The Virgin's Night Out (24 page)

Screw the date. But...damn it, he had already paid for it.

“I don’t think you should be buying dates when you’re engaged,” Rocki blurted out. Shit. So
not
cool.

He lifted a brow at her, a slow smile curling his lips. “Well, I generally don’t
buy
dates. But it was for a good cause. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Couldn’t help yourself?” Huffing out a breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter at her back. “You frequently lose control at charity events, is that what you’re saying?” Absently, she caught a lock of hair, tugging on it as she studied him.

Damn, he was pretty.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t lose control, Mrs. Monroe. It’s just not my style. I saw you standing there, though, and I just had to do it. What can I say? You tempt me to do very weird things.”

Rocki stared at him. “Excuse me, but I didn’t do a damn thing. Look, you have to realize this isn’t exactly right.” Way too pretty, she amended as that smile widened. Gold eyes glinted at her, full of amusement and humor.

“Because I’m not your type. I’m the taken type.”

“Right.”

“And if I wasn’t the taken type? Would that make things better?” He stood in the middle of her store wearing a thick, cable knit sweater, faded jeans and heavy boots—excellent gear considering the steady snowfall they had coming down outside. Golden blond hair tumbled into his eyes, and she had the urge to move out from behind the safety of the counter and push it back from his face. His hair looked wicked soft...she’d just love to...

Taken! He’s taken
, remember...

Setting her jaw, she shook her head.

“If you weren’t the taken type, then you’d be the rebound type. Still not ideal.” She gave him a wry smile. “And besides, you
are
taken, so let’s keep that in mind. I really don’t want to get into a fight with your beautiful bride-to-be.” She smirked and added, “I’d break her in two.”

“I don’t know. Mara’s meaner than you.”

“Don’t bet on it.” She stared at him. “So, let’s just not push that button, okay?”

“Okay. Look, it’s a date. One for a good cause.” He flashed that smile at her again and she felt her knees go weak, her heart skipping. “A date.” He ambled forward and leaned over the counter, elbows braced on it. “Not a lifelong commitment. But for the record, I should probably tell you ...” His voice trailed off and he looked down, staring through the glass countertop, although she doubted he was seeing anything inside the display case. When he looked back up, his eyes were serious. “I’m no longer the taken type.”

Rocki blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” He straightened up and pushed a hand through his hair, only to have the thick blond strands fall right back into his eyes. “I broke things off with Mara the night of the benefit, and just so you know, it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Mara and me. Also, it happened before the auction. Well before. It happened before I talked to you. And I don’t think you could even consider me a rebounding type. Things between us having been...hell. Gone. They’ve been gone for a long time. I just wasn’t seeing it. Mara couldn’t, either.”

Rocki studied him. “I’m sorry.”

Cole shrugged. “Don’t be. It needed to end.”

“Whether it needed to or not, it always sucks to end something. And that sounds really, well...sad. You were going to marry her. There must have been something there.” She studied his face, and knew she was right, even if he didn’t say anything. There was the echo of something in his eyes. She could see it. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d start a relationship that casually. If you’d asked her to marry you, you must have had feelings for her at some point. Losing that, whether it’s fresh or not, has to bother you.”

She absently worried her wedding ring with her finger and studied the toes of her heels. “I still don’t think ...”

Hearing the boards creak, she looked up and saw that Cole had moved around the counter. She swallowed. “You know what I think?” he murmured.

“What?”

He passed a hand down her hair, tangled his fingers in it. A jolt of longing shot through her. Hell. It had been so long. Too damn long.

“I think you think too much.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

Oh.

Heat. Hunger. They flooded through her and she pushed off the counter, pressed her body to his, her hands going to his waist.

She did think too much.

And she was wearing that wedding ring again—here she was worrying about him being on the rebound and she was wearing her wedding ring, five years after her husband had died. He should turn around and walk back out—forget the damn date.

But instead, he had his hands fisted in her hair, that thick, dark hair. And she had her body pressed against his, that lush, warm body...oh, shit, she was like a fucking drug. Groaning, he tangled a hand in her hair and tugged her head back. She opened for him, and when he plunged his tongue into her mouth, she bit him lightly.

Banding an arm around her waist, he whirled her around and pressed her up against the counter. Greedy for the feel of her, the touch, he raced his hands along those ripe curves, palming her breasts in his hands. The warm, heavy weight had him shuddering. He wanted to see that amazing, soft body of hers, see it, feel it, cover it with his.

Instead, he pulled away, pressing his brow to hers. “You think too much,” he said again, in a remarkably calm voice. “Now, about that date. A nice, friendly, casual date...”

Her eyes, sleepy and hot, stared into his. She blinked, and then to his surprise, she started to laugh. She shifted, resting her head on his shoulder. “Hotshot, I have a hard time thinking straight when I look at you and you want me to play nice, friendly and casual...after you kiss me like that?”

“Well. I’m not your type, remember?” He stroked a hand down her back, absently toying with the laces of the corset she wore. It was black today, a new sort that he hadn’t seen before, worn over a shirt with long puffy sleeves. It almost looked more like a cross between a vest and corset, fitting below her breasts. Again, it did things for her body that should have been illegal. “You know, you’re going to give me a fetish if I keep seeing you in these things.”

Rocki tipped her head back, smirking at him. “Maybe you’ve already got one.” Her eyes dropped, lingering on his mouth. Then she sighed and eased her upper body back. “So. A date. Friendly. Casual.”

“Yeah. Friendly. Casual.” Dipping his head, he nibbled at her lower lip. “At least until I can convince you that maybe I
am
your type after all.”

“What do you think?”

Lacey lounged on the couch in the dressing area, munching on Cheetos. Her left eyebrow, pierced through with a silver hoop, winged up. “Darling, what I think is that I was mishearing things. You told me on the phone last night that this
date
was just going to be
nice
and
casual
, yet here you are wearing the prototype piece you spent months working on.” She popped a finger in her mouth to lick off the crumbs and then added, “And damn if you don’t look hotter than hell. If I was into girls, I’d do you.”

Rocki snorted. “You are such a brat. By the way, you get crumbs on that couch, I’m beating you.” She sighed and looked back at her reflection. “Damn it, I’m changing.”

“No.” Lacey remained sprawled on the couch. “You’re not. Leave it alone already, you look amazing.”

Rocki groaned and looked at her reflection. The new piece wasn’t exactly a typical corset. It had the basic look of a Victorian corset with the longer rounded bottom, but she’d raised the neckline and straps to it, and to the straps, she’d designed it so she could add or remove sleeves. So many of the corsets she designed couldn’t exactly be worn on their own in the winter without a jacket over it or a blouse under it, but this one could. She fingered the necklace she’d added. It was dark metal, looked like tarnished silver, but wasn’t. It was the only jewelry she wore. She’d taken her wedding ring off and locked it away in her safe. She didn’t always wear it, and she needed to stop—she sure as hell couldn’t wear it on a date.

She ran a hand through her hair and swore. “Damn it, I’m primping. That’s it—I’m changing.”

“Nope.”

She made a face at Lacey. “Am, too.”

“If you do, I’m wiping Cheetos all over your couch,” Lacey said, smirking. “And I won’t clean it up. I’ll just sashay right out of here, and you’ll have to clean it before it stains.”

“You would not.” She turned around and glared at her friend. “And who the hell uses the word
sashay
?”

“Wellllll...I just did.” Lacey gave her an innocent smile and reached into the bag for another handful of the messy, cheesy snacks. She popped them into her mouth and then waggled her orange fingers at Rocki. “Change.”

Rocki groaned and covered her face with her hands. She wanted to think her friend was just bluffing. But Lacey wasn’t exactly big on that. Hell, the wench had hauled her
on the fucking stage
at the auction. Bluffers didn’t do that sort of thing. “I’m going to get you back for this,” she warned. Then she turned back around and studied her reflection once more. Rocki didn’t bluff, either. “Just wait.”

Lacey sighed. “I know. But it’s for a good cause.”

Out in the shop, the bell chimed.

“Well, at least you’ve got a customer to distract you,” Lacey said cheerfully, licking the cheese off her fingers. “And if you’re distracted, the couch is safe from me. For now.”

“You’re so mature.” As she passed by, she kicked Lacey’s ankle.

“Bitch.”

“Tramp.” On her way out in the shop, Rocki was grinning.

The smile faded as she heard the bell of her shop and she looked to the door, saw it swinging shut. Damn it ...

Automatically, she looked around, wondering if she’d let somebody steal from her. Normally, she didn’t leave the store front unattended, but she’d been so busy worrying about that
nice, friendly
date...

Her gaze landed on the white box sitting in front of the door.

It was long and white, the type of box roses come in. She knew because Brant had loved to send her flowers. Her heart jumped into her throat. Somehow, she didn’t think it was from Cole. Rocki rushed to the front of the store and shoved the door open, moving onto the sidewalk. But it was too late. She saw nothing but the typical foot traffic common on a Friday evening.

Retreating back into the store, she stepped carefully over the box and stood there, staring at it, arms crossed over her midsection.

“Hey, I’m going to...”

As Lacey’s voice trailed away, Rocki looked up.

Lacey frowned, staring at the box. She knew Rocki too well to assume the box held anything good. “I assume you don’t think those are flowers ,” Lacey said quietly.

“No.” She nudged it with her toe.

Lacey nodded. “Okay. Is there a reason why?”

Rocki stared at Lacey. Lacey knew. She knew all about what had happened years earlier. Swallowing, she edged around the box, keeping a good eighteen inches between them, like she thought a viper might strike. She had the cards locked up in her office. “Watch the store for a minute?”

Her mouth tightened, but Lacey nodded, her gaze returning to the box. “Just one thing—am I going to kick your ass in a few minutes?”

“Possibly.”

Okay.

This was unexpected, Cole thought, pulling up behind the unmarked car parked in front of Rocki’s shop. He was an attorney, after all—he’d seen plenty of unmarked police cars.

Although, hey, he had to think calmly—her husband had been on the force. She probably had a lot of friends.

Shit, if she’d been hurt, he was going to fucking kill somebody.

Okay, calm just went out the window, he admitted as he made it inside in under sixty seconds flat.

To his surprise, he knew the cop he found there, too.

It was Clayton Morgan, standing close to Rocki, his expression surly, his russet hair standing on end. “Okay, Rock. One more time, and damn it, if you leave anything out, I’m paddling you.”

Fury punched through Cole, hot and vicious. He kept his voice level, though, as he said, “Unless I’m mistaken, I’m pretty sure cops generally don’t get to paddle citizens. Or did they redo the law, Detective?”

Three heads turned his way, two redheads and one brunette. He glanced at the beautiful brunette but kept his focus on the cop, one brow lifted.

Morgan raked him with a quick look and snorted. “Hell, what is the DA doing here, Rock?” Then he shook his head. “I’m not yet here officially—Rocki’s a friend, Stanton, so don’t get your boxers in a twist.”

“Not yet?” He shifted his gaze to Rocki then, saw the strain in her eyes, and the pallor. Concern wrapped a tight, brutal grip around his heart. Closing the distance between them, he reached up and cupped her chin. “What happened?”

The shop looked okay. She looked fine—other than pale and unhappy. He stroked a thumb over her satin skin and waited for her to look him in the eye.

A tight smile came and went. “Ugly shit. I...well, I don’t want to...”

He looked past her then. Saw the white box sitting on the counter. The lid hadn’t been put all the way back on. It wasn’t the blooms that bothered him, in and of themselves. They were brightly colored, and beautiful—and he’d spent enough money on flowers in his life to know that they weren’t
cheap
flowers, either.

No, the disturbing fact was that every last one of them had been cut from the stem, carefully placed away from it in the box. Carefully, he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a pen, using it to nudge the lid completely out of the way. Once he had, he counted the flowers. Two dozen in all. And all of the blooms had been removed. Shifting his gaze to Rocki, he saw that she was staring determinedly at his chest, like she’d been intent on
not
looking at the flowers. “I take it you didn’t do the snip and clip there,” he said.