The Professional (6 page)

“What about the O’Brien woman? Have you gotten a read on her?”

Not in the way Payne thought, but… “She’s universally adored out there,” Jeb said, which was true. “The residents treat her like an honorary granddaughter. The cook at the diner makes her favorite pie at least once a week, Foy services her bicycle—”

“Her bicycle?”

“She uses it to make home visits around the village,” he explained. “It’s easier to negotiate around the scooter traffic.” He sucked in a breath, then released it slowly. “She’s certainly close enough to everyone there to have pulled it off, but my gut says that she’s not our thief. And intuition aside, on the surface I don’t see any motive. She’s successful in her own right. She wouldn’t have needed the money.”

“That’s assuming the jewelry has been sold,” Payne added. “This could be something else.” He shrugged. “Maybe the thief just wanted the jewelry.”

“It’s possible.” At this point,
anything
was possible. But if that was true, why take the high-end stuff? Why not take the costume jewelry? Why not target other valuables? Other people? Though the thefts had definitely been deliberate, something about it all felt odd and haphazard. Off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet, but he couldn’t deny the suspicion all the same.

Payne was thoughtful for a moment. “If your gut says she’s not involved, then odds are, she’s not. But perhaps she would be willing to help you,” he finally said. “If she’s universally adored, then it only stands to reason that she’s universally trusted as well.”

Jeb’s pulse gave an involuntary leap. Under ordinary circumstances that would have undoubtedly been an excellent suggestion. Sound, well-reasoned, spot-on. But these were hardly ordinary circumstances, because there was nothing ordinary about the way he reacted to her—hell, even the
thought
of her, given how his groin was tightening right now. Were that not problem enough, there was the tiny issue of her not wanting to be within one-hundred yards of him.

Not that she couldn’t be persuaded…

Strictly speaking, he didn’t
want
to be attracted to her. But he was.

She might not
want
to want him. But she did.

And that universal adoration in the village was reciprocated. It was obvious that she adored them all, that she’d do anything and everything for them. If he asked for her help, he was certain that she would give it.

That Payne hadn’t questioned his instincts, had even told him to go with his gut, meant more than Jeb could have ever hoped for. It was proof that he’d made the right decision, evidence that the instinct to leave the military had been spot on.

He needed to reward that trust with a positive result, and if that meant asking the most extraordinary ordinary woman he’d ever met for her assistance, one that he wanted more desperately with each breath…then so be it.

5

U
NACCOUNTABLY
NERVOUS
,
Sophie looked into the mirror and gulped.

Holy crap.

When Cora had told her that she’d bought her a dress for this evening’s event, Sophie had immediately known two things. One, that it would be exquisite, because Cora’s taste was faultless. Two, that it would be expensive. She’d nearly choked on her own tongue when she’d glanced at the price tag, but Cora had insisted that it was worth it.

What Sophie hadn’t counted on was a third description, one that was easily the most notable about the beaded, sequined chiffon gown she presently wore.

It was
sexy
.

So sexy, in fact, that it felt a bit like false advertising. This wasn’t her real body, not one she recognized, anyway. Her breasts weren’t this plump, her waist this small, her hips this curved.

Cora clapped her hands together delightedly. “You look wonderful! Simply wonderful!” she enthused. “My goodness, who knew you were hiding such a lovely figure beneath those shapeless scrubs?”

“My scrubs are comfortable,” she said, feeling duty-bound to defend her practical, serviceable clothing. She smoothed her finger over the delicate beading, turned this way and that as the sequins caught the light.

“Maybe so, but they’re criminally unflattering. Of course, it would help if you’d buy the right size. They’re too big and boxy. They give you all the dimension of a kitchen sponge.” She thrust a small purse into her hands and dropped a black, fringed shawl over her shoulders. “Come along, we need to get going.”

“I need to be able to move,” Sophie told her as Cora quickly herded her out the front door. A gust of cold wind scattered leaves across the porch, making her long for a more substantial coat. “I do a lot of bending and stretching. I’d be miserable in tight clothing.”

“We’ll take the golf cart tonight and save our feet for dancing,” Cora told her. “And being tight and fitting are two different things, dear. No worries.” She started the cart and backed out of the driveway. “Now that I know your proper size, I’ll have some made for you.”

“What? No, I—”

“I knew when I saw that dress it would be the one you’d choose,” Cora said. “The peacock design is especially gorgeous, isn’t it? And those colors look fabulous with your skin.”

She didn’t know about the colors and her skin—skin was skin, wasn’t it?—but the dress was definitely stunning. It was a black halter-style design with jewel-toned beaded peacock feather embellishments which snaked over the bodice and down over her right hip. The lower half of the gown was accordion-pleated chiffon with a ruffled, flirty hem. The dress feathered around her feet with every step she took and felt good against her legs.

True to her word, Cora had insisted on doing her hair and make-up. Rather than loading her hair up with a lot of goopy spray, her fairy godmother had rolled it on huge rollers to give it a little extra body, then let it fall loosely around her shoulders. She’d gotten a little more dramatic with the make-up—had insisted the dress deserved it—but, rather than forcing every feature to make a bold statement, she’d focused most of her attention on Sophie’s eyes. “It’s eyes or lips, dear,” she explained. “Never both.”

Sophie had known a little dart of panic when she’d watched Cora whip out the green eye shadow, but she had to admit that the finished effect was noticeable, but not garish. She should have known not to worry, she thought, darting a glance at her older friend, a wry grin curling her lips.

Cora might be willing to hastily host a dance to put her on display for Foy’s Grandson—she got the sudden mental image of Cora leading her around a rink with a leash attached to her neck, feeding her chocolate treats every time she did something right, just like a dog show she’d watched recently, and smothered a laugh—and buy her a tasteful but sexy dress, but ultimately she’d draw the line at tacky or inappropriate.

And it was hard to stay annoyed with her when Cora so clearly thought she was being helpful. So determined to find her a man. Come to think of it, she’d been particularly relentless about it since Gran died. That, and making sure that she was safe. Gran had confided in her about the “family” problems and Cora had insisted on alerting the guard at the front gate after the incident with her animals. It meant a lot.

Sophie cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said. “For all of this.” She gestured to the dress, feeling suddenly awkward.

Cora grinned. “You are more than welcome, dear.” She pulled up to the community center and, ignoring the “No Parking” signs nearest the door, did just that.

“Cora, Marjorie will—”

“Some rules beg to be broken, dearest.” She shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll leave the keys in the ignition and if she’s that upset about it, she can move it herself.” She glanced at the doorway and gasped delightedly. “Doesn’t that look lovely? Joy and Martha have certainly outdone themselves.”

They had, Sophie thought, following her gaze. Corn stalks wrapped with twinkle lights stood on either side of the door and a swag of Indian corn, mums and black-eyed Susan’s hung in an arch above the entrance. Music and laughter rang from inside, indicating that they were fashionably late, just as Cora had planned.

“Never go anywhere without making an entrance,” she’d said.

Though she’d been relatively indulgent of Cora’s mechanizations up to this point, Sophie suddenly found herself very nervous. Her empty stomach fluttered with unease and her hands trembled, betraying her anxiety.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Sophie,” Cora told her. “You’re going to knock him dead.”

Him
.
Jeb
.
Foy’s Grandson
. The man whose bottom lip she wanted to suck. He was inside and they were making an entrance. And she had on green eye shadow and a sexy dress.
Oh, sweet heaven.
What the hell had she been thinking? She couldn’t do—

Cora snatched her arm an instant before Sophie would have dug in her heels, dragging her forward. Though the room didn’t stand still when they walked inside, several appreciative glances turned in their direction.

His
, of course, was the one she felt most keenly.

It slid over her body like a caress, lingering along her neck, her breasts, the curve of her hip. Though she knew it was insane, she could practically feel that blue heat, felt a rush of color burst beneath her skin everywhere his gaze touched. It was unnerving. Thrilling. Terrifying. Electrifying. If he glanced at her crotch, she’d undoubtedly embarrass herself with an immaculate orgasm, Sophie thought, her sluggish blood pounding through her veins.

She resisted the almost overwhelming urge to look at him and followed Cora deeper into the room. The tables had been draped with gold and plum colored table clothes and candlelight glittered behind hurricane lamps. Fall flowers and stalks of wheat tied with satin ribbon decorated the food and beverage tables, and the scent of mulled cider hung in the air. The only discordant note was the band, which was currently playing Adam Levine’s “Moves Like Jagger.”

Badly.

And none of the participants on the dance floor possessed the skill to move like Mick, but what they lacked in proficiency, they made up for with enthusiasm. Especially Foy, Sophie thought, watching him work a walking stick like a microphone.

“It’s disturbing, isn’t it?” Jeb said, materializing at her side. She jumped a little and her heart stuttered. How the hell had he done that? “You don’t want to watch, but you can’t look away.”

She smiled in spite of herself, her pulse racing through her veins as desire and adrenaline flooded her system. “Sort of like a train wreck, you mean.”

He leaned closer, still seemingly mystified. “And he knows every word. Watch him,” he said, gesturing with his glass at Foy. “He doesn’t miss a single syllable. I don’t know what’s worse—that his hips actually move like that or that he’s more acquainted with popular music than I am.”

“Look at it this way,” she said. “You know exactly what to get him for Christmas.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and deep. “Yeah. An iTunes gift card.”

She shrugged negligently, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Or Maroon 5 tickets.”

A startled laugh broke up in his throat and his mouthwatering shoulders shook with humor. She knew because his shoulder was so close to her head. She’d realized that he was tall, but this close his size was particularly noticeable. At five foot four inches, she was of average height and wasn’t used to feeling short, but next to him she felt positively petite. Even in these heels. She rather liked it.

And naturally, he looked fabulous, she thought, covertly studying him. The tuxedo he wore was obviously not rented, further confirming her suspicions about his clothing. Clearly it had been custom made, tailored precisely to accommodate his glorious frame. The material draped flawlessly over his massive shoulders, down his trim middle and his trousers hit the tops of his gleaming shoes at that difficult but magical point to prevent bunching.

“You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “No doubt he’d like the tickets better.”

The song drew to a close, much to the chagrin of Foy and his audience, and another slower one took its place. Lady Antebellum’s “Just a Kiss.” A quick glance toward the band revealed a hastily retreating Cora, who’d obviously just made a request.

No doubt everyone in the room had noticed it as well and they were all looking on at the pair of them with expectant smiles.

Sophie felt more heat creep up her neck, heaved an inward sigh and tapped the dwindling reserves of her patience.

Left with little choice, Jeb turned to her and, smiling, offered his hand. “Would you like to dance, Ms. O’Brien?”

“Yes, thanks. Better to go ahead and get it over with, I suppose.” With as much reluctance as anticipation, she carefully put her hand in his—there it was again, that almost crippling sizzle—and, wobbly-legged, followed him out onto the parquet floor.

His smile didn’t waver, but something in his gaze shifted as he pulled her into his powerful arms. “I’m sorry?”

Sophie clamped her mouth shut to keep from moaning aloud. He felt
wonderful
. Big and hard and muscled and warm and the scent of him flooded her senses, that woodsy, musky fragrance. A hint of something else reached her—oranges, maybe?—but the impression fled as others filled her. Tendrils of heat wound through her middle and spread vine-like through her limbs, settling hotly in her womb. The only thing that kept her from nuzzling his neck was physics—she couldn’t reach it. She should have worn the higher heels, Sophie thought absently, feeling his chin brush the top of her head.

“I only meant that we wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone,” she finally explained.

“Disappoint everyone?” He drew back and looked at her, his gaze brooding and slightly confused. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

She could tell by the tone of his voice that “not following” wasn’t something he was accustomed to and admitting it even more so. For whatever reason—insanity, probably—she found that oddly endearing.

She grinned, pleased, then gestured covertly toward the rest of the room. “They’re all watching us,” she said. “And, as I’m sure you’ve figured out, this crowd never misses the opportunity to throw a party, but this? This is a little much, even for them.”

Though he didn’t visibly look around the room for confirmation, she felt his muscles stiffen when realization hit. “No,” he said disbelievingly. “Surely they didn’t— Foy, er…Gramps told me this dance had been in the works for months.”

Sophie chuckled. “Gramps lied. This party was manufactured out of thin air because Cora and her Party Planning Posse are in full-throttle matchmaking mode, and the men are going along with it because there’s food, alcohol and the potential for mischief. Like pieces on a chess board, we’ve been well-maneuvered.”

“Matchmaking? Us? But I…” He glanced around again, as though needing additional confirmation. Cora and her group were all huddled together, looking on with self-satisfied smiles. Foy danced by, waggled his brows meaningfully at the two of them, and then winked at Jeb.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Asking me to dance was enough. I don’t expect a proposal.”

He drew back once more, looked at her again with that shockingly blue gaze as though she were some sort of foreign entity or a riddle he couldn’t quite figure out. “You’re teasing me.”

It was a statement, not a question.

Ah, Sophie thought, as pleasure warmed her chest. Something else the badass former Ranger wasn’t accustomed to. “About the proposal? Yes. The matchmaking bit and this party being hosted solely for our benefit? No.” She winced regretfully. “That’s all true, I’m afraid.”

“I’m…shocked,” he said, giving his head a small shake.

She rolled her eyes. “Hang around a little while longer. You’ll get used to it.”

Heaven knows she could get used to this, Sophie thought, feeling his masculine thighs brush against her body as they swayed to the music. Despite the just-a-kiss theme of the song, Sophie concluded she must be more slutty than she’d ever realized, because at the moment she’d be monumentally disappointed with just a peck. Anything less than a proper back-against-the-wall, legs-around-his-waist screaming orgasm would leave her heartbroken and miserable.

And the kicker? She’d never been a sex-against-the-wall kind of girl. She’d always been a clean sheets and controlled lighting kind of girl.

Of course, she’d never been this attracted to a man either. She’d never felt so consumed with awareness that it had literally infected her, made her itch for the remedy. Fantasize about the cure. Crave it. Be her own best friend, as it were.

He chuckled softly. “Thank you.”

Sophie frowned, perplexed. “For what?”

“You said I smelled good.”

She did? Out loud?

Evidently seeing her confusion, he laughed again and humor lit his gaze. His wicked mouth tilted at one corner, making the dimple appear in his cheek. “You smell nice as well.”

“It’s soap,” she said, mortified, sucking on the insides of her cheeks. Good Lord, how long was this song, anyway?