Ironing standing up, or like you’d vacuum curtains, maybe. She pulled the trigger, and steam came out. Perfect.
She smelled it first. What did that remind her of? The firing range. Same acrid bite. She yanked the nozzle away and stared in dismay at the result.
The garment was still white, except for one place where it was wrinkled and brown. And the tag said $125.00.
That was when the phone rang.
“Help,” Paige said, even as she ripped the garment off the hanger and stuffed it into the wastebasket, pulling the tissue paper over it once more.
“What did you do?” Lily asked. “What happened? Something happened.”
“I melted a nightgown. Never mind. Never mind. I’m fine. I thought you were supposed to steam, though.”
“As long as it doesn’t actually touch the clothes,” Lily said. Oh. “I’m coming back,” her twin added. “It’s too hard for you.”
“It’s not too hard!” Paige snapped. “It’s lingerie.” She got herself back under control with an effort. “I am going back out there. I am selling underwear. Watch my smoke. Not literally. I’m done burning up your stock. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
She should’ve gone with the sprained hand idea instead of the mythical hot dog. Too late now. Closing the storeroom door behind her, she advanced into the shop with a smile pasted onto her face and hoped her makeup wasn’t running. Lily would have checked before she’d come out. A couple women were standing in front of the racks of clothes, fingering them hesitantly, and Paige reminded herself that she knew how to use a cash register. Also that she wasn’t a moron. She smiled harder at Hailey and said, “Trade you. I got a little lightheaded back there.” She didn’t need Hailey observing her customer interaction.
That part was easier. She greeted the women, kept an eye out as they browsed, and in between, wandered around and “arranged” clothes on the hangers, doing her best to memorize. She ushered one customer into a dressing room and closed the dusty-rose curtain behind her, rang up a scarf for the other one, and wondered if she should have encouraged her more in her shopping. She seemed… scared. Intimidated, almost. Like Paige wasn’t the only one who found lingerie daunting. And then the fiftyish woman who’d vanished into the dressing room poked her head around the curtain and asked her, “Can you give me an opinion?”
When Paige got over there, the woman let the curtain drop a fraction and said, “Tell me honestly.”
That would be a bad idea. The white nightgown ended well above the knee. It was a little snug around the middle, too low, too… everything. Paige thought fast, then said, “You know what? You’re not really loving that one, or you wouldn’t have asked. Not my favorite, either. I’ve got one I think you’ll like better. Hang on.” She went over to one of the racks she’d been “checking,” brought back two gowns, one in large and one in extra-large, handed them in, and said, “These tend to run small, so I’ve brought you two sizes.” In reality, she had no clue, but it would’ve sounded good if somebody’d said it to her. “This runs small” ranked right up there with “I love you” when it came to appealing three-word phrases.
The woman, still holding the curtain across her body and looking like she wished she could leave, looked dubiously at the crimson garments Paige held out and said, “Red?”
“It’s a simple… uh, design, though,” Paige said. “Not like you’re a hooker.” The woman looked shocked, and Paige hurried on, “I mean, there’s red and red. Some women think it has to be short to be sexy,” she added in a burst of inspiration. “Can’t it be long and slinky, like… like…” She tried to think of an actress. A movie. She blanked. The last movie she’d seen had had Captain America in it.
“Katherine Hepburn,” the woman suggested, Paige said, “Exactly!” like she had more than a vague idea who that was, shut the curtain, started putting clothes back on the racks, and thought, Breathe.
A couple minutes later, the woman came out, beaming, handed back four nightgowns while still clutching one of the red ones, and said, “You were right. It’s our anniversary this week—well, tomorrow, actually—and we’re on our way to Glacier.” Glacier National Park wasn’t any code word for impossibly romantic to Paige, but she put on an encouraging face as the woman went on. “I’ve put off buying anything because I didn’t want to feel… well, stupid. But I think my husband might think this is sexy, even on me. You think?”
“I’ll bet he will,” Paige said. “The color’s wonderful with your skin tone,” she added, like somebody who’d know that.
“You know…” the woman said as Paige folded the garment as carefully as she could manage, wrapped some white tissue paper around it, fastened it with a gold sticker, set it into a carrier bag, and thought, OK. You did it. You sold a nightgown. Tagged and bagged, and only then remembered that she had to scan it first. She took it out in a nonchalant fashion, scanned it, and resumed the whole folding-and-bagging thing again. The woman watched her in a bemused fashion, but didn’t comment. “You know,” she said again, “I wasn’t even sure about coming in here at first. And I’ll admit that I feel better when the sales clerk looks more normal, especially in a store like this. But you were actually very helpful.”
Paige stopped in the middle of pushing buttons. I don’t look normal? she wanted to ask, but didn’t. “This dress a little over the top?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” the woman said, and Paige thought, Oh, yes. “Of course you’re beautiful,” the woman added, “but it’s easier to ask for another size from somebody who’s still carrying some of her baby weight, isn’t it?” She laughed. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I tell my daughters, appreciate that you’re young and free. The stretch marks will come soon enough.”
For the first time today, Paige was glad Lily wasn’t here. Lily didn’t need to hear about how lucky she was not to have kids. The stretch marks weren’t coming anytime soon for either of the twins. Paige had decided she was going to be fine with that, and Lily never mentioned it. She didn’t have to. Paige knew.
Jace parked the ute outside the hardware store, told Tobias, “Stay,” and got a pained look, as if the dog were saying, What do you take me for?
“You’re right,” Jace said. “You’re more disciplined than I am, mate.” Tobias wasn’t the one who’d come home that morning, taken a too-long shower, and then spent half an hour trimming his beard and shaving around the edges until his face stopped saying “possible Unabomber” and approached “fashionable scruff.” Not to mention the rest of the trimming he’d done, for which there was absolutely no reason except that you wanted a woman’s hands on your body. Or that you wanted yours on her. Or both.
Afterwards, he’d swept the black hair back from his face, grimaced in the mirror at the lines carved by too much sun and too much time, and muttered aloud, “You’re old, mate. And if you get into anything more exciting than handbags at dawn, this hair’s going to blind you.” Which was why he’d stopped at the Mane Event, after lunch at the usual café served by the usual waitress, and booked an appointment for Tuesday.
Changing it up would be good. Readiness was a state of mind, and so was too much routine. The wrong state of mind.
That was also why he drove toward the gym afterward but didn’t make it all the way there. Not because the spot he pulled into was a couple shopfronts up from Sinful Desires. He parked there because of that too-much-routine issue. He needed to start walking through town, taking note of his surroundings, who he saw and how they looked at him, in the way that kept you alive.
It wasn’t the total population that mattered. It was the percentage of it that wanted to kill you. Some woman was writing down her fantasies about attacking him, and worse, she was sending them to him from Montana. Time to face that and check to see if she were actually much closer than Missoula. He was going to have to read the signals, because he doubted she’d be holding a sign.
There may have been something else to his parking spot, though, because when he passed the shop with
the white-painted, gilt-edged sign swinging on its chains beneath a pink awning, he glanced casually inside, and not because he was interested in black stockings and filmy underthings. Although, as it happened, they did manage to hold his interest, especially when he put his imagination to work.
But as for the primary purpose of the exercise? He saw a few middle-aged ladies inside, but not a single goatherd.
Lily. She didn’t look like a Lily. Or she did, but she didn’t act like one. Or she did, but only sometimes. When she smiled, she was a Lily. When she was swearing at goats or talking about touching his tattoo, she looked like somebody more interesting. He’d clearly judged her too quickly before, or not been observant enough. In any case, he wanted to see more of that somebody. He might stop by the shop later to check on her hand.
But first, the gym. You always went into the skirmish prepared, even if that just meant with your muscles pumped, and possibly dressed in jeans instead of workout shorts that had seen better days. He made it to The Sinful Body without spotting any potential assassins, headed to the desk, and handed his card to Charlotte.
“Hi,” he said, and smiled at her.
“Hi yourself,” she said, which was unusually perky of her. She handed him a towel and said, “You trimmed your beard.”
“I did.” He ran his hand over his jaw. “What do you think? Better?”
“Hmm. I can’t decide.” She put her head on one side and said, “The mountain man look was nice, too.”
“Seems to be trending,” he agreed. “Not sure if that’s a good thing.”
She laughed. “Means you can’t lose. One way or another, you’re covered.”
She’d blushed, as usual, but she seemed to have gained some confidence, which was always a positive. Or maybe he seemed more focused. Less distant. He grinned at her and said, “Yeah? Good to know,” headed to the locker room to drop his bag, wondered why Lily’s hot-and-cold approach was sexier than pure interest, and decided not to think about what that said about him. He knew already. The need to pursue. He was an unevolved bastard.
He stepped out of the locker room and stopped.
There she was. Lily. How had he missed her before? She was facing away from him, but still. But definitely. Her hair was pulled back into two short braids, and she was wearing black stretch capris that were cut below her navel and a pink crop top that was cut above her navel. Which left heaps for him to look at.
She wasn’t one bit brunette, she wasn’t overly tall, and she definitely wasn’t willowy. And he couldn’t look away.
He’d never seen her in here, and she wasn’t doing any of the things you’d expect. Spinning class. Zumba, whatever Zumba was. Any of those things with music. She was holding a pair of dumbbells—an unmatched pair, the right one noticeably smaller than the left—and doing lunges. When he walked closer and got a better look, her face had a twist to it that said those lunges were a major effort. She switched so her right leg was in back, and the twist became a grimace. And she still didn’t notice him.
He recognized the other jarring note only when he was halfway across the floor toward her. She wasn’t wearing earphones. Usually, a good-looking woman listened to music as she worked out.
He stopped where he was. Think. Why was that? Probably something to do with discouraging random blokes from disturbing them when all they were doing was trying to get in a gym session.
However much Lily was struggling, and however good she looked in that gear, that was what she was doing. A workout. She’d liked his help with the goats, and she’d liked that he hadn’t chatted her up too much while he’d done it. She’d liked his restraint, the same way he’d liked hers. And she wouldn’t like this.
He hated when he was sensitive. He sighed, veered away, climbed onto a rowing machine, adjusted the seat to accommodate his legs, and flipped the resistance to high.
Kelli popped up before he’d made it through two minutes, and he felt a flash of irritation that told him he’d guessed right about Lily.
“What’s on the program for today?” the trainer asked. She didn’t mention his beard. She was wearing a crop top and capris herself, both of them in black, and she absolutely was willowy, tall, and brunette. “How can I help?”
“I’m all good,” he said. “Lower body today.” He glanced at Lily without intending to. She’d moved on to goblet squats, clutching a single weight in her hands and… well, doing squats. A quick glance around told him that even at an off time like this, more than one bloke was watching her do them, and he wanted to tell them to… what?
He knew what. He looked back at Kelli, but she’d followed his gaze. “Well, not like that, I hope,” she said with a laugh. “I hope you’re lifting something a little heavier. Women who don’t work out for three months and then think they’ll get results in one day, and using five-pound weights?”
He didn’t say anything, just kept rowing, and after a minute, she glanced at him sidelong and said, “You think that’s too honest. But helping somebody who’s worked hard to get himself in shape and keep himself there is a whole lot more satisfying than what I usually end up doing, which is to help somebody set up a program they won’t follow. Trainers are attracted to self-discipline. It’s why we got into it, after all. But I shouldn’t say it, you’re thinking.”
“No,” he said. “But we all have our moments.”
“Right,” she said. “If you’re all good, then, I’ll go earn my money helping people set up programs they won’t follow.”
Which was all fine. He watched her stop to talk to Lily, watched Lily shake her off, and thought something like, I knew you had it in you. Which was an odd reaction. Getting training from an expert was a good thing. Training was how you improved, how you kept yourself from getting complacent. Was it actually that he didn’t want anybody, male or female, talking to Lily?
He needed a trip to the pub, that was what it was. An evening at the Glacier Point Bar & Grill, leaning against the mahogany bar with a foot on the rail and a bottle in his hand, buying a pretty girl a drink or two and seeing what she thought of his accent. Flirting, and maybe more. Moving on. He’d thought he’d never be ready again, but clearly, he was.
He should do that, yeah. He kept rowing, watched Lily rack her weights like she knew what she was doing, no matter what Kelli had said, then stretch out without a bit of self-consciousness, palms on the floor, knees pedaling, and glorious bum in the air. After that, he watched as she stood, turned, and her eyes met his.
And then he watched her turn and leave.
Well, bugger.
You are not here to get laid. Maybe if Paige said it ten times fast, she’d believe it.
You are Lily. That one made it through. She took a quick shower, did the bare minimum on the makeup, changed back into the too-fancy dress, spent ten more minutes getting an agonizingly-slowly-prepared smoothie from the juice bar, and headed back to the shop drinking it. She’d still be hungry, but the whole day had rattled her enough that she’d needed to spend her lunch hour—which wasn’t actually an hour—in territory more familiar.
When she stepped back into the store, she found a man there. And not the man she’d been thinking about.
Shopping for the trophy wife, she thought immediately, then checked in with her impressions to see why. It wasn’t that the wife was there. Hailey was at the other side of the store helping a lean, anxious-looking woman pick out underwear, and that woman wasn’t this man’s wife, girlfriend, or anything else.
Why? Because he’d never have an anxious-looking wife. The body language said relaxed. It said rich. It said never got into a situation I couldn’t handle.
She kind of hated him already.
He turned, looked at her, smiled, and lifted the item on its hanger without a bit of self-consciousness. One of the camisole-and-boy-thong combos she’d been tagging earlier, which Hailey must have put on display. The white version.
“I always like white best,” he said conversationally. “What does that say about me,
do you think?”
He had some white himself. Silver, to be exact, at the temples of his perfectly cut dark hair. He wasn’t quite dressed for Sinful, either. No plaid, no camo, and no denim. He was wearing black dress trousers that, even without a Lily-eye, Paige could guess had cost some money, and a white-on-white striped dress shirt that ditto. No tie, but only because he was too stylish for a tie. She’d bet he had a black jacket in his car, and that he’d spent more on the whole outfit than she had on her spa vacation. Including all the waxing.
He hung the lingerie up again before turning toward her again, and she checked his pockets out of habit. Wallet in the back and nothing else, or it would have been obvious. “Dockers” wasn’t a word that had ever crossed this guy’s lips, and neither had “a little more room in the seat and thigh.”
She eyed him, eyed Hailey, still talking to her customer, and said, “I don’t know. What do you think?” Which sounded hostile, but she felt hostile.
“That I prefer my romance on the innocent side?” he said, then laughed, and she bristled. He must have seen it, because he said, “That sounded terrible. That I like to ease into it, maybe. That a little shyness can be sexy.”
“Spoken like every man with an eye for an eighteen-year-old,” she said, and saw his eyes widen. Way too bitchy, and something Lily would never have said, but she couldn’t quite manage “Lily” at this moment.
He put up a hand palm-out and smiled, a rueful thing with too much good humor in it. “I come in peace. I guess there’s no way to talk about lingerie preferences without sounding at least a little creepy, so let’s just say I was waiting for you and passing the time by looking around. Would it help if I bought something?”
“Probably not,” she said, tossing her bag behind the counter and stashing the half-drunk smoothie. “It would help if you told me why you were waiting for me, though.” She was winging it here. Why hadn’t Lily told her how many good-looking men she had hanging around? Probably because that was Lily’s life story, so she hadn’t thought to mention it. It was seriously disconcerting Paige.
Guilty as Sin (Sinful, Montana Book 1) Page 7