Ask For It (2 page)

Her blood pressure spiked.

How many pairs could she buy with nine hundred dollars? Better yet, when would she get the money back? An even better question was
how
had they stolen her credit card number? How had they used it? Was it an inside job?

The bank had only told her that the money had been used for purchases at this store and asked if she’d been in the city or knew anyone who was.

She knew next to nothing about thieves and how they stole things. What she did know was she wanted answers. And justice.

Taking a deep breath she glanced back up at the teen. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay. Well, my shift just ended so if you need something, ask Trevor.” He jerked his thumb, which sported black fingernail polish, toward the counter and then headed toward the door.

Ask Trevor.

If there’d been any doubt in her mind about the gorgeous man’s identity, the kid had cleared that up.

Ask Trevor.

That sounded simple enough. But just what was she going to ask Trevor? Dozens of questions popped into her brain.

How was he doing these days?

What had he been doing since he left the NFL?

Did he miss playing football?

Most importantly she wanted to know why he was working here and where her money had gone.

Deep down, a part of her wanted to know what it would have been like to accept his dinner invitation and see where it led. To see if their chemistry was as explosive as she’d always assumed it would be.

He probably wouldn’t recognize her anyway. She’d lost twenty pounds last year thanks to a no carb diet and a new found love of running. Well, as much as one could love exercise.

Besides, her blonde hair was shorter and dark brown now.

She’d made the change when John had taken over the reins at CSN and passed her by for story after story. She even wore brown contacts whenever she went into the office, to tone down the natural blue-gray color so many men found distracting. It was obvious by John’s patronizing tone that he hadn’t taken her seriously in the beginning despite her portfolio. This trip was proof that her physical changes had helped him see her as one of the guys.

No. Trevor Wyatt wouldn’t recognize her.

It wouldn’t matter if he did. She couldn't just walk up to him and demand to know where her money was, could she? He probably wouldn’t even know. And there was no way she could ask him to dinner. She’d lost her chance. Besides, he was probably involved with someone tall and leggy, curvy in all the right places.

Not that JJ cared. She should leave. Just turn and walk right out the door. Back into the sunlight, away from him, away from the answers she so desperately wanted.

Instead she found herself drifting closer to the counter, as if her feet had a mind of their own. She kept her gaze locked on the rows of shoes covering the wall, floor to ceiling.

Maybe she should just call her bank again. Let them handle it. Yeah, that was a good idea. She could call them from her hotel.

“Let me know if I can get anything from the back for you,” a deep, honeyed voice called. She turned toward it and Trevor offered her a brief smile.

Her stomach did a round-off back handspring, back tuck before hula-hooping around her knees. The reaction was nothing new. She always experienced a little physics defying sensation in her gut when he spoke to her, not to mention a little shortness of breath.

When he looked her up and down, his pensive blue gaze lingering on her legs, her pulse started to hammer. She was used to that too. And damn, she missed it. For whatever inexplicable, undeniable reason, she always felt so alive when he was near. All her senses heightened and everything seemed more acute, more exciting.

“Thanks.” She glanced back at the shoes and decided it was time to go. The sneakers weren’t in her price range and she wasn't about to splurge on running shoes when she'd been eating salad and noodles for the last week.

Every spare dime went into fixing up her latest flip; a cute condo in midtown Atlanta. Not that she had many spare dimes at the moment. And even if she was willing to splurge, most of the shoes that she was interested in would require her to dip into her savings since she didn't get paid until next Friday.

Dipping into savings wasn't a possibility. She'd specifically set up savings in CDs and Money Market Funds that she couldn't touch without penalty for years at a time. She knew herself, and her impulsiveness, far too well. It’s how she’d gotten into flipping properties. Well, that and a persuasive but handy-with-a-hammer stepbrother.

Despite a healthy nest egg, she still lived with the fear of having nothing to eat. Nowhere safe to sleep. Funny how most people couldn’t remember their fourth birthday; JJ remembered hers perfectly. She and her mother had been homeless. There were no presents to celebrate four years on the planet. No cake either.

Turning, she started for the door but Trevor was there reorganizing a table of slip on sneakers.

“Didn't find anything?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Really? Out of all these shoes...” He glanced around and then his gaze zeroed in on her feet. Inch by inch he surveyed her legs and she thanked the powers that be that told her to wear the black knee length skirt today. And that she’d shaved this morning.

When his eyes skimmed over her hips she resisted the urge to straighten her blouse. But then those sinful blue eyes lingered on her breasts and she felt them swell. Her nipples hardened as if he was actually touching them, and she crossed her arms beneath her chest.

His perusal didn't last long, no more than a few seconds but he was thorough. Very thorough. And her body reacted to him, to his incredible size and obvious strength and dashing good looks. Her breathing grew slightly labored, almost shallow by the time his gaze locked with hers.

Unadulterated interest was etched into his face and she licked her lips nervously.

“You're a runner,” he declared quietly, sounding sure of himself and pleased with the discovery.

She nodded.

“Are you sure there's nothing I can show you? Maybe you'll find something that fits perfectly.”

For a brief moment she thought he was making an innuendo. Of course there was
something
he could show her, and heaven help her, she'd been waiting for years to see how
it
fit.

Heat flared across her cheeks. God, if he only knew what she'd been thinking.

“How about this one? There's even a thirty percent off sale.” He held out a backless black and pink sneaker. Unable to help herself, she took it from him and studied it. Flipping it over, she glanced at the price. Twenty five, with a thirty percent off coupon. It was cute and looked like a comfortable knock-around shoe, so she nodded.

“Seven and a half?” he guessed.

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him, then smiled.

“You must see a lot of feet.” That made her wonder just how long he’d been working here to be able to size her up so quickly.

The corners of that come-here-and-kiss-me-mouth turned up and then he headed for the back room. Damn. He was still so graceful for a man his size. And she was still tingling.

She took a seat in a nearby chair and crossed her legs at the ankles. Why were there butterflies doing a break dance in her stomach? It wasn't like she'd never had a good looking man smile at her before. Hell,
this
good looking man had smiled at her before. Dozens of times.

But she hadn't felt this heart stopping, stomach tingling excitement before. Or was it nervousness? She hadn't felt that either.

“Here you go. Seven and a half.” Before she could move, he squatted down in front of her, wrapped a large warm hand around her left leg. His palm slid down to her ankle, awakening every nerve ending along the way, and lifted her foot. His other hand slipped off her ballet flat and she sucked in a breath. The sight was a study in contrast, his skin so much more tanned than hers.

Sensual awareness shot up her legs, bounced around inside her, and then settled heavily in her womb. Her clit actually throbbed, oh-so-ready for his touch. She blinked, hardly able to believe how strong her response was. He could just slide his hands up over her knees, past the hem of her skirt...

She mentally shook herself and stared at the man before her. If she wasn't mistaken he was thinking about the very same thing. Shamelessly, her knees fell apart, a fraction of an inch, but a fraction nonetheless. A fraction that gave him a better view, if the look on his face was any indication.

Thank God she’d followed rule number one.

A muffled door chime sounded and his head whipped toward the door. Hers did the same and heat crept into her cheeks again. Good grief, what was she thinking? Another customer had just walked in and here she was ready to spread her legs for a man she hadn't seen in over a year. A man who likely didn't even remember her name.

She snapped her knees shut and glanced at the shoe box on the floor. His gaze followed hers and then he reached for the box. Retrieving the shoe, he slipped it onto her foot. For the briefest of instants she felt very Cinderella-esque. A delicious feeling, hopelessly romantic and thoroughly silly, made her giddy.

Then he slipped off her other flat and replaced it with the other backless sneaker. Heaven help her, he had warm hands. And her feet were freezing, not that that was anything new. He must think she was made of ice.

“Test ‘em out.” He stood and held out his hand. She swallowed hard and placed her palm in his.

Very warm. Very big.
He pulled her up.
Very strong.

And he smelled good. Clean, like soap and detergent mixed with shaving cream. Her insides clenched again.

“I'll be right back,” he said and let her hand drop. He moved off to help the other customer and she walked around. Very comfortable.

The shoes gripped her feet, provided comfort and stability without being too rigid. Not bad for twenty five bucks.

She'd just decided to get them when the other customer left.

“Sorry about that,” he said. She had to look way up to meet his gaze. The sigh on her lips was involuntary but totally appropriate. Gracious, he was handsome. More handsome than she remembered. He’d cut his hair a little shorter but everything else, his size, intensity, potency was just as she remembered.

She licked her lips and tried to form a coherent thought. “No problem. I love these.” She pointed a toe and dropped her gaze to admire the shoe.

“Great.” He dragged his gaze up from her feet and they stared at each other as he searched her face. “You look familiar.”

She smiled. “I’m surprised you recognized me. I interviewed you six years ago.”

He visibly stiffened and his easy going charm vanished. “How did you find out I was here?”

His defensiveness would have put her on the offense except he looked so vulnerable. So she grinned up at him. “Sorry gorgeous, but I'm not here for you. I'm in town for the game.”

“And you just happened to walk into my cousin's store where I'm working for the week?” He sounded doubtful.

“Actually, I came in here because someone stole nine hundred dollars from my bank account and used it to buy shoes at this store,” she said, feeling her irritation flood back.

Deep creases bracketed his handsome mouth. Hands on his hips, he stared her down. “Nice try, lady.”

He didn't believe her. Arrogant, gorgeous jerk.

She marched over to the chair and put the sneakers back into their box. Then she slipped on her ballet flats and slung her purse over her shoulder. Picking up the box, she headed for the counter.

He looked baffled as he circled around to the register and scanned the bar code.

“Who the hell buys nine hundred dollars’ worth of sneakers? I mean, if you're going to steal my money, at least buy something awesome...like Prada. Or Minolos. Or Jimmy Choos.” She sighed wistfully, expecting him to crack a smile but his frown stayed firmly in place.

“I'm not giving you an interview.”

“I don't want an interview. I want my money back.”

“I don't have your money.”

“Someone here has my money. My bank is looking into it. Then you'll be out of the money and the product.”

“Why are you here if you don't want an interview and your bank is looking into it?”

She thought about his question for a few seconds.

“I've been eating salad and noodles for the last week thanks to whoever stole from me. So when I got sent to New York this weekend it seemed like serendipity, I suppose. I wanted to see the scene of the crime. I see you have surveillance cameras. I'll mention it to the bank.”

He braced his hands on the counter and his biceps bulged in a way that made her wet. Those gorgeous blue eyes turned icy as he glared down at her. He looked so formidable that she almost took a step back. Almost. But she’d grown up in a house full of alpha males and she’d learned to hold her ground.

“Are you trying to start trouble?”

She put her hands on the counter and glared right back up at him. “No. Why are you being so ornery?”

“I'm being ornery?” He pointed his finger at her and huffed out a breath. “Listen lady—”

She narrowed her gaze on his finger. “Don't point your finger at me you big baboon.”

He dropped his finger, gave a frustrated sigh and uttered an apology. Running his fingers through his hair, he stalked toward the door that led to the back room.

The chime sounded again. He called out a greeting and then glanced back at her. As if he was worried she’d create a scene, he nodded toward the open door behind him. “Come here.”

The words sounded more like a growl than a request. But something in his voice, or maybe it was the set of his shoulders, made her do his bidding.

He reached for her arm and gently tugged her into the storage area. The touch shot through her awakening any parts he hadn’t already kicked out of dormancy with his smile.

“I'm really not here to do a story on you. Your life is your life. I just want my money back. And barring that…” She glanced toward the door. “And those shoes.” She offered him what he hoped was a warm smile.