Hot Target

The intimacy that came so easily between them rattled Katie. It was something she’d never experienced with a man. Maybe it was his Southern, good-guy charm that Ron had sworn existed, hidden in their first encounter but flourishing now.

Whatever it was, it was warming her inside and out. Impairing her ability to think straight and do her job. She should be scanning for trouble, not staring into those silvery-gray eyes of his. “I like the dress,” she managed, though even to her own ears her voice was low, affected.

He reached up and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “You’re sure?”

His touch was electric, fire on her skin. Goose bumps lifted on her neck. Oh, man. Why couldn’t he have kept up that jerk routine. It really would have made this assignment easier if she hated him. Because she didn’t hate him anymore. She really did not hate him. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”

He paused, as if assessing her sincerity, and then said, “Good, then let’s seal the deal and make it ours.” He reached for the dress.

Katie frowned and moved away, pulling the dress out of reach. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to pay for it.”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “You are not buying my dress.”

Surprise flashed in his face before his jaw set. “You need it because of my party. I’m buying it.”

She tried to step around him. “I don’t need you to buy me a dress.” It made her feel for sale. It made her feel…bad.

He maneuvered in front of her. “Katie. I’m buying the dress.”

“No. You are not.”

He grimaced. “You wouldn’t need this dress if not for my function tonight. Technically, isn’t it a work expense?”

That idea ground along her nerve endings like sandpaper on wood. Right. Work. Not a date. Not that she’d ever thought it was. Not that she wanted it to be. She shoved the dress at him more abruptly than intended and responded in a tone more agitated than intended. “Fine. You can buy the dress. I’ll be at the front of the store waiting.”

She got a glimpse of his confused face but didn’t stay for a full-on inspection. She rushed away, no idea why she was upset.

A few minutes later, Luke joined her at the doorway. She didn’t look at him, instead scanning the surrounding areas for anything that indicated danger. He held the door for her as she climbed into his Ford Explorer.

Once he was inside, doors shut, he didn’t start the engine. “I’ve decided you’re a very complicated woman. You didn’t want me to buy the dress. Then when I tried to make you feel okay about me buying it, I said something wrong.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong, Luke.” Luke, resting his arm on the steering wheel, turned to study her more closely.

“I’m assuming that translates to mean I didn’t say anything wrong, but I didn’t say anything right, either.”

Katie cut her gaze, staring out of the front window. She didn’t confirm or deny his assessment, though he was right on target. She’d had some sort of meltdown inside she had yet to understand. She wanted Luke to be like Joey, buying everyone and everything—a jerk, easy to dismiss. Then she didn’t want him to be like Joey. She wanted him to be a real good guy.

The heat of Luke’s inspection sizzled along her skin, and Katie decided a subject change was her best response. “With the shopping behind us, we can get back to work.” She glanced in his direction. “I need to review the data in the file Ron gave us today, including a detailed rundown of your relationships, past and present, good and bad, so I can begin ruling out people close to you being responsible for these letters. Unfortunately, and uncomfortably, that means your ex-girlfriend and ex-manager, as well.” And his present manager, Katie thought. Not that she suspected Ron of anything. He’d hired her after all, but she wasn’t excluding him. The Ron she thought she knew would never have manipulated her and Luke as he had recently.

“Got it,” Luke said. “You changed the subject. Now it’s my turn. I’m changing the subject.” He turned the ignition over. “I have to be in my monkey suit and at the charity event for a photo call at five and it’s already pushing one o’clock. I’d suggest we grab a bite to eat and plan your coming-out party.”

She frowned and reached for his arm, stopping him from putting the truck into gear. Awareness shot through her body; she swallowed hard, pulling her hand back, and tried again. Luckily, she sounded composed. “You aren’t taking these threats seriously,” she accused. “Those letters might seem silly to you, but anyone who goes to enough trouble to cut out words from newspapers and magazines and then mail them off, changing postmarks each time, is meticulous, smart and unstable. That’s a bad combination. So please, don’t ignore these letters.”