at his big hand on her arm, reminding herself that if Jack Terry appeared concerned for her well-being, it was only because he was trying to get on her good side in the hope that she would lead him to her parents.
She pulled away. “I’m fine, Detective. Follow me.”
2
D uring the ride down the escalator, Carlotta’s neck burned with a fiery itch. She was certain Jack Terry could tell she was keeping something from him.
But the brawny detective appeared preoccupied himself. He wore what she was coming to recognize as his off-duty uniform: black T-shirt, worn jeans and black cowboy boots. And, she conceded begrudgingly, he wore it well. His rugged profile, close-cut dark hair and bronze skin made for a compelling view, yet he seemed completely unaware of women’s heads turning as they stepped off the escalator and headed toward the men’s department.
“So, what’s the occasion?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“The bigwig department dinner.”
“Oh. An awards thing.”
She lifted an eyebrow as she led him toward the formal wear section. “Are you receiving an award?”
The blush that stained his cheeks spoke for him.
“You are,” she said, elbowing him. “What kind of an award?”
He cleared his throat. “Distinguished duty.”
“Distinguished, huh? Did you do something in particular to earn this recognition? Like save a kid from a runaway car?”
“Guess the department couldn’t think of anyone else to give it to.”
“That must be it,” Carlotta agreed, humoring his modesty. She angled her head and swept her gaze over the considerable length of him before pulling a jacket from a sleek wooden rack. “Black would be the obvious choice for a tux, but with your eyes and coloring, I’d go with charcoal gray. What are you, about a forty-four long, athletic cut?”
Jack looked surprised, then nodded. “Hey, I saw you this morning at a bank ATM on Piedmont.”
She frowned. “My bank is on Piedmont, but I wasn’t there this morning.”
“Really? Wow, the woman looked just like you, then.” He laughed. “No wonder she didn’t wave back when I honked. I thought you were ignoring me.”
“Apparently it was someone else ignoring you this time.” She held out the jacket for him.
He shrugged into it and she sighed in satisfaction as the luscious fabric slid into place, hugging his shoulders perfectly. She adjusted the lapels, dismayed at the little tremors of pleasure she felt when her hands met the brick wall of his chest. Avoiding his gaze, Carlotta steered him toward a mirror. He looked ill at ease…and slightly gorgeous, she realized with no small amount of consternation. Jack Terry was easier to dislike when he was rumpled and wearing one of his infamous ugly ties.
“What do you think?” She made wary eye contact in the mirror.
“It’s okay, I guess.”
“Just okay? Jack, this is one of the finest suits that money can buy.”
“I’m almost afraid to look at the price tag.”
“Don’t,” she agreed. “But a suit like this is an investment—you can wear it to formal dinners, to weddings.”
“I’m not much on weddings.”
“Funerals, then.”
“You’re not convincing me.”
“Look,” she said, smoothing a hand over his shoulder, “sometimes you just have to buy something because it looks so damn good on you.”
His eyebrows went up and a smile curled his mouth. “You think it looks damn good on me?”
Her cheeks warmed. “I do.”
For a few seconds, that sexy buzzing thing bounced back and forth between them.
“Then I’m convinced,” he said finally. “Ring me up.”
“You’ll need a shirt. And I’ll call the tailor to mark your pants.”
“I’m in your hands.”
Carlotta raised one eyebrow. “Gee, Detective, that almost sounds like trust.”
“I trust you—when it comes to clothes.”
She recognized the danger of discussing trust while the voice of her fugitive father still resonated in her head, so instead she pulled a smile from thin air.