Suz cracked the gum bubble she’d blown. “It’s not for you, silly.” She checked around before leaning in closer and lowering her voice. “I was informed I have the fashion sense of a turnip. I thought I should prove her wrong. I’m much worse than a turnip.”
“Because you don’t give a hoot about high-fashion clothes, and with your figure, you don’t need to.” Lynn didn’t mind being trim and in shape, but every now and then she’d kill to own Suz’s curves. Ever since high school, their girls’-night-out pictures had showcased them like human salt-and-pepper shakers—Suz the fair-skinned blonde with knockout curves, Lynn with her dark hair and dark complexion showcasing slim but feminine lines. Her best feature was her shockingly light eyes—“moonlit crystals on a Mediterranean beach”, a silver-tongued date had once informed her.
No, Lynn was happy with her body but still pissed on Suz’s behalf. “Who was the smartass who insulted you, or do I need to ask?”
“It was Dana Hastings, of course.” Suz adjusted the raggedy cuffs on the ancient monstrosity as if she were on a Paris fashion runway. “I’m on my way back from her desk. You should have seen her recoil in disgust.”
Lynn couldn’t help but snicker in response even as she double-checked her work was still in place and her computer screen hadn’t done another vanishing trick. “Please don’t wear it to yoga tonight, or we’ll be banned for life for disturbing the delicate balance of the universe.”
“Hey, what do you think caused the big bang in the first place?” Suz paused. “Speaking of big dicks, I mean small dicks…”
Damn. “That was a very cheesy segue. I’m going to ignore you.” For some reason, Lynn’s on-again, off-again dating situation with Phil Shotelle, one of the upper management at Bay City Press, was a source of constant annoyance to Suz.
“Tell me you’ve seen the light and dumped the stiff, and I’ll float my bright little wings toward my desk.”
Lynn sighed as she pulled her fingers through her long hair, attempting to straighten not only the tangles caused by the excursion under her desk, but the tangles in her brain. It was a good thing she had work she loved and Suz to distract her, because her current dating relationship wasn’t lighting the night on fire.
And that was fine.
She supposed.
A sense of guilt struck. Poor Phil. He hadn’t done anything to deserve getting dumped on, and she found herself defending him yet again. “He’s not a bad guy, Suz. Really, he’s not.”
Suz took a step forward, finger extended in accusation. “But you’ll admit he’s not a good guy either, right? Or not the right guy for you. He’s boring and old and never ever makes your heart pound.” She clutched her hands together. “Come on, pretty please admit that much.”
“Thirty-nine is not old,” Lynn insisted, dragging her hair into a ponytail and securing it in position with an elastic. Suz had a point, though. Her relationship with Phil wasn’t one of passion. It was more one of…
Convenience. Or reliability. Familiarity?
Shit. Those definitions were too close to boring. Lynn shook off the strange sadness the topic always wrapped her in. “Face it. You’ve never liked Phil.”
“Because I have good taste in men.”
Lynn couldn’t speak for a moment, the constant chain of guys Suz had enjoyed over the years flashing through her brain and making her blink. Her friend was careful not to hook up with axe murderers, but she didn’t resist temptation as far as enjoying herself. Lynn would have been jealous if she didn’t love Suz so hard, and besides, she wasn’t looking for a different lover every night.
Although one who knew where her clit was would be a nice change of pace. Or one who even seemed remotely interested in at least searching. Phil’s chivalrous behavior was positively puritan.
Meanwhile, she lived vicariously through Suz’s escapades. “So you’re insisting you’ve only dated absolute princes among men,” she teased. “All of them. Every. Single. One.”
“Yip,” Suz gloated. “If you let me help pick a guy for you, you too would wear a smile like mine in the mornings instead of needing four cups of coffee before you’re halfway human.”
“Come on, you’ve had a few duds.” Lynn scrambled for an example. “Say…your boxer?”
Suz blinked then shivered hard. “You mean the one who tied me up and made me orgasm so often and so hard I passed out? Yeah, he was such a loser.”
Jeez. “How about the pilot?”
That suggestion brought a heavy sigh from her friend, but the reason for the reaction wasn’t what Lynn expected. Suz lifted a hand and fanned her face. “You talking about Kakeru? The San Fran to Japan-based pilot who brought his copilot along for the ride—nom nom, I might add—or the KLM pilot who taught me all the dirty words in Dutch, or the—”
Lynn’s computer monitor flickered again. “Shit. Sorry to cut this scintillating conversation to a close, but I’m ten minutes away from completing my revisions on the layout, and I need to get them done.”
Suz shook her head sadly. “He’s no good for you.”
“We’ll talk about it after yoga.”
Her friend made a low clucking noise. Lynn whipped her head up, then realized Suz wasn’t commenting on her lack of willpower to call it off with Phil.
Dana Hastings was marching past, four-inch stilettos flashing as she strode forward in her expensive suit. Her nose visibly twitched as if she smelled something funny in their vicinity.
She’d only gone a half-dozen steps past Lynn’s cubicle before Suz turned. “Gotta run,” she muttered. “We will talk about this more tonight.”
She took off after Dana, the long, uneven ends of her sweater flapping behind her like tail feathers, and Lynn giggled. God, she loved that woman.
Turning back to her computer screen wiped the smile off her face. “You, I don’t love. Come on, computer, behave.”
At the moment, solving the power-source problem was more important than mentally debating, again, her love life. Lynn found the electrical cables where they popped up on the far side of the cubicle wall. She followed the black bundle as it slithered along the edge of the moveable wall, finally crossing a structural dip in the hall and vanishing around a corner.
It was like running an obstacle course. Only when Lynn rounded the corner she had the joy of one more obstacle. The left side of Dana Hastings’s desk stood directly in front of the bundle, and no amount of searching on either side exposed a new escape route.
Somewhere under the desk was the issue.
Lynn glanced around, but the manager Dana clerked for was out of her office. After making sure no one else was looking, Lynn fell to her knees and once again crawled into the close confines of under-desk dwellers.
She wasn’t going to even think about spiders.
Fortunately, she’d already figured out the back-of-the-desk trick, and she had the cables in sight in less than thirty seconds. The source of her troubles became perfectly clear—a main power breaker was set along the wall, and one of the plugs had worked partially free. She shoved the head in tightly, a satisfying click sounding as the prongs locked into position. Good. Now she could finish her job.
She gasped in pain as her hair caught on something, the ponytail she’d put it in snagging on a loose screw. Her head throbbed for the second time that day as she stilled, reaching upward in an attempt to loosen the knot without ripping out part of her scalp.
At least no one was around to see her humiliation—
Click.
Click.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
High heels. Rapidly approaching. Lynn resigned herself to being caught. She worked carefully on her hair while waiting for the perfect moment to announce her presence.
“Of course, Mr. Shotelle,” Dana purred.
Lynn froze. Phil was here on the production level? He never came down from—
“It’s never a problem for you to call me,” Dana said in a teasing voice. “That’s why I gave you my cell num
ber.”
A flirty little laugh followed, but all Lynn could focus on at first was that Phil was on the phone, not on the floor. Her heart thumped once, hard, then stopped completely as Dana’s shiny gold shoes paused two paces from where the desk chair had rolled after being shoved aside.
Stuck with her head twisted to one side, Lynn’s only line of sight was through a narrow crack. Dana’s legs from feet to mid-thigh was about it for a view, but it wasn’t so much being stuck under the desk as the overheard conversation that turned Lynn’s blood to ice.
Dana’s shoes rotated toward the wall, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “Do I get to see you for another…emergency…tonight, sugar bear?”
Emergency? Seeing Phil?
Comprehension hit in a rush. Lynn dropped her head in exasperation, and the lock of hair still caught on the screw yanked a bunch of strands free. Only sheer frustration stopped a scream from escaping as her scalp throbbed in protest.
Phil’s emergency, the one he’d sorrowfully told her about as he cancelled their Sunday date, had involved Dana Hastings calling him sugar bear?
Only the click, click, click of Dana walking away saved Lynn from being tossed in prison for murder. She wouldn’t have minded scaring the bejeezus out of Dana before marching upstairs to Phil’s office to bludgeon him to death with whatever advertising plans lay strategically placed on his desk. The ones she swore he propped up every morning to prove how important he was.
Fucking bastard. So much for being reliable and…and puritan. All his sweet talk about respecting her and being old-fashioned regarding sex was one hundred percent horse hockey—he was dipping his doughnut in someone else’s coffee.
Ass.
Jerk. Butthead.
Making up insults passed the time as she undid her ponytail, carefully escaping the trap she now welcomed having crawled into. By the time she’d regained her freedom, Lynn was over her rush of anger. She’d needed a good solid reason to move on, and this was it, baby. This was it in spades.
Forget killing him. Phil Shotelle wasn’t worth the energy to even bother tossing him a kiss-off. Maybe she’d take Suz up on her offer of helping Lynn find a date.
In a month.
Or a year.
When she was no longer sick of the entire population of Y-chromosome carriers.
Chapter Two
Everything that could go tits-up, would. Parker wanted to kick his own ass for thinking the rule wasn’t in effect in civilian territory.
“Dean. Change of plans. She’s not headed home.” He let a single car slip between him and the sporty hatchback Lynn and the blonde woman with her had driven from the parking garage of the Bay City Press.
His partner’s voice echoed through the radio, slightly tinny. “I’m leaving the office now. Where should I meet you?”
Parker adjusted the radio setting to lower Dean’s volume. “Not sure yet. Depends where the studio is.”
“Studio?”
“Yoga, apparently. I scored big at the news office. Went in through the mailroom and spotted a package on the counter. Took it all the way to Lynn’s floor in time to catch her and a friend discussing their after-work yoga plans.”
Dean’s wicked chuckle echoed over the line. “Dibs on checking out that action. Did I ever tell you about the yoga instructor I dated? The woman could bend in ways that were illegal. Talk about flexible—”
God. “You’ve told me a hundred times, usually when there was no way I could shut you up.”
“Just saying. I love our job, bro.”
Parker laughed. “It doesn’t suck, does it? Anyway, I figure since I’m already tailing her, I’ll hit the gym with them.”
“Are you sure? You’ve never done yoga, have you?” Dean’s amusement was clear.
“How hard could it be? I’ve got board shorts and a T-shirt in my kit. I bet they’ll love to help a newbie.” A low beeping sound went off in the background, and Parker clicked open the line to connect their third partner. “Hey, Jack, what’s up?”
The faintest hint of aggravation carried with Jack’s words. “Hate to bail, but can you stay on the Shotelle job without me? Didi got a last-minute call for help from some guy who realized he promised his wife he’d organize an anniversary dinner for them and her parents. For tonight.”
“Oh, that’s classic. Way to get in shit not only with the missus but the in-laws.” Parker changed lanes to keep on Lynn’s tail, noting they were headed into the Mission. Lynn’s apartment was in the same neck of the woods. The yoga studio had to be somewhere close by. “Don’t worry about it—we’ll manage without you.”
Dean spoke up. “If you need any help, Jack, give us a buzz.”
“Naah,” Jack drawled. “Piece of cake. We’ve got that permanent booking at the pier. Unless someone in their group has a seafood allergy, Didi and I have it under control.”
“Thanks for putting out the fire.” Ahead of him the blue hatchback had pulled into an open parking slot. “I’m at destination. Jack, have fun. Dean, I’ll relay the address when I have it.”
“Roger that. What’s the plan?”
“I’ll try to strike up a conversation during the class and see if I get anything useful. You can wait outside.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Parker slid into the last available parking space on the street, popped open his trunk, and grabbed gear as quickly as he could. Fortunately, his target was taking her sweet time, talking animatedly with her friend as the two women opened car doors and slipped gym bags over their shoulders.
Laughter rang out as well, sheer delight and happiness in the sound. Parker caught himself smiling and hoping for another chance to hear them laugh. A grumble of discontent followed hard on the thought as he trotted down the sidewalk toward the door Lynn had vanished behind.
This was the only part of the job he didn’t like. Even the brief glimpses he’d caught of his target made him leery of doing anything to help slimy Shotelle achieve his goals.
“She’s wearing a blue shirt and drives a blue car,” he reported. “Could be her favorite color.”
“Try to start a convo about music,” Dean advised. “Otherwise we might have another Gellar fiasco on our hands.”
Parker stifled a groan, remembering the romantic date they’d planned last year, during which the fiancée-to-be had a total meltdown when the string quartet they’d hired came out to play. Turned out she was a descendant of one of the Titanic musicians who’d gone down with the ship—what were the odds of that? Luckily, she’d still accepted Joe Gellar’s proposal, but the disaster had taught DreamMakers an important lesson: never assume a damn thing.
“I’m about to head in,” he informed Dean, rapidly mentioning the address and name of the studio. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Suggest you wear only the mini-receiver. There’s no way you can get into a class with a mic, and you can’t use it anyway. I’ll do a Google search while I’m waiting and update you with any pertinent information.”
Another reason why Parker loved working with Dean and Jack. Smart, quick on their feet. They worked together so well, their strengths meshing to make the system click. “Affirmative. Turning off mic and switching ear sets.”
He pulled the tiny speaker from where he’d clipped it to his collar and dropped it into his pocket. One more move and the barely visible receiver was in his ear.
Now he’d focus on his part of the job and trust Dean to do his.
The door to the studio swung open smoothly, soothing music and the gentle sound of gurgling water mixing in the background. The muted lighting showcased a welcoming entrance with benches along one wall and a front desk area covered with flickering candles.
Lynn and her friend were both seated, leaning over to remove their shoes as they continued to chatter in lower tones. Parker moved forward slowly, taking in the entire room, but his gaze hesitated on the smooth fall of Lynn’s long brown hair as it hung over her shoulder.
“Can I help you?” B
ehind the desk a bright pair of eyes blinked as a short woman in workout gear hopped to her feet. “Are you here for the next class?”
Parker nodded. “In the community visiting, and I need a break.” Thank God the prices for classes were listed in clear sight on the wall behind her. He slipped a couple bills onto the counter, avoiding hitting any of the candles.
The small woman tucked the money away before bowing slightly. “We’re happy to accommodate drop-in guests. Sign the waiver form here—” she tapped the countertop, “—then make yourself at home. Class begins in ten minutes.”
He moved to the bench, settling beside Lynn. He was still examining her on the sly when she turned and he caught the first glimpse of her face close-up. Smooth olive-toned skin. Full lips that were both perfectly bitable and a lickable licorice-red that seemed to be her natural coloring. Cheekbones he wanted to stroke with his fingers, but her eyes were what trapped him. Long lashes fluttered open to reveal pupils of an icy pale blue, like the inner core of a glacier. Unique and glorious.
She straightened, and those delectable lips twitched into a full smile. “Hi.”
Parker couldn’t look away. “Hi.”
My God, he had seen his share of beautiful women, in and out of their clothes, but he’d never before had a gut-punch reaction like falling into Lynn Elizabeth Davidson’s eyes. They were mesmerizing. He was damn near holding his breath, hoping she would blink so he could see her lashes sweep up and down again.
Her smile faded slightly. She cleared her throat. “Are you okay?”
A rapidly rising obsession shouted in his brain, commanding he wrap his fingers around her neck and pull her firmly against him so he could prove he was far better than okay, especially for someone like her.
Dean’s softly spoken words slapped him. “I’m in the café across the street. Meet me there when you’re done.”
Parker snapped back to reality. Jeez, what the hell was wrong with him? He was going to fuck up a mission for the first time in his career, all because of a pretty pair of eyes.
All Fired Up (DreamMakers) Page 2