“It’s a weird quirk, I know,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Rosy has a lot of quirks,” Nancy added, laughing like a hyena.
Ignoring Nancy, and feeling somewhat recovered, I said, “I really don’t think I’m cut out for this type of undercover work. I mean, look at me?” I motioned my hands at myself. Both Jack and Agent Mackey nodded approvingly.
“You can’t deny you’re beautiful,” Agent Mackey said.
“Rose is the best kind of beautiful. Natural.”
“Thank you, Jack.” I knew I was considered pretty. My store bought dyed hair was long and had natural curls. My eyes were icy blue, and my figure wasn’t bad. My mom always told me I got my boobs from her. My C cup was a nuisance most of the time in my line of work though.
My heart fluttered at Agent Mackey’s suggestion. In reality I looked a lot like the two victims. My real hair color was blond. I started dyeing my hair brown at fourteen, right after I graduated high school. My therapist said it was a sign of rebellion.
He said, “You’re trying desperately not to look like your mother. Don’t fight who you are. She was a loving woman, and so are you.”
Five years later and I still dyed it. No one from Blush Valley, including Jack, knew my natural hair color was blond, but the FBI might. They’d probably done all sorts of background checks. I shuddered.
Did Agent Mackey know? I gave him a hurried once over, trying to decide. The man had a great poker face.
“My hair is the wrong color,” I stated. Both Agent Mackey and Jack interjected rebuttals, saying I could wear a wig, but I went on. “Not to mention the fact that I don’t do girly. I’ve worn heels twice in my life, and both times they were like two inches.” I held up my hand, and indicated two inches with my thumb and first finger.
Poser, Nancy, Ramsey, and Smith laughed.
Smith said, “Yeah, but I’ll pay good money to see your legs in something other than jeans.” He moved closer. “And that body,” he air-outlined a curvy figure. “Damn, I’ll bet you look hot is a skimpy dress.”
“You’re an idiot,” I flung back, desperately hoping he’d shut up. I crossed my arms over my chest.
Agent Mackey stood, towering over Smith. “Don’t you people have work to do?” He lowered his chin, and frowned. They murmured, going back to their desks. Glancing down at me, he said, “I’m staying at the Quality Inn on Main Street. You know the one?”
I nodded, wondering why he was sharing.
“Room 314. Meet me there in an hour with the skimpiest dress and the highest heels you own.”
I stood. “I don’t think you understand. See this outfit.” I pointed to my blue button down shirt, jeans, and loafers. “This it what I wear. I don’t own anything… skimpy. I don’t even have a dress, and I sure as hell don’t own a pair of heels.” I placed my hands on my hips.
The sides of Agent Mackey’s eyes crinkled. “Fine, then come with me. We’re going shopping. Gonna get you hooked up.”
“Oh, funny. Hooked like hooker. You’re hilarious,” I grumbled, tucking my hands in my back pockets, moving closer to my partner. Jack would protect me from the crazy man with beautiful eyes and a mouth meant for kissing.
Agent Mackey said, “Jack, meet us at my room at five o’clock. Be ready to roll.” Giving me a smoldering look he said, “Let’s go.”
I glanced at Jack for help, my eyes pleading, but he shrugged. “It’s actually a great idea.” His eyes raked over me, and I cringed. That was our last fight. Jack said I was “too juvenile to sleep with him.”
I ground my teeth, and nodded my agreement. If the roles were reversed, I would’ve picked me as well. Nancy didn’t have the figure for the job, and guys didn’t have the right equipment. “Fine.” I trudged after Agent Mackey, trying to ignore the nerves zinging through my lower abdomen.
Agent Mackey’s car was a black Audi TT. When the two of us were buckled, I asked, “Do you know where you’re going?”
He smirked, “Is the Pope Catholic?”
“Har-de har har.”
He laughed. “I live thirty minutes away, and it’s my job as the FBI liaison for Blush Valley to know the town. So, yes, I know exactly where to go.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but return it.
When we hit the freeway, I asked, “Where is this store?” It bothered me slightly that he knew where one could pick up stripper clothes. What did that say about him?
“The beautiful L.A., of course. Stripper Central.”
“Is that true,” I asked, feeling truly naive.
“Well, in a way. Lacy’s Boutique it’s one of the hottest stores in town. Everyone from Britney Spears to Lady Gaga has shopped there. Girls and women, regardless of their job description, seem to love the clothes.
“Oh.” I was way, way out of my league.
He flipped on some music. Symphony music softly played from the speakers. After several minutes, I asked, “Doesn’t this music put you to sleep?”
“I find, in the line of work we do, this music soothing. Don’t you like it?”
I did like it. Occasionally I listened to this type of music when I needed to calm down after a particularly trying day. Never when I drove though. He turned slightly, flicking his gaze from the road to me in question.
“Yes, it’s very beautiful.”
He smiled. “Good. But if it’s too old fashioned, just let me know.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “I will.”
“Good. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
I leaned my head against the seat, taking a deep breath.
“Do you mind if I ask why you don’t like to be touched?”
His question shocked me. No one, not even Jack, ever directly came out and asked. I told Jack my secret after we’d been dating a while. He was curious about why I didn’t want to hold hands. I carefully explained what touching someone with my hands did, about my ability to see a person’s intentions. He reddened, a beet red. After assuring him I hadn’t ever read his intentions, he asked me about my body touching other parts of people. Like lips to lips, shoulder to shoulder or leg to leg. I told him, so far, it only happened when I touched a person’s hands.
Turning slightly, I faced Agent Mackey. “It’s personal,” I said.
“I figured as much. It’s a shame.”
“It’s just my hands. It’s better for everyone if you don’t touch them.” I faced forward again. “Let’s leave it at that.”
“Whatever you want, Rose.”
I closed my eyes, hopefully telling him with my body language I was done talking. He seemed to get it because he didn’t say another word until we were parked in front of Lacy’s Boutique.
“Ready?” he asked.
I unbuckled and sat up straight, the nerves in my stomach doing backflips. “Sure.” I opened the door.
After locking his car, we headed toward the store. The window displays held mannequins in scantily clad red and green underwear. Atop each of the mannequins’ heads was a Santa hat.
Here we go, I thought morosely as Agent Mackey held the door opened for me.
Chapter 6
The store was well lit. Mirrors lined the top half of the walls. More skimpily clothed mannequins wearing Santa hats stood at various places throughout the store. The air smelled like gingerbread cookies, and I guessed a candle burned somewhere.
A tall sales girl with straight blond hair, candy cane striped nails, and a super tight red sweater approached us, well, Agent Mackey. Her body seemed totally attuned to him. “Welcome to Lacy’s. How may I serve you?” There was innuendo in her sultry voice, and I tried not to gag.
“Hello,” Agent Mackey said, all business. “I need some clothes of the more risqué persuasion for the lovely Miss. Hansen.”
The sales girl gave me a quick once over, and sniffed. “Right this way.” She led us through several clothing racks, and past more than a few curious gazes until we reached the back of the store. “Here are the sale items. Something on one
of these should work.”
Agent Mackey made a point of looking at her nametag. “Sarah, is it?”
“That’s right.” She flipped her hair off her shoulders.
“These clothes aren’t going to do. I’m sure you can appreciate that, while the clothes should be extremely sexy, more importantly, they should be exceedingly beautiful and well made. I’d like to see the lovely Rose here in the best your store has to offer. Can you help us, or should I speak with your manager?” His voice was calm, almost too calm. But his body language reminded me of a lion ready to pounce. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of Agent Mackey’s temper.
The girl’s eyes widened. “I believe I misunderstood you.” Her lower lip trembled. “Let me help you find the appropriate attire.” She fluttered her lashes and quickly walked us back toward the front of the store. “What size are you?” she asked, stopping in front of a display.
I forgot this was about me. Agent Mackey said, “Rose, you look like a size 4?” One of his eyebrows rose in question.
“Um, yes, I guess so.” I couldn’t remember the last time I purchased myself some new clothes. Usually I went to a thrift store.
The clerk flipped through hangers that held what looked like slinky nightgowns. These couldn’t be dresses.
Stripper clothes, I thought, steeling myself, still not able to believe I would be going undercover as a stripper tonight. I’d never even been in a strip club. This whole idea was a disaster. Plus how did he plan on convincing the owner, Walter, to hire me?
“What about this?” the clerk asked, holding up a barely there black dress.
“Gorgeous, Sarah. But I think I’d like to see Rose in something red.”
She hung the dress back up, and continued through the clothes. “How about this?”
The dress looked more like a very sleazy shirt. It was a halter that tied at the neck. The V in front was very low cut. Plus I wondered if it would cover my ass.
“That’s too small,” I said, shaking my head, backing away.
Without responding to me, he said, “It’s perfect. Can Rose try it on?”
“Of course. Follow me,” she said, leading us to the dressing rooms.
When she flipped open a small stall, Agent Mackey shook his head. “A private dressing room, if you please.”
“Oh, right.” Her eyes flashed in surprise.
So did mine. Private dressing rooms? I hoped he didn’t think I was going to change in front of him because that would not be happening.
When we reached the room I breathed a sigh of relief. There was a large dressing room with a black curtain across the front, and then a sitting area.
Sarah hung the dress in the room. “When you’re finished, let me know.”
“Excellent,” Agent Mackey said.
Once the girl left, Agent Mackey moved close so that his cinnamon gum breath touched my cheeks. “I want you to pretend you’re a stage actress. In the play, the main character—that would be you—is a stripper.”
I groaned. Twinges of stress and nerves pulsated in my stomach.
He stifled a smile. “Okay?”
I stood there, knowing I must look like a deer in the headlights. I never liked to act, hadn’t ever been in a play.
He continued, “In this scene, you are trying on a dress for the antagonist—that would be me—and I’m going to watch.”
“No freakin’ way!” I shouted. Then in a lower voice, I said, “I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, but there is no way in hell I’m going to change into this,” I shoved the flimsy red piece of material between us. “Dress in front of you.”
He took a deep breath. “I know this seems odd, but if you’re going to pull off a stripper, you’ve got to get over your self-consciousness, realize the woman in you, and come to terms with your sexuality.” He went to grab my shoulders and I flinched. “May I?” he asked.
After a moment’s pause, I said, “Yes.”
Agent Mackey gently placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face the tri-fold mirrors against the far wall. Our reflection took my breath away. My fair skin and small frame seemed to mesh flawlessly against his tanned, taut body.
“Look at you,” he said softly, leaning so his lips were close to my ear. “You’re incredibly beautiful. Most people believe strippers are these broken women who’ve been abused, but some of the best strippers are confident, caring women who understand their bodies and know how to use them.”
“A piece of meat,” I said disgustedly, looking away.
“To most men, probably. But I happen to know the really talented women don’t see themselves that way. To them the men are the meat.
I glanced at him warily. How did he know such women? Was he a deviant bad boy who thought all women worshipped the ground he walked on? Butterflies fluttered nervously low in my belly. He was gorgeous, and seemed sweet, especially since he wore the tacky Christmas socks his grandmother gave him. But it could all be an act. He didn’t look like a perverted crazy, but neither had Ted Bundy.
For the first time in my life, I said, “Give me your hands.”
His handsome face relaxed. “I thought that was a no-no,” he said with an easy smile.
I shrugged off the statement. “Usually it is, but I-I need to see something.”
“Sure,” he said, holding out his hands for me to take.
Apprehensive, I wrapped my smaller fingers around his, ignoring the amused expression on his deliciously handsome face. Immediately images of his intentions flashed across my mind. He was excited to watch, but nothing evil or lascivious appeared in his intentions… like trying to seduce me or force me to have sex. Sighing, I said, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you if you’re disappointed. I’m not the stripper kind of girl.”
His eyes twinkled, as though somehow he knew me better than I knew myself. “I don’t think you have any idea what kind of girl you are.”
Chapter 7
That was true, I thought. When it came to sensuality, or sexuality, I always drew back, kept my distance. Jack and I hadn’t had sex. He wanted to, of course, and on several occasions, I wanted to as well. But I worried about what would happen, if my gift would manifest in a different way, if I were that intimate with a man. So I never let it get that far. It was better anyway. I wanted my first time to be with the man. The one I would spend the rest of my life with. My friends in college thought it was silly that I waited, and it probably was. But none of them had the strange power I did (at least not that I knew of, but I highly doubted it), and I was only nineteen. I had time to change my mind. For now, that was the plan.
Agent Mackey sat in an overstuffed, black chair, resting his elbows on the arms, and leaning his chin on a hand as he studied me. “Just pretend I’m your lover and this is foreplay.” He loosened his tie.
I gasped and then sighed. “Are you sure I’m right for the job? I mean, since your people—the FBI—are involved and going after a serial killer, isn’t there another agent, one who looks younger, but has more experience, that you could call in? I’m sure someone else would do a much better job.” I knew I rambled. I knew I sounded immature. Where this type of thing was concerned, I was both.
He leaned forward, encouraging me on, but didn’t say anything.
I guess he isn’t going to answer, I thought after holding his gaze for what seemed like hours. Letting out a huge breath, I tried to blow all of my nervous insecurities out and slipped off my cherry-brown loafers.
“The socks, too,” he commanded softly.
I pulled off my white knee-highs, allowing the pale pink polish on my toes to show.
I can do this, I thought. With trembling fingers, I moved to the buttons on my shirt and tried not to think about standing in front of Agent Mackey in my bra and undies.
He held up a hand. “Take down your hair first. Men find long hair incredibly sexy, especially when it’s framing a beautiful face.”
“Okay,” I uttered, pulling the band of my ponytail down the l
ength of my hair. I tucked the band in my front pocket, and used my hands to shake it out. “Like this?”
A hint of a smile curled his lips. “Exactly. You are stunning.”
A blush creeped along my skin and stained my cheeks. “Now what,” I asked, feeling a little less timid.
“Your pants next.”
I unbuckled my leather belt, and pulled it off, setting it carefully on the floor.
“Pick it back up,” he demanded.
“The belt?” I asked. Had he changed his mind?
“Yes.” He cleared his throat.
I picked up the belt.
“Put it back on, and this time, pull it off slowly and drop it.”
I had no doubt my cheeks were the color of crimson. Nervously, I put the belt back through the loops on my jeans. Without meeting his gaze, I pulled it off, remembering half way to go slow.
“Look at me,” he barked.
I shook my head. “I don’t think I can do this. I’m not—”
“Stop it, Rose.” He stood and came to me. Turning so we faced the mirrors again, he sidled his body against my back. I resisted the urge to lean into him. He grabbed the belt and pulled it off with skilled ease. “Like this.” The feel of the leather gently sliding along the band of my jeans sent tremors through my belly. “Take the belt.”
I did, making sure I didn’t touch his hand with mine.
“Now look at me, and drop it, as though you want me to understand there is more to come.”
I let out an embarrassed laugh, but the look on his face shut me up.
They were fiery, filled with hot passion, as though he truly desired me.
He should’ve been an actor, I thought. I kept my eyes on him and dropped the belt.
Moving even closer so my butt touched his thighs, he whispered, “Now your jeans.”
I felt like clay in his hands. With him near, I obeyed. Undoing the button and the zipper, I slid them over my butt, unexpectedly pushing into his thighs. He inhaled, but didn’t touch me with his hands. I shook my pants down and then bent over to pull them off my feet. Still he kept his hands to himself. When my pants were off, I stood back up, checking his face in the reflection. He looked like he was straining, fighting to keep control.
Rose, Undercover (Dead Roses #1.1) Page 2