The Bachelor (Chandler Brothers 1)

Roman stood beside him, devouring her with a single, sexy look.

“Hi, Officer.” She managed a friendly wink meant to encompass both men. “So what can I do for you this morning? Are you here to check out the newest in thong underwear?” She tossed the joke she always used on Rick, attempting normalcy.

Rick grinned. “Not unless you plan on modeling for me.”

She laughed. “In your dreams.”

Roman cleared his throat, obviously meant to remind them that he was in the room.

As if she could forget. “Come on, Roman. You have to know your brother here likes all women. He’d have a harem if it were legal, wouldn’t you, Rick?”

Rick merely chuckled.

“Can we get down to business?” Roman asked.

“Police business, unfortunately.” Rick’s mood suddenly sobered.

Charlotte didn’t like the intense sound of his voice. “Why don’t we sit?” She led them to the oversized velour Queen Anne–type chairs near the fitting room.

The two men overpowered the frilly, feminine decor. Her gaze settled on Roman. He epitomized the magnetic lure of the Chandler brothers, she thought. Every female felt his presence when he was in a room.

Though Roman remained standing, Rick sat, hands clasped between his legs, looking like a man with a secret.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

The brothers exchanged silent glances. Static broke through the quiet, Rick’s police radio calling for his attention. He shot Charlotte a regret-filled look. “Excuse me.” While he unhooked the two-way radio from his belt and discussed business, Roman’s piercing gaze never left hers.

Rick glanced up. “I’m sorry. A disturbance at the general store, and backup’s needed.”

Charlotte waved him off. “You go.” And take your brother with you, she silently pleaded.

“Roman, can you fill her in? She needs to be aware of what’s going on.” Rick shattered her hopes.

Roman nodded. “My pleasure,” he said in that sexy voice.

She shivered with awareness. Damn the man for his effect on her, she thought, but by the time Rick took off, leaving Roman and Charlotte alone in the back of her store, she hoped she’d schooled her face into a polite mask of friendliness. With Beth off this morning and the lull in customers, there was no one to interrupt them, so she’d be safer if she pushed the attraction to the back burner. “If such a thing were possible,” she muttered.

“Is what possible?” Roman asked.

She shook her head, then swallowed hard. “Not a thing. Is this about the panty thief?”

Roman nodded. “It’s about your merchandise.” He leaned against the wall beside her.

“Which items?” Rick hadn’t given her specifics on his last visit.

Roman coughed once and flushed before answering. “Ladies’ panties.”

Charlotte grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned, there is a subject that can make a Chandler man blush.”

“This guy’s apparently got a fetish of some sort,” Roman said.

A fetish for panties. She shook her head wryly, then Roman’s words sank in. “You said this guy’s got a fetish. Why assume it’s a man? Do the police think it’s a man?”

“You’ll have to talk to Rick about that.”

She nodded, giving the matter more thought. “You do realize only a woman could wear the stolen property—without anyone noticing. Unless, of course, he’s a poorly endowed man.” She met his amused gaze and caught him laughing.

“Behave yourself, Charlotte.”

His grin filled her with warmth and her stomach churned with awareness. “So what brand of panties? I sell dozens.”

“Again, Rick’s got the details, but he mentioned the crocheted ones in the window. He said they’re handmade?”

By her. Her garments were exclusive, fashionable, personal, and not meant to become an object of obsession or ridicule for a perverted man. She had her reasons for pursuing the hobby that had become a staple in her business. But Charlotte couldn’t imagine divulging personal secrets with Roman when distance seemed the safest route. Not when the details connected to those garments would lead to an emotional minefield.

Crocheting provided a window to her soul and discussion would reveal her deepest pain and disappointment. Because along with knitting, Charlotte had learned to crochet from her mother. They were skills Annie had developed as a means of escape, after Charlotte’s fame-seeking father had abandoned them when Charlotte was nine. Hollywood was waiting, he’d said one morning, and walked out, only to return at disparate intervals. His revolving-door habit had become a pattern in her life. It was a pattern Charlotte had always feared falling into with Roman, so strong was the magnetic pull he exerted over her.

He cleared his throat and Charlotte blinked. “I know the brand,” she said at last. “What can I do to help the police?”

“For now Rick just wants you more informed. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with what he needs.”

She nodded. As silence reigned, she sought a neutral topic. “How’s your mother?”

His features softened. “Hanging in. She’s allowed one activity outside the house a day, then she comes home to rest and keep off her feet. I feel better having seen her myself. Chase’s phone call scared me to death.”