me something,” she said, racking her brain for a way to put his back up again. It shouldn’t be too hard, since Ruby’s merely drawing breath seemed to irritate him no end. “You’re not one of those men who object to a woman driving, are you?”

Ruby O’Toole would gladly relinquish the driver’s seat to any male who offered, but Laura Langley would go stir crazy if she had to sit in the passenger seat the entire trip. She needed something to distract her from her awareness of this man. Negotiating the hills and curves of the drive ahead should do the trick easily enough.

“I believe in equal-opportunity driving,” he replied.

Michael didn’t know it, but he’d just given her the opening she was searching for.

“A man after my own heart,” she drawled sweetly. “Why, if Joseph hadn’t staked a claim first, I’d probably be putty in your hands.”

She felt a surge of triumph at the flare of impatience that flashed in his eyes.

“I should warn you,” he said. “If you take a spell behind the wheel, you could break a nail.”

Bingo. “I’ll risk it.”

“Won’t it hamper your incorrigible flirting with the men in other cars? I’d hate to have you cramp your style.”

“I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure you will.” The words were not a compliment.

Laura suppressed a sigh of relief. The status quo had been recaptured. She was safe, at least for now.

“Damn,” Michael muttered, shaking his head. “I did it again, didn’t I? That truce lasted all of three seconds.”

Which suited her just fine. She glanced pointedly at her watch. “Don’t you think we should be going?”

Michael eyed the three suitcases at her feet. To his credit, he really did try. No uncivil comments were forthcoming, although she noticed he did have to bite his lip.

He even kept silent when his gaze ran over her short black skirt, which was cut low at the waistline to expose her belly button, and its matching skintight sleeveless mock turtleneck top. But when he got to her shoes, which consisted solely of a strap across her instep, another strap that buckled around her ankles, and three inch heels, apparently he could keep silent no longer.

“Nice work clothes,” he said with a smirk that would have done Elvis proud.

“Thank you,” she replied, unable to resist a last longing look at his jeans and T-shirt. She would have killed to be able to wear jeans and a T-shirt. Ruby O’Toole, unfortunately, wouldn’t be caught dead in them. Under any circumstances.

More than the impractical clothing, what Laura really hated was having to spend an hour every morning putting herself together. It was such a pain having to keep her nails manicured and perfectly painted, her hair styled and her makeup just so. It was beyond her why women wasted all that time on their outward image.

Laura had always prided herself on being more interested in a person’s character than his or her appearance. She preferred substance over style. Unfortunately, had she played herself instead of Ruby, she never would have captured Joseph’s attention. Or Michael’s.

“You really like my outfit?” she asked. Flashing him Ruby’s patented smile, she smoothed her hands down her skirt. While the movement was made to look alluring, in reality it was a disguised attempt at pushing the tight fabric farther down her thighs. Even though she showed more skin in a bathing suit, the outfit still made her feel extremely self-conscious.

“It’s a Benton Thomas original,” she added, when he didn’t reply.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not up on the current fashion designers. Aren’t you afraid of ruining your clothes? The last time I appraised an estate, it involved dank basements and dusty attics.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s what they have dry cleaners for.”

“There are some miracles even dry cleaners can’t perform.”

He might disparage the way she was dressed, but he couldn’t hide the gleam of appreciation in his eyes at the way the outfit flattered her figure. The gleam would have definitely pleased Ruby. Though she fought it, and despite her avowal of preferring substance over style, it pleased Laura, too.

“In that case,” she said airily, “there’s always Joseph. He’ll replace it if I ask. He takes good care of me.”

Michael’s lip curled. “And you’re a woman who needs a man to take care of her.”

So that’s what he objected to. She’d have to play that angle up every chance she got.

“Doesn’t every woman?”

“Say that to my sister, Kate, and she’ll likely scratch your eyes out.”

Bravo for Kate. Laura was squarely in her corner.

“I take it your sister’s a card-carrying feminist?”

“My sister is a woman who believes she can do anything as well as a man.”

Wide-eyed, Laura asked, “Isn’t that the same thing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he nodded curtly toward her suitcases. “You want me to put those in the back?”

She gave him an obliging smile that she knew set his teeth on edge. “If you don’t mind.”

Muttering something she couldn’t catch beneath his breath, Michael tugged the suitcases to the back of the truck. She waited patiently by the closed passenger door while he placed them inside. It didn’t take him long to get the hint. With a long-suffering sigh, he came around to her side and yanked the door open.

“Thank you,” she said.

She realized her mistake the minute she faced the truck. In her zeal to play Ruby to a T, and to push Michael’s buttons, she’d forgotten that it was a long way up into the passenger seat. Her skirt was short. And tight. Laura felt Michael’s gaze burning along her legs as she climbed into the cab with as much decorum as possible.

Her temper was boiling and her cheeks hot by the time she’d settled herself comfortably.

“Enjoy the view?” The words were Laura’s, but they were said in Ruby’s teasing manner.

“A gentleman never looks,” he replied, deadpan.

“I thought we agreed on Saturday that you’re no gentleman.”

He allowed himself a smug smile. “We did, didn’t we?”

On that infuriating remark, he closed her door. A minute later he was behind the wheel.

“Buckle up.”

While she did just that, he picked up a sheaf of papers from the seat.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A map.”

“A map?”

He nodded. “I got it off the Internet. It gives us door-to-door directions to our destination.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said.

He studied the page for a second, then, sounding distracted, replied, “What can’t you believe?”

“You’re a man. Men don’t read maps.”

“That’s a highly sexist remark.”

“It’s also the truth,” she stated.

“No, it’s not.”

“What is the truth, then?”

“When a man sets off for an unknown destination, he always consults a map. What he doesn’t do is ask for directions if he gets lost. Trust me, Ruby, if we lose our way, I promise to drive around for hours until we find it again.”

Laura gave her head a rueful shake. She’d wanted things back to the status quo, and back to the status quo they definitely were. Boy were they ever.

At least now the impulse to throw herself into his arms had passed. Unfortunately, it had been replaced by the urge to wrap her hands around his throat.

Two hours into the drive, Antonio handed the wheel over to Ruby.

As had been the case during his spell as driver, they rode in silence, without even the radio to dispel the tension between them. At some point he would have to ask her about Joseph, but now was too soon. Way too soon. If he tried to pump her, she’d only grow even more closemouthed, if that was possible. Not to mention that his probing would inevitably raise her suspicions.

They were going to be alone together for the next several days. He had to use that time wisely. What he needed to do was engage her in small talk. Small, civil talk. If such a thing was possible between the two of them.

He needed to get her to relax. If she relaxed in his company, maybe then she would let her guard down low enough to reveal something of value. He would just bide his time and wait. He was good at biding his time and waiting for the proper moment.

Still, even to him, two-plus hours of silence was biding one’s time just a tad too long. There was a huge difference between waiting for the proper moment and wasting the time at hand. Especially when, on a job like this, even one wasted second could mean the difference between life and death.

“Well, what do you think?” he finally asked.

She glanced over at him. “About what?”

“My truck. How does it handle?”

She smiled. In that brief, unguarded, upward curl of her lips, he glimpsed the first honest emotion, other than her displeasure with him, that he’d seen on her face since their gazes had first met across the crowded auction floor. If only she would smile like that always, instead of bestowing that forced, brittle tilt of her lips that passed for coyness.

She made quite a picture in her short, tight skirt, and even tighter top. Her long legs seemed to stretch to eternity, and her equally long arms seemed made solely for wrapping themselves around a man’s neck. She was, quite easily, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Everything inside of him even remotely related to his Y chromosome responded to that beauty.

Then she spoiled it all by speaking.

“How does it handle? Like a man’s cheeks after a close shave.”

Antonio’s awareness of her was swept away on a wave of irritation. And women accused men of being single-minded. Didn’t she have at least one thought in her head that didn’t relate to sex?

While sex had been the ultimate goal of all of his relationships, the women he’d been involved with had, without exception, expressed an avid interest in something besides themselves. Those varied interests had made for some lively and interesting debates. He’d enjoyed their company, enjoyed spending time with them both in and out of the bedroom.

Ruby O’Toole really had no substance, he realized, wondering at his disappointment.

“It has great power on these hills,” she said, then paused. “You’re into power, aren’t you?”

He felt his brow furrow. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a shrug.

He hated it when women said that, because he knew that their “nothing” definitely meant something. Forget about Ruby relaxing with him. He was beginning to think it would take a strong sedative to get him to relax with her. Either that, or he’d have to get blinding, stinking drunk. At this juncture in their relationship, he wasn’t averse to either idea.

“No, really,” he said. “I’m curious. What do you mean when you say I’m into power?”

She heaved an audible sigh. “Only that, like most men, you like to be in charge.”

“You mean I’m a control freak.”

“Don’t be offended. The need for power is a man’s number-one craving.”