Guilty as Sin (Sinful, Montana Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  A twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Goats and lingerie? Call me surprised.”

  “Believe me,” she said, “so am I. And here I was not putting my hand on you so I could see your dagger, because I was going for ‘remote.’”

  Fail on the Lily, but he didn’t know Lily, she was more than sure.

  “Next time,” he said, “put your hand on me.”

  That stare again. “Hmm,” she said, somewhere between Lily and Paige. “We’ll see. I’m Lily, by the way. And I’m sure I should remember your name, but I don’t.”

  “I remember,” he said. “That it’s Lily.” A look that could cut steel, and her heart skipped a beat despite herself. What was she missing?

  “And you’re…” She paused for his name, and he most unhelpfully didn’t provide it. “From Australia.”

  “Queensland. Land of snakes and crocs and every sheep-shagging joke you ever didn’t want to hear.”

  “Wild man, then.”

  “So they say.” He whistled, short and sharp, and the dog, who’d been sniffing around the baby goats in a tolerant sort of way, came over fast. Not “bounding,” because surely this dog never did anything as undignified as bounding. Returning, that was it.

  “See ya,” Mr. Hard-and-Hot said. “Lily.”

  Paige didn’t want to admit how long it took her to shake off Mr. McHotbody’s impact. Just because she didn’t have enough else to think about, that was all. The feeling lasted through her shower, though, that was for sure. She somehow couldn’t stand naked in Lily’s clawfoot tub and soap down her more sensitive bits without remembering how easily the man had held sixty pounds of squirming goat, or the size and strength of those hands.

  She worked with men. Hard men. Tough men. She knew men. But he was something more. She needed to keep her distance, for Lily’s sake, or she was going to do something very stupid.

  When she was rubbing down her newly waxed and buffed body with one of Lily’s fluffy pale-green towels, though, and smoothing on silky cinnamon-orange body butter from one of Lily’s containers of bottled decadence, her unruly mind went back to the way his hand had felt around hers. Who could blame her, really? Sad to say, it was the closest she’d come to a sexual encounter in some time. Civilians were intimidated by her, or they bored her, and cops sniffed around like dogs on the scent and made her think about gossip and perception and everyplace she didn’t want to go with that. Surely this mysterious Australian, with his accent and that hint of danger, was everything vacation flings were made of.

  If only it hadn’t been for Lily. When she was standing in front of her sister’s lavender-scented lingerie chest, she finally gave in and picked up the phone.

  It rang in her hand.

  “Hi, baby,” Paige said. “I was just calling you. I’m trying to figure out underwear. Do you have anything that isn’t a thong?”

  “I’m doing the same thing,” Lily said. “Do you have anything that isn’t a sports bra? Please?”

  “Comfortable,” Paige said. “Supportive.”

  “Ugly. Uniboob.”

  “Well, there’s that. Ooh. This is all right.” Paige lifted out a blush-colored garment with a little more substance to it.

  “The cheekster ones,” Lily said. “Yes. Those will be good for you.”

  Paige, who’d been putting them on in front of the mirrored door, paused with her thumbs still in the waistband. “That’s what I just decided. Whoa. That’s booty time.” She turned and looked over her shoulder at her rear view. “I could definitely find some company in these. Bra?” She opened the second drawer down and put her hand on it. “Never mind. I found it. You wearing the black things? They’re not sports-related. Not a sport I’ve been playing, at least.”

  “I just put them on,” Lily said, not needing to comment on how Paige knew, any more than Paige did. “How did it go with the goats? How are my babies doing? And did Brett Hunter get in touch yet?”

  “Goats are fine. And nope. Unless…” Paige stopped in the act of shoving hangers aside and trying not to be overwhelmed by too many choices. “What does he look like?” Something had been odd about Mr. Milker. A whole lot of holding back, that hint of darkness under the surface.

  “I told you. Good-looking. Dark.”

  “Tall? Uh… dominant?”

  “I told you he was.”

  Paige expelled her breath, trying to ignore how good the skimpy bra and underwear looked in the mirror and how much her body wanted somebody else to see it, too. Preferably somebody not quite tamed. “Is he Australian?”

  “Australian? No. Of course not. Why would he be Australian?”

  Paige put the phone on speaker and set it on the top of the dresser before pulling on an underdress—slip—whatever—that wouldn’t have survived the first training exercise. Long enough to cover her scars, though, which was important. “So who’s tall, built, got black hair, and knows how to milk goats?”

  “Is this a riddle?”

  “No. Showed up this morning. Out running. With a Ridgeback. Dog,” she clarified.

  “Oh. That’s the one I told you about. My neighbor. Hairy. Glares at you. He knows how to milk goats? He’s Australian? How do you know?”

  “How? Because he told me. But he didn’t tell me his name.”

  “He talked to you? About goats? Literally all he does is glare at me. I don’t know his name. I don’t think he likes women.”

  Paige sighed and adjusted the slip. “You know what? I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. But I guess that means I don’t get to lick him all over.” Ooh. She’d bet he’d lick her. He’d looked like he had enough self-control for anything. For everything. She smoothed a hand down her side, gliding over silken material all the way to her hip, and that electricity zapped her again as if the body lotion had conductive powers.

  Lily said, “You’re kidding.”

  “Yeah, well, never mind. Next time, though, I’m going on vacation where I don’t have to behave myself.”

  Alarm in Lily’s voice. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea. Look, I’ll come home. You can just be my… my moral support for the meeting. Then you can do whatever you want, too.”

  “No, I was just joking. I’m warming up to use all our combined powers on Brett Hunter, that’s all. Don’t worry. I’m being you, I promise.” Well, almost.

  “Are you sure? Because I can come home. Really.”

  “No. I’m fine.” Paige pulled on the over-part of the dress and grabbed a pair of sandals that looked like they went. There. Good. Feminine. “What are you doing today?”

  “Oh.” Lily paused a minute, then said, “Shopping. Window-shopping, anyway, walking around Union Square. Being lazy. You’re sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. I’m dressed. I’m you. I’m on it.” Out of the closet-room and down the stairs with the sandals in one hand.

  “Earrings,” Lily said. “Necklace. Makeup.”

  Whoops. Paige sighed as if she’d been remembering that and turned around. “I’m doing it. I’m there. I’m you.”

  “Right,” she muttered an hour later. She adjusted the pink leather tote on her shoulder, clutched the key ring more tightly in her hand, and ran over her sequence.

  Exactly like responding to a hot call. You decided on your approach first, and you didn’t park out front. You stayed out of the kill zone until you could go in fast and smooth and with a plan.

  Which was perhaps a little extreme for a store whose sole threat presentation was three mannequins in a window. One, headless and legless, was sporting a delicate peach ensemble not too different from the things Paige was wearing, except for the addition of a lacy garter belt. And a peach blindfold draped over one white hand. Innocent, and then… not. Another was nothing but a pair of upside-down legs clad in sheer black stockings with a line of crystals that started two inches up the side of the thigh, presumably so you could flash them in your slinky skirt when you crossed your legs. There were other garments scattered around, mostly involving a whole lot of lace and sil
k, and another outfit on a mannequin standing discreetly at the back. Her nightgown was all fine white cotton, baby-blue trim, and pintucks, and looked like it was saying in a soothing voice, “It’s all right. Honestly. Come on in. It won’t be that scary. We have things for you, too. Come innnnnnn.”

  The store looked dangerous, yes, but not in a bad-deal-going-down kind of way. More in an out-of-your-depth kind of way.

  Paige took a deep breath, thought, You are Lily. After that, she glided up to the door, inserted her key in one smooth movement, stepped inside, and said, “Hi!” in as serene-yet-chirpy a Lily-tone as she could manage.

  “Well, hey,” a woman said, coming forward with a beaming smile, taking Paige by both shoulders, and then giving her a tight hug.

  Paige stiffened and thought Whoa, lady, back off. She wasn’t that much of a hugger. And then she just thought, Whoa. She’d assumed Lily’s assistant Hailey, hired a year or so ago, was a… well, a Hailey. Young and glamorous, like Lily. Instead, she was a neat but decidedly well-upholstered fifty-something blonde-from-a-bottle in black pants and a pale-green tunic, her black-rimmed half-glasses hanging on a beaded chain around her neck. Maybe this was Hailey’s mom, Paige thought wildly as the woman continued to clutch her. Here to help?

  Whoever-she-was stood back, looked Paige over while keeping her hands on her shoulders, and said, “Fun time with your sister, hon?”

  “It was great,” Paige said with her best Lily-smile. She headed toward the back room, kept her stride smooth with a major effort, and deposited her bag. “Everything go all right here?”

  “Oh, about what you’d expect. Quiet, but it’s barely May.” Not winter ski season, not summer lake season. “So was Paige doing better? And did you get some time to relax?” This had to be Hailey.

  “She was great. Healing up fine.”

  “How about the rest of it, though?”

  Paige stopped half-in, half-out of the doorway. “She’s doing well.” What rest of it? “Upset about the shooting still being under investigation, of course. A little restless, what with not being back at work,” she added cautiously.

  “Hmm,” Hailey said. “That sounds like you’re really saying, ‘Still shut down to everybody and everything.’” She laughed, not unkindly. “Am I right? Did you get her to open up at all? She going for help?”

  “Well, you know,” Paige said, feeling for a handhold. Lily was worried about her? Lily talked about her? Lily thought she was shut down to everything? Lily wasn’t the protective one, the tough one. That was Paige. It had always been Paige. She wasn’t vulnerable. Not when they were kids, going to school on the wrong side of the tracks amidst too many tough kids who thought they were easy targets. Not later, either, after their dad had died and things had gotten worse. Not even after their mom had died. And definitely not since then, not since she’d become a cop. Not ever. “Neither of us is exactly opening our hearts right now.”

  “Oh, honey,” Hailey said. “I’m not being critical. If she’s your sister, I’m sure she’s special. Everybody has problems.”

  Lily had always admired Paige, looked up to her. At least Paige thought she had. Was it not true anymore? Did Lily feel sorry for her? It was as if the earth had shifted.

  Hailey looked at her watch, a delicate item on a gold bracelet, and back at Paige. What was Paige missing? Then the other woman asked, “Would you like me to open up?” and Paige thought, Oh.

  “Sure,” she said with relief. “I’m still in vacation mode, probably.”

  “I thought so,” Hailey said with a conspiratorial smile. “Because of your dress. But I love the darling new haircut,” she added in a hurry. “I’m surprised, because I thought you were growing it, and honey, that only works while you’re young, so you should take advantage—but it’s cute anyway. You know what?” she added in a clearly jollying tone. “I think it makes you look even younger. It does. You’ll get carded, you watch.”

  Paige had dressed wrong. The dress was pretty. It was totally Lily, an ivory-colored slip covered by an overdress made of translucent material embroidered with tiny pink and silver flowers, with an uneven hem that dropped well below the thigh-high slip. The whole thing somehow looked sexier than a shorter dress would have, and showed her legs above the delicate ankle-strapped sandals, too. The dress was fancy, which had always seemed like the main point in Lily’s wardrobe. Too fancy, though? Too party-dress? She did not know how to do this.

  “Sure,” she said randomly, and when Hailey stared at her, she added, “I’ll just…”

  “I was unpacking the new shipment from Only Hearts,” Hailey said as she went to the front door, turned the key, and flipped the sign to Open. “If you want to ease into things today.” She didn’t add, Are you drunk? But she looked like she wanted to.

  New shipment. Back room. There tended to be cardboard boxes back there, Paige remembered vaguely. She was sweating already. Two women came through the door, one of them saying, “Oh, good, you’re open. Karla, come see this.” Paige was probably supposed to know them. She fled.

  When she was safely behind a closed door in the storeroom, she took a couple deep breaths and gathered her composure. Boxes. Right. Three of them, beside a work table. The open one was filled with ivory and pink somethings. She lifted one out, and it all but floated away. Camisole, she guessed you’d call it. Pale pink, and so sheer that it hid pretty much nothing. What would you wear it under? And what good was it, other than to look sexy? Not like that would give you any support. She picked another one up, but it was something else. Underwear.

  She guessed. The packing slip said something else. Boy Thong.

  Yeah, right. Because it was cut straight across the hips? It still wasn’t a Boy anything.

  A rack nearby held a few of the camisoles on silky padded hangers, each with a hot-pink tag hanging from it, with dainty clips holding the “boy-thongs” underneath, which were also tagged. The tags seemed to have come from a green-colored plastic gun lying in a tub, a much-folded piece of white paper beneath it.

  Instruction manual. Focus. Read. It’s a gun. That should put you at ease. She looked at the already-printed tags. Fifty-five dollars? For this? One piece of it?

  “It’s a resort town. People want to spend too much money,” Lily had explained patiently the first time Paige had seen the shop. “They want to buy something they never would normally. It can’t be just a little bit better. It has to be a lot better. They’re on vacation, and it’s a piece of luxury they can take home with them.”

  Forget it. Scan, push the button, print, repeat. Then you hung the items up. She could do that.

  She’d gotten through twenty of the sets before she realized that she was supposed to have been changing the label according to size and would have to start over. She could hear voices outside the room. More than two, like there was a store out there full of customers. Early May or not, it was Saturday, and it was busy. She blew out her breath, considered jamming a couple of Kleenexes into her armpits, searched for scissors, and started removing tags, sticking the rejects into the bottom of the wastebasket and pulling crumpled tissue paper over them. Then she started over on the labeling.

  Right. Done. That was half of one box. The rest of the carton was filled with silky white nightgowns with a little more substance to them. Crumpled nightgowns. She hung them up and used her label gun on them, working frantically now.

  When the door opened, she whirled, crouched, and dropped the nightgown she was holding. Hailey put a hand to her chest, sucked in a breath, laughed, and said, “That doesn’t look relaxed. But then, I’m not sure I’m relaxed either. The nice weather brought out the mob.”

  “I’ll be right out,” Paige said. “Just finishing these.”

  A long moment, a crease between Hailey’s arched brows. “Oh, sorry,” she finally said, in what Paige recognized as some more stealth-tact mode. “I put the steamer back into the closet. Are you feeling all right, hon? You look a little flushed.”

  “I think I pic
ked up something on the plane,” Paige said. “Not contagious,” she hurried to add. “Food poisoning.”

  “Oh, no,” Hailey said. “You want to go on home? I can manage here for today.”

  Paige wanted nothing more. Unfortunately, all of this would be here tomorrow, and Sunday was Hailey’s day off. If she were going to learn this stuff, it was going to have to be today.

  Or she could close the store tomorrow. It was closed on Mondays anyway, which would give her two days to wander around and figure everything out without customers. But that would be losing, and besides, the point was to seem normal, to take on everything and everybody that was bothering Lily. If she hid, how was that going to happen? “No,” she said. “Just ate a bad hot dog at the airport. It’s about out now. I mean, I’ve just about, ah, gotten rid of it. You know how that goes. Doesn’t take long.” She added a “Ha ha” for good measure.

  Hailey looked even more taken aback. “Oh,” she said faintly.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Hot dog. Why? Extreme hunger. Too many vegetables at the spa. Serves me right. Whew, pork has sure taken its revenge now. Out in a second, though! Let me just, ah, steam these.”

  Hailey finally closed the door, probably to shut out the babbling, or perhaps further details of exactly where the hot dog had gone, and Paige opened the closet door, wiped her hands on her dress, and stared at the blue-and-white contraption. No instructions on this one. She wrestled it out of the closet, wheeled it over near the clothes rack, and finally grabbed her phone and pushed the button for Lily’s number. Her own number. Whatever.

  And got her own voicemail. She whispered a series of very bad words, shoved her phone back into her purse, closed her eyes, and summoned her Lily-magic.

  It’s a steamer. Steam is water. You have to fill it with water. It looked like a vacuum cleaner, but there would be a reservoir for water. Ah. There. She’d seen Lily doing this on past visits, she vaguely remembered. You ran the nozzle up and down over the clothes, like ironing standing up. Paige didn’t iron, but it wasn’t like she’d never done it. Not never ever. She filled the reservoir at the sink in the bathroom, spilled half of it figuring out how to fit it back into the machine, then plugged the steamer in and pushed the switch.