LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR

by Lipstick On His Collar

  "You make it sound like torture."

  "Well?"

  She rinsed her hands, adjusted the heat on the slow cooker, and took the container of Miracle Mask for Men and a jar of cleansing cream from the refrigerator. "Sit," she said, patting a counter stool.

  Nick sat.

  She placed the two jars on the counter, then took cotton pads from a drawer. "Did you find out anything from my neighbors?"

  "Not much," he said, "except that Mrs. Faraday thinks our children would be gorgeous."

  "Oh, my Lord."

  Nick chuckled and shook his head. "Be glad you didn't come with me. I barely talked her out of that poker game, though her card-shuffling machine did work like a charm."

  Miranda unscrewed the cleanser lid.

  "Is that it?" he asked.

  "No, this is cleansing cream to clear away dirt and oil."

  "You said one product."

  "Oh, don't be a baby."

  "I should have known there'd be a catch. With you there always is."

  "Stop whining and take it like a man." She loaded a cotton pad with cleanser.

  "Doing this, the last thing I feel like is a man."

  "Isn't this better than wearing Charlie's uniform?" She came toward him wielding the cream-laden pad.

  "I'll have you know Nadine Morris liked me in it."

  "She did?" She stopped, inches from his face.

  "Oh, yeah. We had a nice long talk in her apartment. She works so much she doesn't get much of a chance to meet men." He waggled his brows.

  Nadine Morris had been hitting on Nick. The nerve. She felt a stupid stab of jealousy. On the other hand how could any woman resist Nick? In any garb.

  "No accounting for taste," she said, beginning to smear the cleanser across his face in smooth strokes. Instantly tension rose. When she'd extracted his promise to try her product, she hadn't thought about how it would feel to be this close to him. It was as if they'd suddenly been tossed back into the dark closet again.

  "H-h-here, you do it," she said, stepping back. "Rub it around thoroughly, using circular motions, then rinse at the sink with warm water."

  He sighed, smeared the cream haphazardly around, then splashed his face in the sink.

  "Wait for the water to warm up to open the pores."

  He gave her a look, then continued splashing himself. Men. She sighed. This would not be a good experiment. On the other hand, just getting him to try it was an accomplishment.

  "I really think Lattimer's the inside man," she said, getting back to the case.

  He raised his dripping face. "Inside man? You hear that on Law and Order?"

  "Just talk to him again, okay?" Before he could object, she added, "I promise I won't come along."

  "Or make cell phone calls while I'm in there like you did when I was at Chase Beauty?"

  "Okay, that was too much, but I want to contribute to the investigation. With you it's your way or the highway, huh?"

  "Pretty much," he said. Water dripped from his face and the ends of his hair, making him look crisp and clean and very kissable. Especially with that grin of his.

  She handed him a towel to get rid of the effect.

  He scrubbed his face dry. "Anyway, Charlie talked to the night guy and the fire crew that worked on the elevator. Nothing there. The salon owner insisted on bending my ear about how dangerous the place is. She thinks you're darling and so talented. And your hair has great body."

  Miranda cringed. "She told you that?"

  "Oh, yeah. And you have strong nails, too." He formed his hand into a puppet and made a yakking gesture.

  "She and Lilly are friends, so I'm sure they talk about me." She opened the mask jar and approached Nick, who'd resumed sitting on the stool.

  "Is this the stuff?" He leaned over the jar.

  She nodded.

  "It looks like salmon mousse."

  "The carrot oil gives it an orange tint."

  He sniffed, scrunching up his nose. "Strong. What's in it?"

  She told him the basic ingredients.

  "Nothing magical about that."

  "Well, there's also my unique long-lasting hydro-fixer that includes vitamins and natural hormones—"

  "Hormones? Hold it. This isn't going to give me breasts, is it?"

  "Of course not, you goof. These aren't sex hormones. They invigorate the skin. Do you have any food allergies?"

  "No."

  "Good." She stood close, practically between his legs, feeling entirely too intimate, but she couldn't back out now.

  She scooped out some cream with a cotton pad. "Now, you have to apply this completely, concentrating on the forehead, cheeks and chin. Keep it thick and evenly layered."

  His eyes held hers, making it impossible to think of anything but how close they were.

  Still looking at her, Nick took some mask from the pad with two fingers and stroked them across his cheek, forehead and chin—like war paint.

  "That's a start. Now rub that around."

  "Isn't this good enough?"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake." Her frustration overcame her reluctance to touch him. "Let me do it." She moved trembling fingers over his face. His skin was warm, his facial muscles taut. He felt so alive. It didn't matter that his features were obscured by bright orange glop. He was gorgeous and she was touching him—his eyebrows, his jawline, that little white scar, the slight roughness of his coarse beard, the pulse at his temple. She felt herself swaying closer. Heat swirled between them, arousing and dizzying.

  "Nice," he murmured, his eyes closing. His breath rasped, his chest rose and fell. She breathed with him.

  Then a bit of the mixture touched Nick's lips. She smoothed it away with her finger, but his eyes opened, smoky and dark, and his tongue touched her finger.

  She took a harsh breath and her body went liquid and electric from the wet contact on just the tip of her finger.

  She stared at him, alive with heat. Again he pressed his tongue against her finger, testing, waiting for her to withdraw, but instead she thrust her finger into his mouth, the way she wanted him to move inside her, closing her eyes, ridden with desire. He sucked her finger, hard.

  "Oh," she said, sagging against him. He released her finger to accept her mouth and pulled her into an embrace. His tongue found her in a way that seemed as familiar and natural as breathing. Nick's mask smeared onto her cheeks, but she didn't care.

  He broke off the kiss to murmur, "What happens now?"

  "We leave it on for a half hour," she breathed, sliding her fingers into his hair, ready to tug him back to her mouth.

  "A half hour, huh? Guess we'll have to stay busy while we wait." Then she didn't have to tug, because Nick yanked her into his arms.

  Nick felt like a giant crushing Miranda's slender frame against him, as though, if he weren't careful, he'd snap her in two. But she was steel inside, he knew—sturdy and stubborn. Her breasts were firm against his chest. And the strength of her tongue's movements in his mouth told him he wasn't overpowering her. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Her dress, soft as butter, seemed so thin he felt her very skin trembling beneath his fingers. The goop on his face smeared all over hers, but she didn't seem to care. He sure didn't. He didn't care about anything but his mouth on hers and the way she felt in his hands.

  He knew he was out of control, like some testosterone-crazed teenager, but Miranda did something to him. Something deep and carnal. And he couldn't fight it anymore.

  He slid his hands up her torso and moved to the swells of her breasts, letting his thumbs find the sweet peaks. He felt every tight pebble on her nipple through her silky clothes. The contact seemed to electrify her. She jerked her mouth away and arched her breasts into his hands, as if she couldn't get enough of his touch.

  Even through the smears of orange goo, he saw how beautiful she was. Her eyes shimmered with the same startling heat he felt. A rush of lust spiraled through him.

  "Bed," he said. "We need a bed."
<
br />   She nodded.

  "Let's get rid of this junk." He grabbed a towel and wiped the slop off Miranda's face. Then he stopped short. "Uh-oh."

  "What?" she asked woozily.

  "This." He turned on the faucet, ducked his face under the spigot and scrubbed off the stuff, then raised his face for her scrutiny.

  "You're orange," she said.

  "You, too."

  "Oh, dear. The emulsifier must have intensified the effect of the carotene in the essential oil."

  "Great. How bad is it?" Nick asked.

  "Not too bad," Miranda lied, horrified at what she'd done to him. His face was bright orange except for circles around his eyes and mouth. He looked like some creature from Star Trek or a crazed football fan.

  "Don't worry. I've got some intensive cosmetics remover in my bathroom."

  "Maybe later." He reached to kiss her.

  "We don't want the color to soak in. It'll just take a jiff. Come on." She led him up the stairs and into her bedroom, reassuring him as she went, though he kept trying to kiss her.

  "It'll be fine," she said as they reached the bathroom door. Closed. Strange. She hadn't remembered leaving it that way. "There's no reason to panic." She opened the door.

  And screamed.

  Words had been scrawled on the sink-to-ceiling mirror in red. But what had made her shriek were the moving white blobs. Cotton mounds with tails. Mice. White mice. Dozens of them. Everywhere. Racing along the back of the sink, up and down the black porcelain toilet, sliding down the sides of the whirlpool tub, then scrabbling up again. Creepy, squirming mice. Miranda nearly bowled Nick over trying to climb up his body.

  He hefted her into his arms. "What the hell?"

  "Shut the door! Shut the door!"

  Nick hip-checked it, but she'd seen a half a dozen vermin streak past her feet into her bedroom, their pale tails disappearing under her bed, bureau and desk.

  "It's okay, Miranda. They can't hurt you."

  "Get me out of here!" She was rigid with a terror that went back to childhood. Her brother used to hide his pet mouse in her bed when she was little, giving her an irrational fear of the creatures. She buried her face in Nick's chest, quivering, trying to blot out what was around her. "Get me out of here. Please." She was afraid to touch the floor for fear they'd run up her body.

  As Nick galloped down the stairs with her in his arm, she saw a cadre of fur balls zip down the stairs with them. They'd be all over her apartment.

  "Oh, my God … oh, my God … oh, my God," she whispered into his neck, her eyes closed.

  Nick paused at the ground floor.

  "All the way out," she said, pointing at the door. It wasn't until they were in the hall, the door shut behind them that Miranda could breathe. Slowly she opened one eye.

  "Relax," Nick said. "You're safe. I wouldn't take you for the type to go nuts over a few rodents."

  "A few?"

  "Okay, a bunch."

  "I have a phobia, all right? My brother used to torture me with his pet mouse. Now they give me the heebie-jeebies." She shivered against him.

  "Well, aren't you two sweet?" Mrs. Faraday was heading toward them from the elevator. "And in the middle of the afternoon, too."

  "Mrs. Faraday," Miranda said shakily, trying to smile, sliding out of Nick's arms to the carpet. "It's not what you think."

  "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm blind." She gave them a stage wink.

  "No, really. We weren't… I mean, there were mice all over the, um … never mind."

  "Please. I have no problem with a healthy couple getting in a little bouncy-bouncy in the middle of the day." She squinted at them through her thick glasses. "Orange paint? Is that what the kids are doing these days?" She shook her head, then knocked on Nadine Morris's door and went inside. At least she didn't invite Nadine out to gawk, though Miranda was sure she would tell her all about it.

  "At least she didn't believe me about the mice," Miranda said, turning to Nick. "She'd have the whole building standing on chairs. It's so awful. All those creatures running around, scritching their nails, chewing on things, pooping everywhere." She shuddered.

  "What did the words on the mirror mean?" Nick asked.

  The sight came back to her. Red letters scrawled crookedly across the reflective surface. "Chase Beauty kills. Stop or we'll stop you." The words were so familiar.

  Of course. "That's what the animal activists put on their signs—'Chase Beauty kills.' The scandal I told you about. A year ago, when they accused us of testing—"

  "Your cosmetics on animals, I remember."

  Then she realized something. "It was Candy-Apple Red."

  "What?"

  "The lipstick color they used on the mirror. And that was the color they claimed we were using on animals. 'Candy-Apple Is Poison' was a slogan."

  "Interesting," Nick said, frowning. "And you say L'Mage was behind the incident a year ago?"

  "Yes. We were sure of it, though it was never proved."

  "Why would they do this again?"

  "To scare me maybe? To remind me of that time? It has to be L'Mage, doesn't it?"

  "Or someone wanting you to think it's L'Mage. Or, for that matter, a crazy activist who's been stalking you."

  "You think that's possible?" That made her shiver.

  "But it has to be connected to the formula robbery, doesn't it?" She looked into Nick's unreadable eyes.

  "If it is, they've upped the stakes. They must have brought in the mice while we were in the Lattimers' place. Whoever it was knows your whereabouts and can get in and out of your place whenever he—or she—pleases. Speaking of which, where is Lilly?"

  "In class. Tuesdays and Thursdays until five."

  "Handy."

  "This can't be Lilly's doing. I wish you'd quit fixating on her."

  "The only thing I know for sure is that someone's trying to scare you. You say it was your brother who made you terrified of mice?"

  "Yes, but—"

  Nick opened the door.

  "Don't go back in there! They're everywhere."

  "I need to examine the scene, get the detectives out here for fingerprints and call an exterminator."

  "But I can't go in there."

  He looked her up and down, tapping his lip. "Exactly. Maybe all they wanted was you out of the way for a while. So, we'll give them what they want. You'll leave. But first we'll set a trap."

  "I'll leave? But where will I go?"

  He looked at her, thinking. "I could take you to a hotel."

  "I have work to do. I can't just stop because of this."

  "Okay." He paused. "You can stay on my boat. I know you'll be safe there, and you can cook up your junk on board."

  "Your boat?" She swallowed.

  "Looks like you'll see it after all." He shot her a quick grin. "Besides, Charlie's place is too crowded."

  "But, Nick—"

  "I'm in charge, remember? And you're going to my boat. No ifs, ands or buts."

  An hour later, they were speeding toward Lake Pleasant in Nick's Jeep. At Nick's command, Miranda had mixed up a fake formula, her heart in her throat the entire time for fear she'd see a mouse, but they seemed to have hidden themselves. Meanwhile, Nick had rented a nanny-cam to record anyone who went for her "bait."

  She'd loaded a tote and a linen grocery bag with her base cream jars and the herbs, oils and vitamins she'd need, along with her favorite blender, the slow cooker where the chili-lavender decoction had been simmering, and some mixing utensils.

  She hadn't been able to bring herself to go upstairs, so Nick had gone up to pack a suitcase for her. He'd barely been there five minutes when she spotted a mouse eyeing her from the top of the refrigerator and her shriek had brought Nick leaping down the stairs. They'd left immediately.

  As they headed for Nick's boat, with the terror temporarily over, she had time to think about what they'd do once they were alone out on the lake. Nick's presence was a vital comfort, since the attack on her cosmetics had
taken a more threatening turn, but what would happen between them now? Would they make love like they'd begun to?

  Before they'd opened her bathroom door, that had been her most overpowering desire. Part of her was glad they'd been interrupted—first by a misformulated mask and then by a mess of mice—but the rest of her wanted to pick up where they'd left off. The sexual tension between them had built to a fever pitch. They had to do something, didn't they? Alone with him on the lake could only offer more temptation. Would they succumb? Should they? She didn't know if that would be good for her.

  Enough already. Focus on the case. "Lilly will think it's odd that I'm at my family's." Nick had had her leave a message on the office phone that she'd be staying at her family's Paradise Valley property.

  Nick shrugged.

  "And what about all those mice?"

  "She'll have no reason to go into your bathroom, where most of them are. If she acts jumpy, we'll know she already knows. Besides, something tells me sighting a mouse or two won't flip Lilly out. She's a cool customer."

  She shuddered. "Sometimes your methods…"

  "I get the job done."

  Nick kept his speculations about the case to himself as he drove. Miranda would just argue with him and he was in no mood for that. He was having enough trouble keeping his mind off how she'd felt in his arms in the kitchen. He scrubbed at his chin, which still burned from the industrial-strength cleanser they'd used to get most of the mask stain off.

  He hadn't had time to put much of anything into her suitcase—she could borrow his sweats and shorts, a thought that gave him a charge—but he had snagged the cleanser. He wasn't going around looking like the Great Pumpkin.

  Somehow he'd gone from getting trapped in a closet with her to letting her stain his face orange, and now he was driving her to his boat. Why had he let this happen? Probably for the same reason he couldn't quit sneaking peeks at Miranda's legs and the way her breasts pushed tantalizingly against the top of her dress when she breathed. God, her skin was soft.

  Focus, Ryder. He forced himself to think about the case. Why would Lilly want to scare Miranda? Was she running interference for Miranda's competition? On the other hand, it could be Miranda's brother. He had a key to her place, didn't like her products, thought Miranda was foolish and knew about her fear of mice.