“What did I obstruct?”
“Why do you want my briefcase?” The only things in his briefcase were reports on the Perth-Abercrombie case. There was nothing else she could be after.
She froze. “I can’t tell you that.”
“You have to tell me.”
She leaned forward. “Why do you think I want your briefcase?”
Dallas hesitated, sizing up her expression. Either she was telling the truth or something was screwing up his litigating instincts. He’d questioned plenty of witnesses, both honest and dishonest. He could always tell the difference—couldn’t always prove it, but he always knew.
He decided to push her a little harder. “I think you’re leaking evidence to Randy Calloway.”
She did the innocent, turquoise blink again. “Evidence on what?”
Maybe she was a master con artist.
“Evidence on the Perth-Abercrombie embezzlement case,” he said.
“I didn’t even know there was a Perth-Abercrombie embezzlement case.”
Dallas peered into her eyes, beginning to wonder if she’d been trained by the CIA. There wasn’t a single sign of dishonesty. No micro eye movements, no expression changes, not even a single flinch.
“Why did you want my briefcase?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Then I can’t trust you.”
She bit her lower lip.
The clock ticked off the minutes in the corner of his office.
Standoff.
There was another knock on the door. Allan’s voice again. “Shelby?”
“Yes?” Shelby answered.
“Allison is on the phone.”
Shelby flinched.
Dallas’s eyebrows twitched. Allison was in on it, too? What in the hell was going on here?
“Transfer it in here,” Dallas called.
Now Shelby looked frightened. Good.
The phone on the desk rang.
“Speaker phone,” said Dallas.
“Not a chance,” said Shelby, jumping up.
“You do realize I can have you arrested,” he said.
“Arrested isn’t convicted,” she replied. “And I didn’t do anything.”
She picked up the phone. “Allison.”
While Allison talked, Shelby closed her eyes and sighed.
“He’s right here,” she said.
Then, “I think so.”
Followed by, “Not yet.”
“Right.
“Bye.” She hung up the phone.
Dallas stared at her in silence. “You going to tell me what’s going on, or do I call the cops?”
“I’m not stealing evidence on anything for anyone. That’s what’s going on.”
“Prove it.”
“How? You want to call Randy and ask him?”
Dallas coughed out an incredulous laugh. “Right.”
“Then how do I prove it? Just tell me. I’ll do it.”
Dallas thought about that. Only way to prove she wasn’t giving away evidence was for her to not give away the evidence. Which she wouldn’t, now that he’d caught her.
But even if she didn’t, it didn’t mean she hadn’t tried. There really wasn’t any way to prove her innocence.
Of course there wasn’t any way to prove her guilt, either.
But there was a way to stop her.
“Hearing’s on Monday,” he said.
She held up her hands in a shrug.
“You stay within my sight until then.”
She blinked. Her eyes went from turquoise to jade. “For two days?”
“Right. And if Randy calls, you put him on the speaker.”
“Two days? And three nights?”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“Randy goes on the speaker phone.”
“I don’t care if Randy goes on the speaker phone. You serious about this?”
“Within my sight. Twenty-four hours a day. Take it or leave it.”
SHELBY DIDN’T SEE that she had any choice.
The alternative was getting arrested or fired, or possibly both. Besides, if she stayed within Dallas’s sight, then he’d have to stay within her sight…along with his briefcase.
And even Dallas would have to sleep at some point. When he did, she’d rescue the pictures. She was pretty sure she’d been making progress on the lock with the bent paperclip when he’d caught her.
Since she wasn’t spying, he could hardly catch her giving away evidence.
In fact, the only downside she could see to Plan D was that they might accidentally have sex in the middle of the night. But since she’d sworn off bosses and he’d, apparently, sworn off navels, there wasn’t even much danger of that.
Feeling better by the second, she couldn’t resist putting a teasing note in her voice. “Your place or mine?”
He rounded the desk and picked up the phone. “Mine. You sit tight while I clear my schedule.”
She pointed to the office door. “What about my job?”
“Margaret can cover for the rest of the afternoon.”
That was fine with Shelby, but Margaret might not be too thrilled.
Shelby waited in the office while Dallas spent about ten minutes on the phone with his secretary. If she had to have an unrequited crush on somebody, she certainly had good taste.
He really was an incredibly sexy man. He was intelligent, articulate, a little bit demanding, but his voice heated a woman’s blood in a way that made the actual words irrelevant.
He hung up the phone and stood up from his chair. “Let’s go.”
Shelby stood up, glancing at her watch. It was only four o’clock. “Where?”
“There’s a cocktail party at Eamon Perth’s mansion tonight, and you need a dress.”
“So, we’re stopping at Allison’s place?” Perfect. She could slip Allison some information on Plan D.
“No. We’re stopping at Arianne Eastern.”
Shelby frowned. “That’s an old ladies store.”
“We’re not going to the place you usually shop.”
“What’s wrong with DL Clearance Outlets? They have great deals on designer clothes if you’re patient.”
Dallas let his gaze stray up and down her outfit. “We don’t have that kind of time.”
“But—”
Dallas held up a hand as he opened the door. And Shelby stopped talking while they crossed the reception area.
“Why can’t we just stop at my place and get a dress?” she asked as they headed for the elevators. It seemed like a silly waste of money to buy a new one. Money that Shelby didn’t have to spare.
Dallas punched the elevator button. “I’ve seen your dresses.”
“One. You’ve seen one of my dresses.”
The door slid open and they stepped into an empty car.
“Two. Plus, I’ve seen the way you dress all week.”
“Right. The navel thing. I’ll have you know I have dresses that completely cover my navel.”
“This party is at the home of a very important client. With other important clients in attendance. You need a respectable dress.”
Shelby crossed her arms over her chest. “Excuse me?”
The elevator doors slid open at the lobby. “Respectable,” Dallas repeated. “I’m sure you know what the word means.”
“Staid and boring, apparently.” She matched her pace to his as they headed for the street. “If you make me do this, you’re paying.”
“Story of my life.”
“Well, if you’d let women wear their own clothes—”
“Women? What makes you think I’ve ever done this before? What makes you think I’ve ever come across anybody remotely like you before?”
Shelby decided to forgo the character debate. “Respectable,” she scoffed.
“As in, I don’t want you looking, saying or doing anything outrageous.”
“You mean, I can’t dance on the tables?”
He glared at her as th
ey headed out the glass door to the noise and movement of Lancome Street.
“Swallow the goldfish?” she persisted.
He ignored her.
“Wear a lampshade on my head?”
The only reaction was a tightening of his jaw.
“I can see this isn’t going to be any fun at all.”
He held up his hand to hail a cab. Then he turned and pointed at her like a schoolteacher. He opened his mouth, then paused.
She stared mulishly up at him while a panel truck whooshed across two lanes to the angry honking of three vehicles.
“Just…don’t…have any fun,” he said.
A grin tried to force its way out, and she turned her bottom lip inside and bit down to stop it.
“Because, if you think it’s fun,” he continued, “I think we can be damn sure I won’t like it.”
“Guess I’d better not kiss you again,” she said.
A taxi came to a halt, and he shot her a glare as he opened the back door.
“’Cause that was fun,” she said as she climbed in. Dallas slammed the door behind her.
Well, it was.
6
THE DRESSES at Arianne Eastern weren’t as bad as Shelby had expected. Dallas’s taste, however, was every bit as dull as she’d feared.
He liked full skirts, long sleeves and geometric prints. Shelby wanted a little style, a little pizzazz, a little color, and maybe something more than her ankles and wrists sticking out from miles and miles of fabric. At this rate, she was going to have to change her name to Sister Mary-Agnes.
She headed out of the changing room in a flowing, muumuu-look shirt with bell sleeves, green piping and earth tone swirls over a pair of white palazzo pants.
“This is a joke, right?” she said to Dallas, who was sitting in a leather armchair next to a three-sided mirror. The cream-colored carpet was soft under her bare feet, and a saleslady stood back a discrete distance.
He made a spinning motion with his index finger. “Turn around.”
She whirled and the shirt puffed out like a tent.
“Elegant,” he said.
She pulled out the front of the top. “And functional. If it rains we can all take shelter under here.”
“I like it.”
“Forget it.” Shelby turned and headed back to the big changing room. The dresses she’d picked covered one wall of the square room. The dresses Dallas had picked covered another.
Her turn this time.
“Take this, Mr. Williams.” She popped a perky little silver dress over her head. The high, lace neckline was the only demure thing about it. Sleeveless, it left her shoulders bare. The bodice was tight, a silver lace layer over a silky beige layer, giving the illusion that her skin could be seen in the background. The very short skirt puffed out faux ballerina style, showing off her thighs, and making bending over totally out of the question.
She tugged open the change room door and strutted out onto the cushy carpet.
Dallas’s eye widened and he sucked in a quick breath.
“You like?” she asked with a waggle of her eyebrows.
“Get serious,” he replied.
“I’m perfectly serious.”
“You’d go out in public like that?”
“Sure.” She worked out. Her thighs were in pretty good shape.
“Vulgar,” he said.
“Chic,” she responded.
“Next.”
Shelby gave a theatrical sigh before turning back.
Dallas’s next dress was polka dots. Hundreds of white polka dots on a muddy brown background. The skirt was chiffon, with a satin slip, and the velvet sash was more suited to a little girl than a matriarch. The neckline and sleeves, however, would smoothly cover up any wrinkled skin.
Shelby stomped out.
“You have atrocious taste,” she said to Dallas.
“At least you won’t get any propositions in that.”
“People proposition you if they think you’re attractive.”
“What? You take propositions as a compliment?”
She glared at her triple image in the mirror. Dowdy didn’t begin to describe it. “Don’t be absurd. Just because a woman wants to look attractive doesn’t mean she’s easy.”
“These are conservative people, Shelby.”
“But I doubt they’re blind.”
He sighed. “All I’m asking for is a little cooperation tonight. I’m the one doing you a favor, remember.”
“You’re doing me a favor? How do you figure?”
“Considering the alternative was having you arrested, I don’t think a party is too much of a hardship.”
Shelby paused. Fine. All right. She could see his perspective.
In his mind, he was doing her a favor. Since she couldn’t explain her need for his briefcase, she supposed he was entitled to fill in the blanks by himself.
That didn’t mean she was going out in public looking like an overstuffed children’s toy.
“Next,” she muttered, heading back to the change room.
She searched through the stacks of dresses, genuinely looking for a compromise. She’d chosen a gorgeous, red crepe-look dress, with a tight, strapless bodice and a soft, full skirt that would practically float when she walked. She didn’t dare put it on because she knew she’d want to cry when Dallas dismissed it.
She also set aside a flirty, see-through blue silk dress. A hippy-bohemian style, it was slit up the front past the knees, opened to a peek-a-boo midriff that showed off her navel and a whole lot more, and was topped with a bikini-like bodice with a halter strap.
It was gorgeous, fun and flirty. Dallas would hate it on sight.
Then she found it. A simple black sheath. It had sleeves, though they were string lace adorned with hundreds of silver sequins. The bodice cut straight across, so her cleavage wouldn’t show. The viscose blend was probably tighter than Dallas would like, but it wasn’t spandex. And the only sexy detail was a chain of small, oval, open patches down each side. Those, she’d cover up with her arms while she modeled.
She slipped into the dress and it fit her like a glove. She adjusted the sleeves, so they’d stay closed at the shoulder while she modeled. Under normal circumstances, a slit in the lace would open up so that her shoulders were revealed.
No need to point that little feature out to Dallas up front.
She held her arms by her sides, testing to make sure the openings didn’t show.
Hmm.
Not bad.
Demure, yet a kick of style.
She carefully opened the door.
Dallas watched her intently, without saying a word.
She walked as serenely and gracefully as possible, trying to look conservative and respectable—like the kind of person who would never dream of dancing on a table.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He stood up and walked around her. “What do you think?”
Shelby made a face, playing it up just a bit. “The hem’s kind of long.”
“No it’s not.”
“It’s not exactly what I’d pick,” she said. “But, I suppose…”
Sensing agreement, the saleslady moved forward. “It fits perfectly,” she said with an enthusiastic nod. Her hand started toward Shelby’s arm. “Did you notice—”
Shelby quickly stepped away before the woman could point out the openings. “It’s pretty expensive,” she said to Dallas, as though she really cared.
He waved a dismissive hand, making the saleslady smile.
“And I’m going to need underwear,” Shelby added, inching her way toward the changing room.
“On the second floor,” said the saleslady.
“And shoes,” Shelby added, quickly opening and closing the door before Dallas could look more closely at the dress or have second thoughts.
THE BLACK DRESS wasn’t quite as conservative as Dallas had hoped, but at least it didn’t raise his blood pressure beyond the danger point the way most of her ou
tfits did. For the rest of the weekend, he was dressing her in sweatpants and oversize T-shirts, so she wouldn’t distract him from his work. At least he didn’t have to take her out of the apartment after this.
“Shelby?” he called through the bathroom door.
She’d tried to change in his guest room—the one with the conveniently located extension phone. But Dallas wasn’t stupid.
“I’m almost ready,” she called back. “We’re going to be late.”
“Keep your shorts on.”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“I’m drying my nails.”
Dallas tried the locked knob. “You don’t need nails.”
She carefully opened the door with her flat palms. “You’re impossible.”
“Dry them on the way.”
“Fine. But you have to do up the clasps on my shoes.”
Dallas took a step back as she emerged into the hall. He blinked. Then he shook his head to clear his vision. When that didn’t work, he squinted.
He could feel his pulse rate inching up. “What in the hell did you do to that dress?”
She glanced over her shoulder, looking down the length of the outfit. “What?”
“There are holes in it!” he sputtered. “And the sleeves. You tore the sleeves.”
She reached for the dangling icicles of silver sequins that dripped over her bare shoulders. “I didn’t do anything to the sleeves.”
He stared in stunned silence at the slinky sheath that rippled and hugged its way down her body. He could swear the skirt was shorter. Her soft, caramel skin winked out in a dozen places down each side. If she was wearing underwear under there, it was only barely.
What appeared plain Jane in the store, now looked like the flimsy wrapping of a sultry sex goddess. How the hell had she done it?
“What did you do?” he asked hoarsely.
“I accessorized.” She stuffed her feet into spike-heeled black sandals, wiggled one ankle and looked expectantly up at him.
Yeah, like he was going to bend down and play with her legs.
She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you said we were going to be late?”
“We’re not going anywhere with you dressed like that.”
“You know, some day you’re going to make some lucky girl a tyrant of a father.”
“You have to change.”
“Into what? You agreed on the dress. We agreed on the dress. Now, do up my sandals so we can get going.”
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