Her Heart's Desire

“A forced entry?”

“No. I was closed for the night. The door was unlocked, which was my fault. The chime didn’t go off. When I came out, there he was.”

“Did you call the police and fill out a report? Did they dust for fingerprints?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t take anything, and I got him to leave so I didn’t call, but it was still…”

Ivan looked down when she stopped talking. “Unsettling?”

Tiffany glanced up at him. His matter-of-fact expression from seconds earlier was replaced with one of concern. There was something about his relaxed manner that made her feel better.

“Yes. I’ve taken a self-defense class. I’m an only child. I’m used to dealing with problems myself, but in that moment, I wondered if I could remember what I’d been taught. Could I protect myself?”

Before Ivan could reply, the man across the room cleared his throat loudly.

Tiffany gazed over her shoulder. “I should get back to my customer.”

Ivan gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m going to take some measurements and continue looking around if that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

Shortly afterward, the man strode out of the store in a huff. Tiffany was pretty good at reading customers. Her intuition told her he wanted to play, not buy.

Without customers, Tiffany focused on Ivan. When Norma Jean said he used to be a colonel in the army, she’d pictured a stodgy old white-haired man with a thickening midsection. Tiffany was wrong. She wondered if Ivan had been to exotic places all over the world, spoke several languages and was an expert in lethal weapons. Granted, she may be dramatizing his abilities based on some of her favorite television shows, but he looked capable.

What a magnificent body. At five feet two and a half inches, it was a given that most people were taller than her, but she guessed he was at least six-two or six-three. His job certainly kept him in shape. His dark suit and French Blue shirt fit like they were tailored. With his physique, he could easily have stepped off the cover of a Men’s Health magazine.

Ivan had flawless light brown skin, except for a small scar on the right side of his jaw. His eyes were a vivid amber-brown, which was a sharp contrast to his thick dark eyebrows and lashes. Dark hair cut close made her wonder what it would feel like to run the palm of her hand down the smooth nape of his neck. The urge to do it made her fingers tingle.

You’ve just met him, and you’re drooling over the man. But he was charismatic, and droolworthy.

She turned to see Ivan leaning on the wall opposite the counter with an amused look on his rugged face. “Have you finished?” she asked him.

“I have.” Ivan sauntered toward her. “The only thing older than that security system is the building itself.”

Tiffany laughed. “You’re right. I inherited it when I bought the place. The alarm is temperamental, and works when it wants to—like my last sales associate. Truthfully, I haven’t given it another thought until now.”

“Were you thinking the standard motion sensors with delayed-entry keypad, or something more advanced like heat signature, night-vision cameras and—”

“Whoa,” she cut him off. “Nothing too advanced. With my budget, I can’t afford Mission: Impossible–type security. I need a modest security system where I can enter a code, turn it on or off—and a panic button, of course.”

“Of course. You’ll also want a monitoring agency to alert the police?”

“Sounds good to me.”

He made a few more notes before asking, “Will other companies be bidding?”

“I’d say that depends on you, Colonel Mangum.”

“Call me Ivan. I appreciate the opportunity, and I’m sure I can help. I’ll call you when I have the proposal ready.” He extended his hand. “A pleasure, Miss Gentry.”

“Tiffany,” she corrected. Her hand slid into his. “Likewise.”

After he left, Tiffany went to the storage room to get a box of clothing. She placed it on the counter, pulled up a stool and began to add price tags. While she worked, she made a mental note to thank Norma Jean for recommending Ivan. He’d been a pleasant diversion today.

The phone’s ring startled her from thoughts of Ivan Mangum.

“Thank you for calling the Petite Boutique. How may I help you?”